4.00 K

The sun was setting as Flos, the King of Destruction, found the small rock outcropping at the top of the hill. He trudged up the grassy slope, admiring the greenery around him.

Despite the burning fires of the army’s campfires below and the sea of tents and moving soldiers who had based themselves around the hill on which he stood, it was the grass that held more importance for Flos at this moment.

He was not accustomed to so much life in the earth. In his home, the arid ground was dry and inhospitable. The few places capable of producing water and sustenance were coveted. There would certainly be no grass growing there.

But here—Flos inhaled the smell of nature and smiled. He climbed the last stretch of hill, his armor rasping a bit as two ill-fitting pieces ground together.

“You should have that looked at, sire. I’m no [Blacksmith], but I don’t think armor is supposed to make that sound. Not unless you’re being stabbed, that is.”

The King smiled and looked up. The acerbic tone came from a man sitting on a rocky ledge, staring down at what would be tomorrow’s battlefield.

Drevish, known to all as the Architect, one of the King’s Seven, barely glanced up as Flos took a seat beside him. He was busy with a piece of parchment and charcoal. Flos glanced over his shoulder and saw the man had drawn a rough sketch of the landscape, only in his depiction there were buildings in the place of grass and stone.

“A new fortress?”

The King smiled. Drevish irritably waved him off. He continued sketching for a few moments, lost in thought. Flos was content to wait; he could see three more figures ascending the slope of the hill.

“It will not be anything special. But I want to test my new prototypes for a wall…and this place would make an acceptable chokepoint for advancing armies, or so Orthenon has informed me.”

“That it would. Assuming we take the field tomorrow.”

Flos stared pensively out across the battlefield. He could see smoke and fire rising in the distance. Drevish looked up and out at the other enemy’s encampment. He grunted sourly; the [Architect] had little time for battle.

“It escapes me why both your side and this kingdom would agree to a cease-fire overnight. Wouldn’t you customarily go down there and start hacking soldiers to bits in the night?”

“Perhaps. Fighting at night is tricky business, though. And the enemy [Commander] requested the truce.”

“And you accepted it? That seems idiotic to me.”

Drevish’s eyebrows rose, but Flos smiled. He raised his voice as he heard someone else approaching.

“They fight with honor. The [Commander] assured me not one of his soldiers would violate the terms of the truce. I took him at his word.”

“And if he lied? What if he’s marching an army to attack this camp right now, or sending another bunch of those delightful [Assassins] that have been popping up lately?”

“Well, that too would be interesting. Is this a man who believes in honor, or will he compromise it? What do you think, Amerys?”

Flos turned, and the woman who floated down out of the sky smiled at him. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield as she was known, smiled as the flight spell let her descend next to Flos.

Drevish turned and eyed Amerys; she ignored him as she considered her King’s question.

“I think that if you gave me the order, I would be happy to attack right now. But if you want to find what this other commander is made of, why not walk in front of his camp naked and see what he does?”

Flos roared with laughter. Drevish shook his head. Muttering, he reached for a soft, round object sitting to his left. It was a kneaded eraser, something that had intrigued Flos greatly. The malleable putty could erase the charcoal from the parchment. But the old man’s hand slipped and knocked the round ball off the side of the rock.

He cursed, but a gauntleted hand caught the eraser as it fell. Gazi leapt up onto the rock, making the [Architect] jerk backwards. She smiled as she offered Drevish the eraser.

He glared at her. Drevish held out a hand and the eraser was dropped into it.

“Move. You’re blocking my view. I have little light left to work with.”

Gazi did, walking quietly over to where Flos sat. She took his right side, Amerys his left. The two didn’t quite glare at each other, but Flos knew better than to expect either to greet the other.

“So, Gazi. What have you seen?”

The half-Gazer smiled. Her central eye flicked to the enemy camp, miles away.

“I have seen several mages on the left. They are mixing with the soldiers there. Meanwhile, the cavalry is bunched up near the rear, although they pretend to occupy the right.”

“So they want to circle around and hit us from the side while the mages surprise us on the left? I’ve heard of worse plans.”

Amerys shrugged. She looked unconcerned with the upcoming battle. But the two who reached the top of the hill last were not so sanguine.

“They could be trying that Amerys, or they might know of Gazi’s eye and be baiting us. Either way, I would like to take out those mages before the battle lines are locked.”

Orthenon and a bird-man, one of the natives to this land known as Garuda, approached the group. Amerys waved a hand, Gazi smiled without turning her head as one of her eyes rolled back in its socket; Drevish just turned his head and grunted.

“Takhatres. Orthenon. Tell me one of you has brought wine or something else to drink.”

“I have brought two wine flasks. Orthenon has the cups, my lord.”

The bird man unshouldered the two bags of wine as Orthenon tossed a cup at Gazi. The [Scout] caught it without turning her head.

No one spoke for a minute. Takhatres poured wine from one flask while Orthenon did the same with the other. The Garuda advanced to the place where Drevish was sitting, and offered him a cup. The [Architect] gave him an approving grunt, and Flos accepted his cup from Orthenon with thanks.

Soon, all six people had a drink. Amerys and Drevish sipped at their drinks while the others drank faster. They didn’t speak much; they didn’t need to. But in the end it was Orthenon who broke the silence.

“Tomorrow, I would like Amerys to attack the left flank. If you can tie up that side, we will focus on the center and right.”

“Oh? You’re not going to have me take out those mages?”

“That’s my job.”

Takhatres filled his cup with more wine. He wouldn’t drink more than two cups that night, Flos knew. The Garuda sipped his second cup very slowly, making his drink last.

“I will lead my kin into the left as you attack. Try not to hit us. We’ll take out the mages; you just engage their front for a few minutes and then you can do what you want.”

“Fine. Try not to get in the way of my lightning.”

“Try to aim.”

Orthenon cleared his throat, looking displeased. He shifted as he knelt next to his King. Flos glanced at him and saw the single-edged sword at his belt trailing on the rock. Orthenon was dressed for war, but it always intrigued Flos how he chose to fight.

He wasn’t wearing plate armor like Flos, or Gazi’s brown scale armor. Instead, he was wearing leather, form-fitting and enchanted. That was also unlike Drevish, who was wearing clothing since he wouldn’t be fighting tomorrow and Takhatres, who was wearing only a cloth around his midriff. Amerys was wearing her robes, but given that they were enchanted as well, she was probably the most well-armored out of anyone in the group excepting Gazi.

Now the men shifted again, only without the audible creak that accompanied Flos’s movements. The King absently felt at the offending part of his armor as his steward explained the rest of tomorrow’s strategy to the others.

“While Takhatres and Amerys deal with the mages, Gazi will attack the rear and whatever spots she deems most important.”

“As normal.”

Drevish snorted. Orthenon paused and stared at the old man’s back. Drevish raised a hand in half-hearted apology and the steward continued.

“Finally, my lord and I will lead the vanguard straight into the right flank. We’ll leave the rest of our mages and archers in the back—Takhatres will pull back and protect them after he is done with the mages.”

“A fine plan.”

Flos smiled as he looked out over the battlefield. There was so much grass there. He could see it even in the darkness that now enveloped the land. But soon that grass would be muddy and trampled, stained with blood. That bothered him as much as the lives that would be lost.

“Are you expecting any surprises?”

Gazi turned and looked at Orthenon. The man shook his head.

“None. But if there are…Mars is on the way. She should arrive at midday—sooner if she’s marching as fast as I think.”

“We could wait for her and smash this army between both ours and hers.”

Amerys smiled. Takhatres and Orthenon looked disapproving. Flos shook his head as he finished his cup.

“We could. But that would not be honorable, Amerys.”

“Oh very well. In that case, I shall do my best to kill as many soldiers tomorrow as I can—honorably, of course.”

Her remark elicited a glare from the two warriors, but Gazi smirked. Flos just shook his head as he stared down at the burning fires of the camp below. All fell silent. After a few more minutes, Drevish spoke.

“On another note, I have located quite a fine spot to build a defensive tower. When the battle’s over I’ll see about laying down the foundations.”

“A tower to go along with your new wall?”

Flos chuckled. His voice was lower, and he felt calm. He thought he might sleep here if the others wouldn’t have objected. He was at peace in this moment, surrounded by five of the people who had become his sworn companions. His friends.

“Why not? You can spare a few [Archers] for it, surely. Do not quibble over my designs if you won’t do the same for your other vassals.”

Drevish half-turned and scowled at his King. That was an offense that Orthenon and Takhatres wouldn’t have ever dreamed of, but Flos was used to it.

In a way, the [Architect]’s presence had not been necessary to the night’s meeting. He would not participate in the battle. Rather, Flos suspected he would sleep right through it, if he didn’t end up sketching plans for a new fortress in his tent.

He didn’t need to be here. But in another sense, he absolutely had to be with them. He knew it, and the others knew it. And it was Amerys who gave voice to that feeling. She smiled as she leaned against her King.

“This is the first time in what, two years? The first time we’ve had four of the Seven together, not counting Orthenon and my liege.”

“True. And tomorrow it will be five.”

Takhatres stared pensively out into the darkness. He shifted from one leg to the other; he had trouble sitting for long periods.

“It is a shame the others couldn’t be here. But then, it is also pointless to have us all together. We are too strong for any one army in this region.”

Flos turned to look down at Gazi. She was shorter than he was, and she stared out at the enemy’s camp, her other eyes scanning the hilltop. Always watchful, almost wary of any threat to her [King].

The others sitting around Flos made similar noises of agreement and regret. But it was Flos who felt something stir in his chest. He sighed as he placed his cup on the ground, empty.

“It is true there is little merit to keeping us together for strategy’s sake. But pointless? No. There is meaning to this.”

His words silenced the others. They stood or sat with him, staring out into the darkness. All was silent. All was calm. And as Flos sat, looking at his companions, he smiled. He was thousands of miles from the place he had grown up, in a distant land, about to fight another battle against a nation whose name had already been forgotten.

But here, in this moment, he was home.

Flos reached out, looking for his cup. He knew what came next. He would lift his empty cup and Orthenon would check whether there was any wine to fill it. He knew Gazi would smile as she wickedly told him he had drunk the last of it. In a moment Amerys would offer to fly down and steal some from the soldiers. Drevish would encourage her and Takhatres would lose patience and run down and get some in a flash, and Flos would be laughing too hard to tell any of them he hadn’t wanted a drink, merely to toast in spirit.

All that would happen in moments, Flos knew. It would be a perfect interlude before they slept, before the battle. So he reached for his cup—

And then he woke up.

The man known to the world as Flos, the King of Destruction, woke up in his bed. It was familiar to him. It had been the place he had slept for the last ten years. Though the mattress had been changed, the frame of the bed, deep, expensive wood, and the large room had not. Flos sat up as the dawn’s light fell on him. It was that which had woken him from his sleep. Even after a decade, he rose with the dawn.

But he did not get out of bed. Flos stared at the wall of his bedroom, not staring at anything in the waking world, but chasing that dream, that vision of the past.

It was no use. It slipped away from him, fading with each moment. Soon, it was just a hazy recollection, not the reality he had experienced. For a second Flos could still taste the cheap wine on his tongue, feel the stone beneath his legs and the ill-fitting armor digging into his shoulder—

And then it was gone. It was all gone. Flos looked around the room and felt years settle on him like stones. He remembered, and saw the block of ice sitting on the table across from him. Staring at him.

Flos buried his head in his hands. The man wept. He let grief overtake him for a minute, and then six. But then he stood, and dressed himself. He threw open the curtains and let the sun bathe him for a second. He stared down at a kingdom below, a ruined city, neglected. But burning now, already moving as the people below woke. They were not dead. The spark lived in them. The man took a deep breath of the air.

And when he threw open the doors to his room and strode out, he was a King.

 

—-

 

Trey Atwood was eating breakfast when Flos woke up. He knew that because he could feel it. That was the thing about living in the proximity of Flos, the legendary King of Destruction. You could tell when he was nearby, and you could tell when he woke up.

It was like a little shock to the spine. It made Trey’s heart jump, and he looked up from his plate of crunchy bacon bits. He’d been quite enjoying his meal—proper rashers, not the greasy bacon he’d been forced to eat when he’d stayed at that international hotel one time. This was thick, chewy meat which he loved, and he’d specifically requested the crunchy fried bits.

“I think he woke up, Teres.”

“Of course he did.”

Sitting next to him at one of the dining tables in the banquet hall, his twin sister Teresa, who preferred to be called Teres, turned and frowned at Trey. He knew he didn’t need to say it. She’d felt the same thing.

“I reckon he’s going to be here in five minutes, what do you think?”

“Two. And you’d better finish eating your veg. You know he’s going to be eating while he walks again.”

Teres reached over and stole half of Trey’s remaining bits of crispy bacon. He groaned, and groaned harder when she turned his plate so he could stare at the orange tubes on them. Even in another world, he still didn’t like the vegetables.

“Aw. Teresa…

She elbowed him. He knew she hated it when he called her by her full name. Reluctantly, Trey began crunching down on the orange vegetables, called yellats, grumbling about how they’d gone cold.

In truth, these vegetables were a lot more fun to eat than asparagus, spinach, or most of the other greens Trey had suffered through back home. They were spicy, and they crunched delightfully loud between the teeth. They were a treat when fried hot with oil, but since Trey always left them for last, he always ate them cold.

Always, meaning for the last month, really. It was an odd thought, but Trey had hardly been in this world, this new world filled with levels and classes and Skills, for more than a few weeks. It was incredible to him, but there it was.

He was in another world. And not only that, he was a guest in the palace of a king. Not just any king, too. The King of Destruction, one of the most famous people in this world, a man whose name was known in every part of it for his legendary kingdom’s rise and sudden collapse. The man who had been slumbering, asleep in his palace for ten years.

Until Trey and Teres had accidentally fallen into his throne room and woken him up. That moment would be forever engraved in Trey’s memory. He and his sister had stepped off the Tube, the subway traincar’s ledge, expecting to walk out onto the platform and head back home. Instead, the ground had disappeared beneath them.

They’d fallen, landing in a magnificent, grand, empty room where a man sat in a small chair. He’d looked up and seen them. And Trey had picked himself up, heart pounding, and stared into two empty eyes, a tired face. He had looked at a man who looked worn down by the years, hunched, alone.

That was how they met Flos, the King of Destruction. After that, men with swords had rushed in, and Orthenon had nearly run Trey through before Flos had stopped them. And then, well, they’d told them everything.

One month later, here they were. Flos was awake, which was pretty important, and Trey was used to eating his food on a wood platter with a knife, rather than on proper plates. It wasn’t exactly a series of events that made sense to Trey, but he had eventually come to terms with it. Except for one bit, actually.

“It ought to have been a train station.”

Teres looked up. She was chewing down the last of her bacon, and she stared pointedly at the remaining orange tubes, and Trey glumly speared one.

His twin didn’t need to ask what Trey meant. She just had to think for a few seconds as she chewed. While both she and Trey weren’t identical twins on a genetic level, they were close enough that they could usually understand what the other one was thinking.

After a second, Teres understood what Trey meant. She scowled at him.

“Well, it wasn’t. And the Tube’s close enough, so stop complaining!”

“I’m just saying, if it was a train station it would make sense.”

“You’re not Harry Potter. You’re not good enough to be Ron Weasley. You don’t have a wand and you can’t do magic. What’s wrong with a subway?”

“I dunno. It’s just…weird. And I could have a wand. They exist in this world.”

Teres rolled her eyes, but Trey refused to concede the point. They were alike, the two of them, but differed on some fundamental issues. For instance, Trey firmly believed a train station platform would have been cooler and more traditional. Teres thought he was an idiot for worrying about it at all.

“What do you think he’ll do today?”

“Dunno. Fix more walls? Look at maps? We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

That was true. Trey glumly gulped down the last of his food and pushed his platter away. Teres folded her arms as she stared down at her plate. They would have to see. And they would see. Because they had a special role in this world, now.

They were servants to Flos. Servants to the King.

They didn’t have the class, actually. Orthenon had told them not to think of it like that. Trey and Teres were more like aides, although they would eventually be expected to fulfill the roles of bodyguards and assistants as well. As such, they were required to follow Flos around, mostly watching as he attended to the needs of his kingdom.

And there were a lot of them. And Trey understood that things like finding food for the hungry people, or making sure the walls were all intact in case an army showed up were essential—as was studying maps of the world and sending messages to allies and so on and so forth.

But he was confused, because he wasn’t sure why they were here. Here, in this faded kingdom, when he expected to be out, marching in an army. For the kingdom was at war. They were at war, and the knowledge of it hummed in Trey’s blood at times. And yet here they were, growing accustomed to a life in this palace. Yet they were at war.

A contradiction. They were at war, but they weren’t going to war. Not yet, at least.

A second puzzle. Trey slumped over at the table, thinking. Remembering. He knew why they were at war. He had been there the day the Emperor of Sands had sent a gift to Flos, knowing he had awakened. But it hadn’t been a gift. The food Trey had just eaten lurched unpleasantly in his stomach. No, not a gift.

He remembered the moment after Flos had pulled out the head from the box the Courier had delivered. It had been—Trey’s gut lurched—it had been the head of a man called Drevish. Apparently he was…had been…one of the King’s Seven, a group of legendary high-level people who served Flos.

And he had been killed by the Emperor of Sands. His head had been sent to Flos, and the King had declared war. Trey remembered that moment as well.

Flos had declared war. He had drawn his sword and raced through the halls. His voice had been like thunder, and he had shouted that he would not rest until the Emperor of Sands was dead.

Orthenon, Mars, Takhatres, they had all followed Flos, caught up in his fury. Only Gazi had remained, and Trey remembered what she had said to them.

“To victory, children. Victory, and the glory of our King.”

That had sent a chill down his spine. Trey and Teres had stood fixed in place, Flos’ voice still ringing through the castle. They’d run out of the room moments later, mainly because the incredibly scary Lady Gazi had made them. They’d followed Flos and the others by the sound of his shouting voice.

He had strode down the hallways, shouting for his sword, his warhorse, his armies. Trey had seen Flos throw open the doors to the palace—

And stop. He had stopped there, as people ran out of every hallway, holding weapons, shouting, asking what was going on. But their [King] had no answer. And then he’d turned, and walked back towards his throne room.

Not to go back on his word. No, Takhatres had left that very night, promising to strike the first blow against the Emperor of Sands with his tribe. And every day since, Trey and Teres had followed Flos about, witnessing preparations being made. Orthenon, the King’s Steward, had begun the immense task of preparing a kingdom that was on the verge of extinction for war against a huge empire.

There was everything to do, and not enough time to do it. People had been starving. They needed to be fed. The walls needed to be manned, and an actual army built out of the people. So Trey understood the need to wait, to take precautions. He just didn’t expect Flos of all people to wait.

And Teres agreed with him. She thought something had happened too. And in fact, Trey was sure that the others, Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi knew that something was keeping Flos from marching as well. But no one had said anything. Perhaps they could—

“Trey.”

Trey looked up. He had felt it at the same time Teres spoke.

Flos had entered the room. The King was awake and he was here.

The banquet hall wasn’t full, but it was hardly empty. Trey sat up in his seat and saw the other diners, servants and guards mainly, turn their heads towards the door.

A King stood in the doorway. He wore no crown, and he didn’t carry a scepter. The sword at his belt looked plain, and Trey knew it was normal steel. But he was nonetheless, unmistakably, a King.

And you could feel his presence in the air. Trey stood up. Most of the people in the room did as Flos strode towards them. Men and women were already flocking towards him, one carrying a platter with food, another a drink.

“Good morning to you all.”

Flos’ voice was deep and commanding, like a King’s voice should be. Where it differed from Trey’s image of a King was how…normal it sounded. Flos seldom spoke like a posh aristocrat—Trey had never heard him say ‘thee’ or ‘thou’ and he didn’t tend to make grand speeches either. Still, he made Trey’s heart race the instant his eyes fell on the young man.

It was rather like standing next to a power pylon, or so Trey imagined. When Flos was in the room, it was as if your body was filled with a crackling energy. It was impossible to simply lounge about or ignore him. If you were looking at something on the opposite side of the room, your eyes would eventually wander over to him.

“Trey, Teres. Have you eaten?”

If the first words Flos had spoken were for his subjects, it was notable that the second words from his mouth were for the twins. Trey and Teres automatically bowed as one. Teres was wearing trousers, and so curtsying would only make Flos laugh.

“We have, your majesty.”

“Good. Then I shall eat as we walk. I have risen late, but I intend to do as much as possible before resting. With me.”

That was all he needed to say. Trey’s legs started moving. He walked on Flos’ left, with Teres next to him. Flos accepted the steaming food from the platter with a word of thanks for the beaming woman who had served it to him, and took the mug with his other hand.

“My thanks to you all.”

That was all he said to the men and women gathered there. That, and a nod. But it seemed that was all they needed. The people bowed or called out greetings, and then Flos had left the banquet hall and was striding down the hallways of his palace, the twins hurrying to keep up.

That was how it happened. Every day. Somehow, it never occurred to Trey or Teres to object. Flos beckoned, or just walked and they followed. Some days Trey felt like a bit of metal following a magnet.

“Is there anything you have to tell me?”

That was usually the second question Flos asked them each day. He was always curious whether Trey or Teres had remembered some tidbit from their world, or if they had found something objectionable or startling in his absence. Trey had gotten used to the question by now and no longer wracked his brains for a response. Honesty was best with Flos. Actually, it was harder to lie to him than simply tell the truth.

“No, your majesty.”

“And you, Teres?”

“No, sire.”

“Well then, let us find my vassals, if they do not find me first.”

Flos laughed and took a bite from the sandwich in his hands. It wasn’t quite a sandwich, actually. It was more of a collection of bacon adorned with two pieces of dark rye bread added to make holding it more convenient. It didn’t have any brown sauce, which both Trey and Teres considered a capital crime. But Flos seemed happy enough to eat it.

The bacon roll was still steaming, and though Trey had eaten, his stomach rumbled a bit as Flos chewed his meal, making comforted sounds and sipping from his mug.

He was done with his food in less than thirty seconds, despite the bacon sandwich being big enough to have filled Trey’s stomach and half of Teres’. He drained the mug and handed it to a man who was waiting for that very moment. The servant hurried away with it as Flos grinned at the twins.

“Ah, there is nothing better to start the morning with. Eating food while walking. What a wonderful invention. And convenient! I have eaten on the march before, but this—I enjoy this. What did you call it?”

“A bacon roll. Uh, sire.”

There was something criminal about feeding bacon rolls to a King, Trey felt. Though it was a traditional food, it was just—odd. But Flos had insisted on trying it the moment he’d heard about fast food and walking while you ate. He’d enjoyed it so much that bacon rolls and other walk-as-you-eat foods had become a permanent part of the castle’s served foods.

Flos dusted crumbs from his clothing and turned his head. Trey turned to look too, and saw a man he had grown to know quite well walking quickly down the hall towards him.

The tall man wearing dark clothing was named Orthenon. He was Flos’ steward, which meant he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He was tall, gaunt, and he was very graceful. Trey felt Teres miss a step next to him. She had a crush on Orthenon, Trey knew. He just admired the man; there was something about him that spoke of flawless competence to Trey.

“Orthenon. Greetings. Have you broken your fast? I have had another one of those bacon rolls. You should have one too.”

Flos greeted Orthenon, and the man fell into step next to his King without missing a beat.

“I have eaten, my lord. And those sandwiches are not to my taste.”

“A pity. Ah, there you two are!”

Two other people were striding down the hallway towards Flos. On opposite sides of the hallway. Servants were forced to funnel down the middle; they certainly weren’t about to get in the way of the woman wearing brown armor, a two-handed sword strapped to her back, or the other woman, a sword and shield at her side.

“Gazi. Mars.”

Flos called out and the two bowed to him as they took places behind their King. Trey shifted as he saw Mars smile at him and one of Gazi’s four eyes turn to stare at him and Teres.

He didn’t know what to make of these two. One of them, Gazi, wasn’t human. She was obviously not Human. Not that Trey minded non-Humans that much—he had liked Takhatres a lot. But Gazi…no.

If there was anything to keep your back straight, it was having Gazi standing behind you. She made no sound as she walked behind Trey and Teres, although she was wearing her brown scale armor, but they knew she was there.

She was distracting, even with Flos nearby. Where Gazi was unnatural because of her five eyes, her orange-brown skin, four fingers, and disconcerting way of looking through you, Mars was distracting because of how perfect she was.

She had flawless skin, pale as a moonbeam, and red curling locks that ran down her shoulders. She also had huge breasts. Trey tried to avoid looking at those, but they were…

Significant. Mars also moved like a dancer, and as she walked by Flos, her melodic voice did complicated things to Trey’s insides.

“Have you slept well, my King?”

“Blissfully, Mars. It was a shame to wake. But I have slept long enough. Tell me, what news is there?”

The three servants of Flos took turns speaking as Trey and Teres walked silently beside Flos, listening, watching servants get out of the way and people turn to stare at their King.

It was like this every day. That didn’t make it any less incredible to Trey, though. The instant Flos woke up, he was surrounded by people. Yet he dealt with them all as if he were completely used to being at the center of the world. That was what it was like being a [King], Trey supposed.

“Work on the eastern wall is going well. We’re fixing all the temporary gaps one at a time. It could be going faster, but we don’t have enough skilled [Builders] and [Craftsmen], let alone [Stonemasons].”

“How long until we can call all the walls secure?”

“Four days and we could fight off an army of three times our numbers with enough arrows and mages.”

“Good. Orthenon, what news?”

The gaunt man nodded.

“I have located two more of your vassals. Again, they are in mercenary companies, one in Baleros.”

“Far from home.”

Flos sighed. Teres saw Orthenon nod calmly.

“I have had mage [Message] spells sent, but as always, I had to encode my words and send them from another city. It will take time to reach them, if the messages are not intercepted on the way.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger nonsense?”

Mars scowled at Orthenon, her hand on her sword.

“The world will know our lord has awoken soon enough. Why not shout it now and let our allies come to us, rather than play games of secrets like some Terandrian [Lord]?”

“It is prudent. We do not have the forces to resist a combined assault from multiple armies at present. Besides, if word spreads that the King of Destruction has awoken, some of our allies will be attacked by enemies. We must alert them as quickly and as covertly as possible.”

Orthenon turned to look at Mars, unruffled by her ire. The woman shrugged. She was a [Vanguard], Trey knew. A powerful warrior class, and her nickname was Mars the Illusionist. And…that was all he knew about her, really.

“Fine. But it seems strange to me that the world doesn’t know our lord has awoken already.”

“It would be difficult for most to know. Orthenon has kept a lock on word spreading, and it is hardly knowledge most wish the people to know. Most likely all the powerful leaders of nations know, and perhaps groups like the mages of Wistram or traders of Roshal have found out. But the world? No.”

Gazi’s voice was soft, but all heads turned to listen to her when she spoke. Flos nodded, looking pensive.

“Word of my return is a weapon in itself. I fear that my vassals and allies will be attacked regardless of the measures Orthenon takes. But I will leave it to him to decide what is best. Now, Gazi. What of Takhatres?”

The half-Gazer smiled lazily as all eyes turned to her again. Trey felt Teres shudder a bit as Gazi’s lips moved up. It was a smile, but as Teres has pointed out to Trey, there was nothing really nice about it. The only time Gazi ever actually looked affectionate was when she looked at her King. And even then, she was scary.

“He sends word that he has reached his tribe, and they have begun crossing the desert. I believe they will begin striking at the holding of the Emperor of Sands within three days or less.”

“Good.”

Flos looked like he had more to say, but he didn’t say it. Trey saw Mars, Gazi, and Orthenon all glance at their King, and then at each other. He wanted to ask the question in his chest, but he didn’t dare speak. The presence of the people around him was overwhelming.

“Well then, I will visit this wall, and then hear what else ails my people.”

The King nodded to himself as he turned left down a corridor. He looked down towards Trey and Teresa, and they both stiffened.

“Trey, Teres. I believe it would be best if you two learned more about the continent today. Orthenon, please take some time out of your day to teach them. After that…Mars, if you would, find out if either has the aptitude with weapons.”

“At last!”

The armored woman laughed as the twins exchanged a glance. Today was the day? Flos had been hinting—Trey raised his voice because he knew Teres would never dare to speak.

“Are we—are we going to learn how to fight? Your majesty? What will we be doing?”

“I told you on the day I accepted your service that I would have you follow me into battle and across the seas. If you have the aptitude for arms, it is best you learn from Mars how to fight. If not…I will find another teacher for you.”

Flos nodded to Orthenon. The man stepped away from his King, bowing, and then beckoned to Trey and Teres.

“This way, you two. I will instruct you for an hour and then give you over to Mars.”

“Meet me in the training grounds when you’re done! Don’t fear—I won’t break either of you two!”

Mars laughed loudly as Trey and Teres followed Orthenon away. The tall man glanced down at the two, and slowed a bit; both twins’ legs hurt from trying to keep up with Flos’ long stride.

“I noted your confused faces earlier. Ask me your question.”

Trey gulped, but it was Teres who spoke before him. She was quiet and shy around everyone except Flos and Orthenon. Flos, because it was impossible to stay silent when he asked a question and Orthenon because she liked him.

“Will Lord Takhatres be alright, fighting against the Emperor of Sands by himself?”

Trey nodded. As always, Teres had had the same thought as him. Orthenon sighed.

“A complicated question. Come with me.”

He strode down the hallways, briskly talking to the people who hurried up to him, so that there was a steady stream of people moving towards and away from him. That was the thing. Flos might be King, but Orthenon was the one everyone went to for instructions.

“If you need more wood, check in the storerooms near the dungeons. There might be wood there, but be careful to distinguish between the firewood and usable timber. If there is not enough, return to me. See Master Invac for help lifting—he has bodies to spare for an hour or two. Find five people with tracking skills and locate the source of that nest. Exterminate any rats living within and burn the remains.”

He turned into a room and the twins followed him in. Orthenon stood in front of a large map, adorned with markings for cities and towns, and border lines and the geography of the continent.

“Here we are. Before I answer your questions—a test. Point to me our location, Trey.”

The boy hesitated. He squinted at the map, and pointed. The continent of Chandrar was a rather lumpy rectangle, with elements of oval in his eyes. The kingdom that was the King of Destruction’s home was named Reim, and it was a small dot on the northeast quadrant of the map, closer to the border than it was to the center.

Desert and the dry, faded dust coloring indicating arid land surrounded Reim, as well as the large area around it. That was most of Chandrar, actually. While there were green patches to the southwest and along the coasts, most of Chandrar was one big dry place. With lots of deserts.

The lone bits of color actually came from markings that denoted oases or other bodies of water. They were almost invariably located next to a city, and Reim had its own small flush of green that indicated the deep underground streams from which they drew their water.

Orthenon nodded in approval and Trey felt relieved. It wasn’t that Orthenon was a strict teacher; he was, but it was that he demanded perfect understanding. If you made a mistake, he would go over it again with you in exacting detail, and question you on that very thing the next time you met.

“Very good. We are here. While the Emperor of Sands is—Teresa?”

He also called Teresa by her full name, which she normally hated. But Teres never made a complaint to him. The girl pointed without hesitation to a large section of the map, ostensibly a collection of nations by their borders, almost directly west of their position.

“Correct. This map is outdated of course—but the nations from here to here are where the Emperor of Sands has expanded his empire in the last eight years.”

Orthenon traced his fingers over a vast stretch of land, from the cast to the edge of a massive desert. He pointed that out to the twins.

“The one thing that has stopped his expansion is the desert. Marching an army across the Zeikhal desert is dangerous, and I believe the Emperor of Sands wishes to consolidate his hold over the west before expanding. He may eschew crossing the desert and conquer his way north and south to avoid it.”

Trey nodded as he saw Orthenon trace possible routes that avoided the massive Zeikhal desert. As far as Trey understood the world, it was vast. He had never been good at geography, but Teres told him that the Zeikhal desert was probably twice as large as the Sahara in total. He couldn’t imagine that.

“So Takhatres is crossing that? Isn’t that…bad?”

Trey felt like an idiot for asking the obvious, but he didn’t understand.

“Not to his tribe.”

Orthenon smiled at Trey. Perhaps it had been a good question after all? The man showed Trey where Takhatres had been.

“His tribe is nomadic, and used to crossing the deserts. Moreover, they move quickly. They can skirt the outer regions and make use of oases. They will be fine. But as to your main question—Takhatres believes, as do I, that he can attack the Emperor of Sands without being cornered by his armies.”

“So he’s going to fight a guerilla war.”

The tall man paused. He always seemed a bit surprised when Trey and Teres knew something without him explaining, for all that he knew they were from another world.

“Correct. He will raid villages, destroy cities—and attack any army he believes he can rout with few casualties. He is adept at such maneuvers.”

“But the Emperor will send armies after him, right? He wouldn’t just ignore that.”

“True. But Takhatres’ people, the Garuda, are known for their speed. Flying and hiding, they could easily escape most pursuit. And there is another factor to consider. Takhatres’ tribe is far superior to any one conventional army. With him leading them, they could fight two armies at once. Catching him will be no easy matter and will occupy the Emperor of Sands for a long period of time. And while that is so…”

“We’ll attack?”

It was strange, saying we. But Orthenon nodded as if it were only natural to include them.

“In theory. I have advised my King—and would like you to do the same if he thinks otherwise—of striking nearby nations first. We must recover strength before doing battle with a vast empire.”

“But we are at war, aren’t we? Flos—I mean, King Flos said—”

“Oh yes.”

Orthenon’s voice was quiet as he traced the lands of the Emperor of Sands. He did not look so friendly then.

“We are at war. But we must be prudent and sensible in a war of vengeance. We must gather our strength, and my lord Flos knows this.”

“Is that why he hasn’t left yet?”

Trey blurted the words out before he could think twice about saying them. He’d been wondering—Teres had been wondering that very thing for days now. Ever since Flos had declared it.

The [Steward] paused, and looked at the twins. He seemed conflicted. When he spoke, it was not with his usual surety.

“I—believe so. I do not have to tell you what the Emperor of Sands did was unforgivable. There will be no peace until he and his entire empire is brought to justice. But as to my King—you are right. I would expect him to ride forth, regardless of the danger. I was prepared to stop him, but he—”

“Why didn’t he go?”

Orthenon had no answer. He looked back at the map.

“Perhaps it is caution that stays his hand. A King must think of his realm, and it is dangerous to go forth without preparation. That is what I believe.”

“The city is being repaired quickly. I should think it would only be a month before everything’s repaired.”

“Yes. A month. Perhaps sooner, if all continues to go well.”

Orthenon nodded in agreement, but he looked troubled as he did. Trey exchanged a glance with Teres, and they had the same thought.

“What will we be doing?”

Orthenon paused.

“You will accompany my King, and assist him as you are able. For now, I believe you will simply follow and observe. Your…presence matters to my lord Flos. Just by being by his side, you fulfill your roles.”

“Is that all?”

Teres stared at the man. Orthenon shook his head.

“Your duties are unclear as of yet. But you must have faith in your [King].”

He stared at the twins. The twins stared back, waiting for more. But that was all there was to it. After a moment Orthenon turned back to the map.

“Enough. I am here to teach you, and so I shall. We have little time left in any case. I taught you of the peoples of Chandrar, did I not? Teres, repeat for me the native inhabitants of this continent and their specialties. Trey, you will point out where they live on the map as she does…”

 

—-

 

“Caution? Hah! That is an answer Orthenon would give. But it’s not why my lord hasn’t ridden off already.”

Mars was the second stop for the twins that day. She stood in the dusty training grounds as men and women sparred or trained by themselves. She was wearing a light, elegant tunic, unarmored save for the shield in one hand and sword in the other.

It was a sight to behold Mars the Illusionist. She looked like a champion out of stories, and she was one. But Trey had a hard time staring at her face. Perhaps it was the lack of armor, but he couldn’t help staring at her bare chest.

At her breasts. They were large. Trey stared at them, realized he was staring, and looked at Mars’ face, flushing. But every so often his eyes would slide back down. He couldn’t help it, even when Teres kicked him in the side.

Mars laughed at Trey when she noticed, which made him turn bright red.

“Don’t stare so, Trey. If your eyes aren’t on my sword, you’ll live to regret it. Now, I’m told neither of you has held a sword before, true?”

The two nodded. Trey gingerly eyed the two swords Mars had planted in the ground. They weren’t sharp, at least, he didn’t think so, but they weren’t exactly blunt either.

“Go on, take one each. I’ll test you with axes and other arms, but swords are what I know.”

The two twins gingerly took hold of a sword each. Trey pulled his from the ground with some effort. He was surprised that the sword wasn’t that heavy—he vaguely remembered hearing they were supposed to be hard to lift.

Teres frowned at her blade. She whispered to Trey as she showed him how easy it was for her to lift it.

“I thought swords were really heavy.”

“Heavy? Hah! What good is a heavy sword?”

Mars had heard them. She smiled as she showed them how to grip the swords properly in their hands.

“A sword has to be light and useful. You won’t see many swords heavier than five pounds, not unless you’re fighting a Minotaur or someone who specializes in such things. Like warhammers, I suppose. What, do you two fancy using one of those?”

“No…”

Trey went stiff as Mars went behind him to correct his posture. Teres was glaring at him, but Mars ignored Trey’s awkwardness.

“Alright then, try and strike me.”

“You? But you’re not wearing any armor!”

“And if I was, you’d still not hit me. I have a shield and a sword. And I’m a [Vanguard]—if you two could touch me with a sword, I’d run myself through in an instant. Or ask what level you two are.”

Mars laughed as she beckoned Trey and Teres to strike at her. They did, gingerly, and then with more and more vigour as they realized they really couldn’t hit her. Even with Trey on one side and Teres on the other. Even when they timed their attacks at the same time.

Six minutes later, Mars was standing without a scratch on her, and some of the people in the training grounds were laughing at Trey and Teres, who could barely lift their arms. The female warrior had flawlessly blocked or parried or simply dodged every thrust and strike they’d made.

“Not bad. Perhaps you two might be cut out for the [Warrior] class. For now, let’s switch to another weapon. Come on, lift those arms. We can talk when you’re done.”

When they were done and lying on the ground, Mars sat with them, letting the two gulp water as she spoke.

“I don’t know why my King hasn’t ordered me to war. But I think it’s because he’s waiting until he is ready for it.”

“Ready?”

Trey raised his head, trying not to gulp water down and throw up. Again. Mars nodded, looking pensive.

“I haven’t seen him on the training grounds. And my lord Flos was never one to shirk practice. It has been ten years, and perhaps he wishes to regain his skill before he rides out. A [King] must be strong, to lead his armies.”

“Shouldn’t the King stay at the back? I mean, it’s dangerous, right?”

Mars turned and smiled at Trey.

“Not him. My lord Flos has always lead the charge. When you see him on the battlefield, you will know. Have faith. He will order us to battle soon, and then you’ll see why I’m one of the Seven.”

“But what will we do?”

Trey asked pensively. Mars shrugged.

“Whatever he asks of you. You are sworn to him, as am I. We are companions, in that sense. We are the swords of our lord. When he calls, we must be ready.”

She smiled then, and the twins found they couldn’t ask her anything else. They left the training grounds, unsure of what to make of what they’d been told. Trey and Teres stumbled down the corridors, massaging their sore arms.

“She always seems so loud. And happy.”

Trey confided in Teres as they walked. She turned and glared at him.

“Pervert.”

“What?”

He stared at her. She glared. He slowly flushed.

“I couldn’t help it!”

“So could! You’re disgusting!”

“I’m not!”

“Are too!”

As the two began to argue, they started to lapse into a way of speaking unique to the two of them. Teres and Trey knew each other so well, they could complete each other sentences at times. So they didn’t bother to finish theirs when speaking with each other.

“Not my fault—”

“Eyes up here! You’re as blatant as—”

“Shut it! You don’t understand—”

“Dog’s bollocks I don’t. Just because I don’t have a thing swinging down—”

“Shut up!”

You shut up! Besides…they’re fake.”

“What?”

Trey paused. Teres nodded.

“They’re fake. I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know? Did you touch—”

She glared at him.

“No, but they don’t move right.”

“How can you tell—”

“I’m a girl! I know how they’re supposed to move.”

“Oh. Right.”

Trey thought about this as they walked down the corridor. He thought of Mars. Then his mental image focused, as it were.

“They’re really fake?”

“Yep.”

Teres nodded decisively. Trey sighed.

“Aw.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Pillock.”

This might have started another fight, but a low voice interrupted the two.

“Your King awaits you.”

Trey turned, and promptly forgot every other part of the female body. Four eyes were staring at him, and a mouth full of sharp teeth was curved up. It was…reminiscent of a smile.

Gazi the Omniscient, or Lady Pathseeker, or the half-Gazer that terrified the piss out of Trey and Teres, smiled at the twins as they froze up in the hall. She smiled wider.

“He is in his room. Hurry or you will make him wait.”

“We—we will, Lady Gazi. Thank you for telling us.”

“He asked me to.”

Gazi said it simply. She stared at Trey and Teres. They stared back. They had four eyes between them, but since Gazi had four eyes as well it was an equal staring contest. Trey’s gaze was fixed on the center of Gazi’s face.

She had one central eye and four peripheral ones. And virtually no nose. But Trey had never seen her central eye—it was injured. Apparently, a girl from his world had actually poked it out. Trey had no idea who would dare to do that—he wondered what kind of maniac would even try.

“Well?”

Gazi’s words made the two twins start walking. But to their extreme dissatisfaction she walked with them.

Neither one of them understood Gazi. She was a hero in the eyes of the people of Reim, and Flos and his vassals treated her with respect. But Trey knew that Orthenon didn’t exactly like Gazi, and he was sure that she and Mars didn’t get along. Only…he didn’t know what Gazi really did.

Orthenon managed things. Mars fought in the army. But Gazi…she was a [Scout], but why would a [Scout] be one of the King’s Seven?

“Um, Lady Gazi.”

“Yes?”

The half-Gazer turned to look at Trey, still smiling. The saliva dried up in Trey’s mouth. Oh yes, there was one more thing. He was quite sure that Gazi didn’t like how close he and Teres were to Flos.

But he had to ask. He’d asked Mars and Orthenon, so Trey forced his mouth to work.

“Do you…know why King Flos hasn’t ordered us to war yet? I mean, he’s not even assembled the army.”

Gazi’s smile vanished. She stared at him with one of her eyes as the other one fixed on Teres and two more looked ahead and behind her. Trey shuddered as the fourth eye rolled back in its socket. When Gazi spoke, it was calmly.

“I do not know.”

“You don’t?”

The twins stared at her. Gazi shrugged slightly, the rust-brown scale armor moving smoothly with her shoulders.

“I do not pretend to understand my lord’s thoughts. He is a mystery to me, no matter how often I have watched his actions. If you wish to know his thoughts, you must listen to his words, not any others.”

“Except he never explains anything.”

Teres said that with an uncharacteristic scowl. Trey glanced at her and saw his sister’s face was set, and her eyes were flashing with annoyance. He privately understood her feelings; they were being shuffled around again, like every day, really. Flos told them what to do, and they did it, usually without even thinking to ask why or argue. He didn’t like it, but Trey felt strongly about voicing his objections in Gazi’s presence. Because she might object. Strongly.

“If my lord has no answers for you, perhaps it is because you have never asked. You have a chance now. Here we are.”

She halted. Trey realized they’d come to Flos’ door. Gazi smiled and turned. Had she just wanted to walk them over? She whispered to them before she left.

“But if you are to ask him…do it now. I have waited a long time for my lord to awaken. And I do not like waiting longer.”

She left, and Trey looked into Teres’ pale face. He didn’t know if that was a threat, a warning, or just her way of encouraging him. But he did know one thing, and that was that he never wanted to meet a full Gazer if they were all like Gazi.

Trey knocked on Flos’ door. He heard a booming voice at once.

“Enter.”

The twins cautiously opened the door, knowing that the eyes of the other servants in the hall were fixed covetously on their backs. As personal servants to the King, Trey and Teres had some invisible ranking that put them just below the King’s Seven in the eyes of the servants. As children, or at least, not full adults, they were also constantly instructed by everyone to be on their best behavior to the King, and their actions were monitored by everyone in the palace.

“So. Have you learned much from Mars and Orthenon?”

Flos turned from his dresser. Trey and Teres jumped. It was she who replied as he stared around Flos’ room. He had never been in here. The room was grand and plain. Grand because everything in it was meant for a king. Plain, because there were no paintings on the wall, no decorations—just a dresser, a closet, a bed and Flos himself. It did not look like the room that had been lived in for ten years.

“We learned more about other continents, my King. And Mars tested our ability to fight. She says we might make decent warriors if we practice at it.”

“Good. I am not certain that is the best class for the two of you to take, but it is worth considering if you have the aptitude.”

Flos sighed as he regarded the twins. He didn’t look tired, but he did look…less intense than normal. That was unusual, because it was only midday and Trey had known Flos to work late into the night and rise hours later with energy to spare.

“Is everything alright, my…liege?”

The [King] waved a huge hand at Trey.

“When we are not in a public setting you need not address me with titles. Actually…you need not address me so in a public setting either. I have told my Seven and Orthenon the same, but they refuse to listen. But in your world, it is not common to speak to others in such a way, is it?”

“Yeah, but we don’t speak to the Queen.”

Trey pointed that out. Flos smiled.

“But your Queen should have those who speak to her as a person, not as a monarch. It is not always pleasant, to be a [King] at all times.”

He sighed, and turned back to his dresser, picking something up. Trey saw Flos turn back with a broach in his hands, a bright yellow gem set with violet ones around the gold rim.

“Perhaps that is why I keep the two of you close. Disregarding your knowledge of your world…I crave those who will treat me not as a King, but as something else. What, I do not know. Regardless. Tell me, have you often ventured outside my palace walls?”

“No.”

The two chorused as once. Teres clarified.

“We don’t often go out. But we’ve walked through the city a few times.”

There wasn’t actually much to see. There was lots to do, and so they’d accompanied Flos in rebuilding a house, or seeing to some minor emergency or other. But the people had flocked around him. In the times when he wasn’t there, people were always busy. It was just crumbling buildings and worn down stone as far as Trey was concerned.

“Well, I suppose today will be instructive. You see, Teres, Trey, I desire something of you.”

“Yes, my l—”

Trey bit his tongue. Flos shook his head.

“You see? Already you are so much like the others. But it occurs to me that I am missing something dearly.”

“What’s that?”

“Honesty. Clarity. Someone who will treat me as a friend, a man, a nuisance. Not as a [King]. From you two, I ask it; and I will have it from my people today, one way or the other. I have had such relationships few times before. But it was that honesty I needed. Isn’t that right, old friend?”

Trey had no idea who Flos was talking to. But then the [King] moved and Teres screamed.

There was a head sitting on Flos’ dresser. A head, encased in ice. It was one Trey recognized. His stomach threatened to empty itself as he stared into the bitter expression of the Architect, one of the King’s Seven.

Drevish.

Teres’ scream hadn’t gone unheard. Almost faster than thought, there was someone pounding on Flos’ door.

“My King?”

“All is well.”

Flos stepped towards the door and opened it. Trey heard him reassuring whomever was outside in the background. His eyes were fixed on the block of ice. He kept staring until someone blocked it from view. Flos.

“I did not mean to startle you. I apologize. I had forgotten such sights were not common in your world.”

He spoke gently to Trey and Teres, with a hint of chagrin in his voice. The two stared at him. Teres lifted a shaking finger.

“Why—why do you have—”

“Why didn’t it melt?”

That was Trey’s question. Flos turned and stared at Drevish’s head.

“It was a simple preservation spell for the ice. As to the head…I kept it as a reminder. Of my fallen companion. Of the man I knew. Of my failure. And as a promise.”

“Promise?”

Trey’s voice was faint. Flos turned and nodded.

“I promised Drevish to build a city like none the world had ever seen. In my kingdom. I told him that it would be his plans by which every brick was laid and every house built. That was my vow to him. And I have not kept it. He did not live to see it, but perhaps…”

“You’re going to show it? To his head?”

Teres’ voice was a horrified whisper. Flos nodded gravely. It made a terrible kind of sense to Trey, but his sister was pale and swaying.

“It is all I can offer him. When I show him my kingdom, then perhaps my conscience—”

“No.”

Trey felt a shock. But the word didn’t come from him. It came from Teres. She was staring at the block of ice with Drevish’s head. Flos was surprised too. He stared at Teres.

“What do you mean?”

“No. You can’t let him stay like this. You have to bury him.”

Both Trey and Flos stared at her. There were tears in Teres’ eyes. She looked at Flos, angrily.

“You can’t keep his head like this. Not frozen. Not—you can’t do it. You have to bury his head.”

The [King] froze. Trey froze. He had never heard Teres use that tone in Flos’ palace. He had never heard anyone use that tone with Flos, either. The King’s head bowed. He turned and stared down at the block of ice. His voice was low as he replied.

“He is my vassal. I owe him this.”

“It’s wrong.

Trey looked at Teres. She stood with her fists clenched, staring at the [King]’s back. Trey reached out—to stop her?—but she knocked his hand away.

“It may seem odd to one from another world like you, but it is how I honor my sworn companion. Drevish would understand—”

No. I know it’s wrong. Trey knows it’s wrong. Anyone would know that! Ask Orthenon, ask Mars or Gazi—”

Teres voice was pleading. She was trying to make Flos understand, but the [King]’s head didn’t move.

“Don’t keep him in this room. Don’t make him stay here. Let him sleep!”

She raised her voice and nearly shouted that last bit. Trey was petrified. As Flos’ back turned, he saw an expression he had only seen once before on the [King]’s face.

Anger.

“This is not a matter on which I will change my mind. I failed Drevish. This is his last memory. Here!”

Flos gestured at the head angrily.

“I will not forsake him again. I abandoned him once, and he paid with his life for it. I will not bury his memory and turn away from it as I have so much before. This conversation is over. You two—leave. Seek out Orthenon until I call for you again.”

He made to walk towards his door. But Teres barred his path.

“You can’t do it. You have to let him go. He deserves better than this!”

Trey’s breath was gone. He gaped at his sister. Flos’ brows shot together.

“No. Move out of my way.”

“I won’t.”

Teres was shaking. She pointed at the block of ice.

“You’re keeping him—just like he was when he died! Bury him! It’s disrespectful. And he deserves rest!”

Rest. That word rang true to Trey. He stared at Drevish’s head. It was preserved, so that he could be by his king’s side even in death. Whether he liked it or not. Just like…Trey. And Teres.

Flos’ voice was very quiet.

“Do not talk to me about disrespect. I was not the one who killed him. I was not the one who froze him.”

“But you’re the one who’s keeping him this way.”

Flos’ head turned and Trey realized he was the one who spoke. The [King] stared at the two twins.

“Begone from my sight.”

It was a command. Trey’s legs moved him towards the door. But Teres stayed where she was. She clenched her fists. She was shaking with emotion. There were tears in her eyes.

And there was something in Trey’s heart too. Something that made him stop, despite the urge to listen to the [King]. His King? Yes. No! A King, but not one Trey had ever sworn allegiance to. A King, but one who had made Trey and Teres his servants against their will. A King, yes.

But not a God.

Trey looked back over his shoulder, and saw a man. Flos towered over Teres, but he was a man. Not just a [King]. And she stood in his way. Because it was right.

Slowly, Trey turned back. He walked over to Teres, and stood in front of Flos. The man stared down at them, unable to believe his eyes.

“I told you to move.”

Again, Trey felt the urge to move, but he didn’t. Flos was a [King]. Trey was serving him. He had to—

But he was wrong. And someone had to say it. Trey opened his mouth.

“No. It’s wrong.”

He stared into two burning eyes. There was fury there, uncontained.

“I gave you an order. Are you disobeying your [King]?”

“We’re not your subjects! We never asked to be!”

Standing next to him, Teresa screamed at Flos. She gave vent to the feeling the twins had felt this entire time. She pointed at him.

“You’re the one who decided everything! Well, we’re sick of it! You want us to tell you what we think? We think you’re wrong! And you can just live with that!”

She stood next to Trey, shaking with anger. And he remembered, dimly, that it was always Teres who started fights. When the twins got angry, she was the one who popped her lid first. He stared at his twin sister with horrified admiration as she finished shouting at the King of Destruction in his own bedroom.

“No matter what you say, we won’t change our minds, you—you bloody twit!

Trey heard ringing in his ears. Teres’ voice echoed through Flos’ chambers, and then there was silence. Dead silence. Trey stared up at the King of Destruction and saw him staring down.

This was where he died. Trey waited for wrath and fury, but heard nothing. He chanced another peek up, and saw something strange.

Flos’ face had changed. There was no anger there any longer, but rather another emotion. It looked like amusement, but there was something else there. Trey had seen Flos laugh many times before, but this was different.

It was amusement and joy. And nostalgia. It was rueful, melancholic. And it was there for an instant, before Flos turned away.

“Oh Drevish, would that you could have been here. Would you have laughed, or told me I was a fool?”

He walked back, away from the twins. Slowly, Flos bent and picked up the block of ice. It did not melt in his hands as he stared down at the man’s head. His friend’s head. When he turned back to the twins, there were tears in his eyes.

A King wept. Unabashedly, his eyes overflowed as he held his friend and stared into his eyes.

“You are right.”

He said that to Teres, and then to Trey.

“You are right. I—I have asked so much of my vassal, my companion over the long years. So much, and yet in death I ask more. To wait for so long…it would be far kinder to let him rest. It was my selfishness that demanded he watch over me even now.”

He turned away from the two. Flos stared down at the block of ice and then bent. He kissed the ice over Drevish’s brow.

“Sleep, old friend. I am sorry. It has been far too long since you treated me like a fool. Somehow, I had forgotten what it felt like to be one. But these two can speak the truth to me in your absence. So rest.”

He turned and placed the head back on the dresser, only this time faced away from the room. Teres opened her mouth, but Flos turned and forestalled her.

“I will bury him later. Tonight, in private. Now is not the time.”

Slowly, the girl closed her mouth. Flos looked at the two of them, and laughed. It was not the laugh of a [King]. It was man’s laugh, shaky, and rueful. With a hint of tears.

“I asked you to speak the truth to me, and seconds later demanded you do the opposite. A fool should not do so, let alone a [King]. I apologize to you Teres, and to you, Trey. I am only grateful you could speak the truth to me.”

He bowed his head to them. The twins stood as a [King] and a man bowed to them and neither knew what to say. When Flos had raised his head again, Trey found his voice.

“Your majesty…”

“Flos.”

Teres said that. Trey looked at her, and then at Flos.

“Why haven’t you gone to war? Why are we here?”

Flos looked at them and sighed.

“Because I am hesitating. Because I fear war. Because…perhaps I lack the stomach for it, after all these years.”

They stared at him. The King of Destruction. He smiled at them, looking haggard, weighed down by something they couldn’t name. He raised his hand, and touched the sparkling broach.

“Perhaps you do not understand. I was never good at explaining such things. Well, I can show you.”

He gestured to the door.

“Follow me, my friends. You two deserve to follow. I am a [King], but I need someone to tell me I am a fool. So come and let me look upon my faded kingdom. At last, let me have the courage to see the cost of my folly.”

He turned and led the twins out the door. And they followed, swept up in his wake as before. But there was something different this time. Trey and Teresa followed Flos, the King of Destruction. But the back they saw belonged to a man.

Just a man. Carrying the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. And as he walked, Trey wondered. He wondered if Flos had ever had a friend. Perhaps Drevish had been one. Not a vassal, but a friend. Perhaps he had been, perhaps not.

His head sat frozen in his room, a grim reminder of the past. And that would never change. But the ice would melt. The head would vanish from the room, and time would move on. For the King had lost one of his Seven, but gained something else. Two friends, perhaps. Maybe that was what it was.

And he was awake. Awake. The King of Destruction was awake at last.

And the world would know what that meant soon enough.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.01 K

Trey followed Flos out into the corridor. He walked seven steps, then felt someone grab his tunic from behind.

“Wait a second. Don’t follow him.”

“Teres! What are you—”

His sister pulled the startled Trey back into Flos’ room. Then Teres shut the door. Trey stared at her in disbelief.

“Teres! What are you doing?”

“I’m staying here. I’m not haring off this time without knowing what’s going on.”

“Yeah, but he—but—”

Trey stared at the door. Flos had been striding down the corridor. What would happen when he noticed the twins were gone? Would he notice they were gone?

But there was no arguing with his sister. Trey knew it just by looking at Teres’ face. Her jaw was set. Teres was still breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed from her earlier outburst.

“I think he’s going to be pretty cross when he realizes we’re gone. We’re supposed to follow him everywhere, remember?”

“Well I’m bloody tired of it. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

Trey gave up. He agreed with his twin sister. He just wasn’t sure being rude to a King’s face was the best way to go about it.

Resigned, he stared around Flos’ room while Teres crossed her arms and stared at the door. There wasn’t much in the bedroom at all. Except for the head—Trey hurriedly averted his gaze, relieved it was facing the wall—he couldn’t spot anything remotely interesting. Besides the dresser, there was a wall closet, and a door that led out onto a balcony. But no objects of note. None whatsoever.

Well, there was an empty scabbard propped up against one wall. It was like a footnote, especially since the sword it belonged to was nowhere to be seen. Trey stared at it. That wasn’t the same scabbard Flos wore at his side. This one looked fancy, dark crimson and black leather or fabric capped by metal filigree at the tip. The metal looked like gold, and it shone dully the longer Trey stared at it.

He wondered where the sword had got to while he waited. Trey kept staring at the door. Would Flos notice? Or would he send someone to get them? He’d feel like a complete fool if he and Teres ended up staying here for hours.

One minute passed, then two. And then Trey heard footsteps, and Flos thrust open the doors to his room. He stared around, a confused and mildly miffed expression on his face. He caught sight of Trey and Teres and stopped.

First the King looked quizzical, and then his expression shifted to annoyed, and then amused once more. He smiled ruefully and chuckled before thrusting the door wider.

“What is it you two young lions object to this time? I asked you to follow. Honesty is one thing, but I do require a pair of legs so you may follow me about.”

“Will you explain what we’re doing first?”

Teres glared at Flos. He blinked at her, and then at Trey. The young man had crossed his arms to show solidarity with his sister.

“I am not used to explaining myself.”

“Well, we want to know.”

It was not witty repartee, but it worked. Flos laughed, and stroked his beard as he regarded the twins. He looked thoughtful, and happy again for some reason.

“Too long. Too long since I have heard dissent. Too long since I remembered—yes I will. I will explain myself. Thank you Teres.”

He turned and walked around the twins, towards one of the windows that looked out onto the city. Flos stared down at the streets and people below before turning his head.

“I am Flos. The King of Destruction.”

“We know tha—

Teres’ peeved voice shut off as Flos raised a hand. This time Trey felt his jaws clamp down, though he hadn’t tried to say anything. There was a difference in the way Flos spoke now. He was serious, quiet and thoughtful, as he spoke.

“You have heard of my legend, at least, part of it. Once I ruled over this continent, and sent my armies to the other continents of the world. Some may have said I was poised to create a kingdom that would last a thousand years. But at the moment when the world feared me most, I gave up my throne. I recalled my forces and let my kingdom fall to ruin. I slept. For ten long years, I slept.”

Trey had heard all of that before. But seeing the King’s face change, he felt like he understood far more. Flos’ face was bitter with regret.

“So I slept. The sleeping King of Destruction, sitting in his rotting kingdom as other nations picked apart my empire to pieces. My vassals scattered, and only Orthenon stayed by my side. Until I woke. Now my kingdom stirs, and my people rejoice. They say the King of Destruction has awoken, and that is true. However, that does not mean I am yet ready to act as a [King].”

He looked at the twins, something like pain in his eyes. That was a human expression, a mortal one. Not the look of a King. It was intimate, private. Perhaps not even the Seven had seen Flos look like this before.

“Ten years. I feel as though I am still sleeping some days, Teres, Trey. It is not as if I can begin again so easily, you see? I doubt myself. I fear I have forgotten how to be myself. And yet, I must be myself, and as sure as I have ever been. Because now I am awake, I owe it to my people not to disappoint their faith again. And yet—”

He sighed.

“Earlier I mentioned my fears. I fear what I must do next. You see, I am a specific kind of king. You know it is my class as well as my birthright, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The two twins nodded. Flos smiled unhappily.

“Ah, but do you know the secret of rulers? Not all [Kings] are the same. Those who sit upon thrones become different kinds of rulers. Some pursue peace, and their Skills and classes reflect that. Under their rule crops grow mightily, and their people rest under an aegis of protection. But not my people. No, my kingdom knows only one thing. War. I am a King who pursues war. It is in my nature, and when I act, it will be to lead my people into battle, not replenish the land or rebuild.”

A king who specialized in war. Trey released the breath he had held and asked the only question he could think of.

“Are you afraid of war?”

“War? No.”

Something shifted in Flos’ eyes. He smiled, and his gaze revealed something hungry and eager. And just as quickly it was gone, replaced by another, somber thing.

“I am not afraid of war. I do not fear battle. I long for it. But it is the cost I think of. I cannot shake the cost from my mind.”

The cost in bodies? Lives lost? Trey only half understood. Flos nodded back to the window.

“That is why I wish to listen to my people. To understand if they fear what I fear. I do not know. I must confess—that has never been one of my strengths. I can know the will of my people or hear their supplications from their lips, but I often fail to understand the why of it.”

“So what are we doing?”

Flos looked surprised as he stared at Teres.

“Listening. We will walk among my subjects and listen, today. It is time for it.”

Trey and Teres exchanged a glance.

“But…how can you listen if they know you’re there? Are you going to ask them?”

Flos blinked in surprise, and then smiled.

“No, we shall do it in secret. With this.”

He held up the broach in his hand. Trey stared at the yellow jewel embedded in the center, nonplussed. Flos stared at his confused audience and sighed again.

“Oh, I had forgotten you would not understand. I should activate this now, perhaps, so as not to surprise you. Very well, observe.”

He touched the broach and—changed. Before Trey and Teres’ astonished eyes, Flos turned from a King into—an ordinary fellow. Trey didn’t actually witness the change—one second Flos was there, and the next a slightly shorter, less impressive man stood in his place.

He didn’t have reddish gold hair, and his eyes were hazel. His belly had more flab and there were wrinkles in his face and grey mixed in with his dark hair. He didn’t look bad—but no one would ever confuse him with Flos.

Even his voice was different. It wasn’t as resonant, and it had a nasal quality.

“There. You see? A perfect disguise. Now that I think of it, it is better that I used it here, rather than where others might see me.”

“How did you—was that magic?”

Teres rolled her eyes as Trey stared at the broach. She jabbed her brother in the stomach with an elbow.

“Obviously it’s magic, idiot!”

Flos nodded, showing the twins the broach. It sparkled in the light from the sun, but didn’t shine or twinkle or do anything else that gave away its nature.

“It was a gift from Mars, years ago. It allows me to assume the shape of an ordinary person, a common man wherever I go. I have made use of it on occasion to learn from my people. I will do so again now.”

“So you’re going out looking like…that?”

“Indeed. And so shall the two of you! Yes, I think that would be best.”

He thrust the broach at Trey.

“Here. Touch the stone in the center.”

Hesitantly, Trey did so. He heard Teres gasp and looked down at his body. He didn’t see anything wrong. He stared at Teres. Her eyes were wide as she looked him up and down.

“What? What is it?”

“You look different!”

“How? Am I uglier?”

“No—well, you were never a looker but—you’re just different, alright?”

Trey saw what she meant when Teres copied him. Her features altered. She didn’t become uglier or fairer, but her hair and nose and mouth and skin tone changed to make her look more like the people of Flos’ kingdom, rather than a London-born girl from another world. Flos nodded in approval as Trey and Teres stared at each other. Trey had to poke Teres experimentally to make sure she was the same underneath, and Teres exclaimed as she felt at Trey’s features and felt his real face underneath the mask.

“It is a temporary illusion. It will last for several hours if memory serves. We shall mingle with my people while we wear it.”

Flos looked happy at the prospect. Trey and Teres exchanged a glance.

“I suppose that’s alright, isn’t it?”

The strange girl standing next to Trey nodded, looking resigned.

“So we’re just going to wander about?”

“Perhaps. We shall see what occurs.”

Flos rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. He paused as he strode over to the door. Trey had a hard time keeping his eyes off of Flos’ face. There was no longer that strange magnetism around the man, and that was almost as disconcerting as his new features.

“We should avoid going near any of my vassals.”

“Why?”

Flos smiled, and it was another man’s lips which turned upwards.

“They would be able to detect the magic. Orthenon is alert for such tricks and Gazi would be able to see through such illusory magic. Perhaps even without her main eye. As for Mars, she might not notice, but I would prefer not to risk it.”

That seemed weird. Wasn’t Mars the one who’d given Flos the broach? Flos opened the door and after glancing around for a second or two, quickly strode out. Trey and Teres hurried out the corridor. Not too many people were about, and they didn’t look twice at Flos, despite him walking out of the King’s own bedroom. They didn’t look twice at Trey and Teres either, which he supposed was part of the illusion.

“Few will notice us, unless they are actively looking.”

Flos spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he walked more slowly down the corridor, the twins following him closely. Trey nodded.

“Um, my K—”

Teres elbowed him. Trey stared at her, and then remembered.

“F-Flos?”

“It has been a while since I heard that name. What is it, Trey?”

Trey gulped. He forgot the last question he was going to ask and blurted out his question about Mars instead.

“Why wouldn’t Lady Mars be able to see us? Doesn’t she know a lot of illusion magic?”

“Her? Hardly.”

The man Flos had become raised his eyebrows, looking amused.

“She is called the Illusionist, but not because she knows any magic of her own. Rather, she possesses many trinkets such as these.”

Trey nodded.

“I remember now. She told me. But why is she called the Illusionist if—”

“Watch it!”

Flos turned his head and quickly stepped out of the way. Trey yanked Teres back as four men carrying heavy sacks of something or other walked past them. One cursed the trio as he went past.

“Keep to the right side, fools! Unless you’re carrying something heavy, keep the corridor clear!”

Startled, Trey looked at Flos. The King looked nonplussed, but as he and the twins looked around they realized that they were getting dirty looks.

It suddenly occurred to Trey that they were walking like they had been before, straight down the center of every corridor as people hurried around them. It was so natural that they hadn’t realized it. But that was how the King and his sworn vassals walked. And once Trey looked, it was obvious they were making a mistake.

The servants, workers, and other people bustling about the palace did not walk down the center or wherever they pleased. Instead, they walked on the right side of the corridor while people going the opposite way walked down the left. The center was reserved for people in a hurry, or carrying things too bulky to go with the usual flow.

“I believe we should walk on this side.”

Flos stepped closer to the right wall, smiling at an older woman who did not smile back.

“Hurry up and move. We ain’t got all day.”

“Sorry!”

Trey and Teres stepped smartly and followed Flos on this new, more proper route. They no longer walked at their own pace; they were now following the person in front. When they slowed, the three had to slow as well or run into someone.

Flos, Trey, and Teres were all unaccustomed to walking that way. But they obediently followed the flow of people on the right side of the corridor, chatting quietly as they did.

“Fascinating. I had no idea there was a system for such things. I suppose Orthenon must have implemented it for convenience’s sake. It is this sort of thing that I wish to experience.”

“Walking?”

“Getting yelled at?”

Trey and Teres stared dubiously at Flos. They didn’t think there was too much special about this, but he seemed privately delighted.

“Yes, and yes. How can I lead my people if I do not walk in their shoes from time to time? It is this experience which—”

He didn’t get to finish his proclamation. An annoyed woman’s voice called out to the three and they saw a grey-haired lady hurrying over to them with a scowl on her face.

“What are you three doing? You’re not part of the interior staff!”

Trey stared anxiously at Flos, but the King smiled.

“We are laborers, Miss. We did not have any work at the moment so we—”

He got no further. A huge scowl replaced the smaller one and the woman snapped at the three.

“If you’re not busy you should be reporting to wherever you were assigned for more work, not wandering about the halls getting in the way!”

Flos bowed his head, looking contrite.

“I am terribly sorry, Miss. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Too right! Now if you’re done wasting time—we’ve quite a lot of supplies to be moved. Another [Trader]’s come by and we need all the goods taken up to the storerooms and the kitchens within the hour!”

She pointed down the hall and Trey noticed a stream of people carrying heavy loads coming their way. He expected Flos to refuse, but the man just smiled.

“We would be delighted to help, Miss.”

His comment didn’t impress the woman.

“Too right you will, or I would be having a word with Lord Orthenon directly after this! Get moving you two—I’ll send some others to help unload.”

“We can take care of it ourselves. My two…my niece and nephew here can help me. I’ll carry everything up.”

“Oh, a [Laborer] are you?”

The woman paused to look Flos up and down skeptically. He grinned at her.

“No. Just strong. We’ll have your supplies in a moment.”

Despite herself, the woman smiled. Even with another face, Flos’ grin was slightly contagious.

“If you can do it quick, I’ll have a cold drink waiting for you. For now, bring anything edible to the main kitchens and the rest to the store room next to the library. You know where that is? Then get moving!”

She strode off. Flos nodded at Trey and Teres, and they followed him again, this time heading out of the castle.

“We’re not going to carry stuff, are we?”

Dismayed, Trey stared at Flos. His arms still hurt from practicing with Mars earlier. Flos nodded.

“Of course! I gave her my word I would help unload that cart. A bit of work won’t be wasted while we observe the others.”

“But—aw—but—”

Trey didn’t get any further. In moments he found himself struggling to carry a heavy sack of something on his shoulders. He staggered after Flos as Teres did the same with an equally heavy bag. The King strode back through the castle, carrying five heavy sacks at once. Trey stared, and some of the other people carrying things made startled comments as Flos passed.

“Don’t kill yourself there, Mister!”

“Those bags of flour will wait, no matter how loudly the [Cooks] yell. It’s not worth a broken back!”

Flos laughed and responded jovially as he marched through the halls. He stepped into the huge stone kitchen and after being directed where to put his load, he and the twins set down their cargo and headed back for a second trip.

Trey was massaging his shoulders as he hurried after Flos. The King smiled at him.

“If your shoulders ache after only that, we’ll have to build your muscles, Trey! A set of good armor might not be as heavy, but wearing it for hours on end is far more exhausting.”

“Is that why you can carry all that at once?”

The King laughed as he strode down the corridors, following the right side’s flow of traffic.

“Hah! Well, I must admit that I’ve grown weaker than before. In fact…”

He frowned and his smile vanished.

“That was actually quite unpleasant. Carrying such heavy loads…it is little wonder few choose the [Laborer] class. I am beginning to regret volunteering to carry all of the [Trader]’s goods myself.”

Trey and Teres glared up at Flos. He laughed again.

“Never mind. A promise is a promise. Onwards, you two!”

He strode down the hallway, giving neither Trey or Teres a chance to object or throw something at his head.

 

—-

 

An hour later, Trey would have sorely loved to kill Flos for volunteering them to carry an entire wagon-load of goods up several floors to the various store rooms and the kitchen. But any possible threat of violence was impossible; Trey’s arms could barely move and his entire body hurt.

He sat at a table in the banquet hall next to Teres. She was slumped over, but sitting next to her, a loud and obnoxiously good-natured Flos was sharing a drink with some of the other servants taking a break at the same time.

True to her word, the woman in charge of supervising the servants had given Flos, Trey, and Teres a half hour’s break to have a drink and a bite to eat. Trey had been too tired to do more than chew the hot, doughy crescents of spiced bread – a popular snack in the region – and sip some water. Teres was the same, but Flos was sipping at his drink of ale and laughing with a group of men and women as they sat and talked among themselves.

“I’ve only ever met a few men capable of carrying that many sacks of grain by themselves. You’d better watch yourself, or you’ll find yourself assigned to ferrying supplies up for good!”

“There are worse fates, I suppose. But I hardly think you all lag behind. I simply feel invigorated today, that’s all.”

Flos smiled as the man sitting across from him, a balding man with scars on his arms, laughed. Someone reached out to slap Flos on the back.

It was a strange thing. Wearing a different face and speaking with a different voice—even without his aura of command, there was something about Flos that drew people to him, made them listen to him. It wasn’t just that he’d done twice the work of anyone else in the same amount of time. It was that he cared. When he spoke, Trey believed without a doubt he was telling the truth from the bottom of his heart.

“In truth, I feel far more tired than I should be. Tell me, has it been so busy every day?”

“Aye. And then some. But we have our breaks and hot food and no one could ask for more. Besides, you know how it feels. We’re alive at last, and a few sore muscles means little for that.”

The man sitting across from Flos sighed. There was a smile on his lips, and a light in his eyes. Trey heard people murmuring agreement around him. A woman who’d been in the kitchens raised her mug.

“Our King has awoken.”

“He is awake.”

The man sitting across from Flos raised his mug to that. He didn’t cheer and no one toasted. But people drank and sat in silent reverentially, as if those words were a prayer. Trey reached for another piece of fried dough, but Teres had taken it. He looked up at Flos, and saw the man’s smile had become shadowed.

“Ah yes. The King. I haven’t heard much in the streets. What goes on in the palace?”

“Not much you wouldn’t hear about. Gossips always go into the inns at night to talk—”

The others agreed, laughing about how a few tidbits was worth a free drink in any tavern. But then the balding man clicked his fingers.

“What about those two twins, though?”

Trey sat up anxiously.

“What about them?”

The man sitting across from Flos laughed.

“Haven’t you seen them, lad? They’re scarcely older than you—but they’re a different type than you and I. Foreigners, from Terandria perhaps.”

“I heard they were from further than that. But I’ve not caught the name of the nation from which they hail. No one has. Only our King knows where they came from.”

Other heads nodded. The bald man grunted, looking less pleased all of a sudden.

“I don’t know what purpose those two serve. Aye, they’re young, but Lady Mars said she has no clue why our King keeps them close.”

“Really?”

Flos stared intently at the man. He drank slowly as Trey and Teres hunched over at the table, feeling guilty.

The bald man nodded. He leaned forwards conspiratorially, but kept his voice loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

“She says they’re completely unskilled with any weapons. And that’s true enough. I saw them in the training grounds, flailing about with swords as if they’d never held one before. That brightened my day.”

“Hm.”

“I’ve no qualms with them being here, but I’ve been told they’re to be treated with the same respect as one of the Seven. Imagine that!”

“Lord Orthenon seems to respect them, and I have no earthly idea what Lady Gazi thinks. Lady Mars seems to share our opinions, but she’s respectful enough. I wonder what merits our King’s trust in them…”

The others around the table began gossiping about Trey and Teres. Trey was relieved that none of them had specific complaints, but he felt wretched. He was relieved when Flos cleared his throat.

“The twins are one thing. But what about the King?”

“What about his Majesty? I saw him walking down the hall just this morning. He met my eyes and I’ll swear to you all, he was the same man he once was. Just as great.”

The balding man spoke proudly and everyone nodded. But Flos shook his head.

“If he is as he was, that means war is coming, isn’t it?”

“And if it is?”

The man stared challengingly at Flos. The King did not respond. The laborer drained his mug, speaking loudly to everyone at once.

“If it comes to it, I’d be the first to grab a sword and follow him into battle. He has but to ask. Once our King raises his banner, we’ll follow him as before.”

“As always.”

The female [Cook] said that, and the people around her nodded. Trey blinked as he saw every face just as resolute as the balding man’s. If he but asks, we’ll go to war. He looked at Flos and saw something different written on the man’s face.

Anguish. It was there for a second, and then gone. Flos turned to look at Trey. Then he resumed listening to the people talking in loud, excited voices.

What did it mean? Something had bothered Flos. And it was why he had come here. Trey understood that without needing to be told. But what?

“Why is he upset?”

Teres whispered into Trey’s ear. He shrugged and looked around the room. No one looked upset. Just the mention of war had made other people come over. Some, most were civilians who’d never fought, even before Flos had slept. But a few at the table including the balding man had been soldiers. They spoke proudly of battles past, and of battles to come. There wasn’t a trace of fear or hesitation in their eyes.

So what had Flos seen?

It was a slow realization. It dawned on Trey as he watched Flos mingle and talk with the other servants and laborers, ordinary citizens, craftsmen and soldiers. It was in their wrinkled faces, the way they doted on Trey and Teres, asking where they had come from, where their family was—questions the twins had a hard time answering honestly let alone dishonestly.

When Trey saw the youngest woman in the room, the young [Cook] in her mid-twenties, that he finally understood. He nudged Teres at once as he watched Flos laugh uproariously at a joke someone had told.

“I get it, Teres.”

“What?”

Trey hesitated. How could he explain? He thought and whispered into Teres’ ear.

“Think about the Great War, Teres. The Lost Generation—you know? Think of it like that. Only the opposite.”

She looked blankly at him, and then her eyes widened. She took in the room, the aged faces. The lack of young ones.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t the faces Trey saw that had bothered Flos. It wasn’t the living. It was those who weren’t there. The children. The young people. There were scarcely any people Trey and Teres’ age, and he had seen…how many children over the month he had been here? So few.

It was a flash of insight. Flos, the King of Destruction would go to war. He would ride off, and his kingdom would rise with him. They would follow his banner into war again, as they always had.

Only this time, no one would come back. Or rather, there would be no one to come back to. This time, there was no generation of young men and women to fight. It would be the fathers and mothers who took up arms, every living soul. There weren’t enough bodies left. This generation would be the last.

This was Flos’ kingdom. Dying. They had come to life, but that life was fragile. Tenuous. They were what remained, but if Flos rode to war, there would be nothing left.

Trey looked up and saw Flos looking at him. The King nodded, and turned back to the laughing men and women. When he spoke, it was quiet, but his voice quieted the loudest laughter.

“What a terrible King.”

He sat at the table as sound died around him. Trey saw every head within earshot turn. The balding man stared at Flos, joviality gone.

“What was that, fellow?”

“I said, what a terrible King he must be. To ask you all to fight and die again. What sort of King could ask that of his people?”

No one spoke. Trey looked around at the suddenly hostile faces. The balding man pushed away his drink.

“Are you new to Reim, stranger? Or did you never lay eyes on our King before now?”

Flos met his gaze squarely, without passion.

“I have seen him before. As he lay slumbering while his kingdom fell to ruins.”

“Then you know nothing.”

The bald man stared at Flos, face reddening. He pushed back his chair.

“If you never met our King before, then you’ve no right to speak of it. He may have slept, but we kept faith with him. We waited, and when he calls, we will go to war and yes, die for him without fear. Because he is our King. Now, I’ve got to be getting back to work. And you had best leave.”

He stood up, staring at Flos. The King stood as well, and Trey and Teres scrambled out of their seats. Everyone was staring at them. But Flos didn’t turn to leave. He stared curiously at the balding man, as if he were staring at something he’d never seen before.

“Why would you follow a King who abandoned you? Who left his kingdom to rot? Why would you love such a worthless King?”

The bald man stared at Flos across the table. His face went crimson, and then white with anger. His voice was barely contained.

“Because he is our King. Because we love him. Because we would follow him to the ends of the earth. Because he is worthy of respect.

Flos shook his head.

“He is not.”

Silence. Trey saw the tendons bulge on the balding man’s neck. He saw his hand move in slow motion—and then the man threw a punch at Flos.

It was so quick that Trey missed the blur of movement. He only saw the second part of the punch, as Flos leaned backwards, avoiding the blow.

Bastard!

The balding man leapt onto the table and started swinging at Flos. The King dodged backwards, letting each punch miss him by inches. But there was only so far he could back up. He blocked one punch towards his chest, took a step back, and ran into Trey. Flos took the second blow to the face which sent him sprawling and a kick to the stomach before people pulled the bald man off of him.

“Get out. Take your uncle with you and don’t set foot in the palace again if you want to walk out.”

The balding man spat at Flos as Trey and Teres helped him up. The other servants and workers held him back, but no one spoke up in defense of the twins.

“Come on.”

Trey and Teres pulled at Flos and he let them pull him out of the hallway. Once they were out, Trey and Teres set a fast walk, hurrying Flos down the corridor. Only when they were a good minute away did Flos speak.

“Well, that was enlightening.”

The twins stopped and stared at him. Servants behind them cursed and dodged out of the way as Flos rubbed at his cheek. It was already swelling up.

What? What do you mean, it was enlightening?”

“Exactly what I said. I am glad to have spoken to that man. Although I wish you two would have backed up. I needn’t have taken that punch otherwise.”

The mildly reproving tone and glance towards Trey nearly made him lose it altogether.

“That wasn’t our fault! You started that fight! Why didn’t you punch back or—or stop him?”

The King stared in confusion at Trey as if he were the one not making sense.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What sort of King would attack his own subjects?”

Trey’s mouth worked helplessly as Flos led them on again.

“The…kind that doesn’t want to be hit?”

“Hah! Good point.”

Flos grinned at Trey as he rounded a corner, tapping the gem in the center of the broach twice. One second he was a wincing, commonplace laborer, the next, he was a King. Trey wouldn’t have noticed the slight swelling around his cheek at first glance. The sheer…Flos-ness of the man overwhelmed details at first glance.

“My King! Good morning to you!”

“Good day to you.”

Flos waved at servants who exclaimed upon seeing the King appear out of the middle of nowhere. Trey saw the corridor full of people behind him do a sudden double-take and stare in amazement at Flos. They called out greetings too as Flos abandoned the right side of the corridor and strode down the center again. It was better that way; people got out of Flos’ way no matter where he walked.

“I can’t believe you let him hit you. Why did you call yourself a bad King?”

“Because I am. Because it is true. They may see me as a King worth following, but I will not give myself such laxity. I have failed them. That they would follow me is a mark of the worth of my subjects, not myself.”

Trey stared at Teres. She shrugged. Then she frowned at Flos.

“Why didn’t you tell them you were the King, then? Then they wouldn’t have kicked you. Or thrown beer on your head.”

“Was that what it was? I thought it was water. But why would I reveal myself?”

Flos felt absently at his damp shoulders. Trey tried to explain, feeling all the while that he shouldn’t have to.

“Well, isn’t that what you wanted to do? It’s like…it’s like all the stories.”

“Stories?”

The King halted in the middle of the corridor. He made Trey explain to him what he meant.

“In stories of…King Arthur, I guess, he pretends to be a beggar, or an ordinary knight. He goes around doing good deeds and learning about folks, and then he reveals himself to them afterwards as the King.”

“Why would I do that?”

Flos looked blank. Trey opened his mouth and paused.

“Because…because then they’d know it was you?”

The King shook his head, frowning.

“If I were to do so, then that man would have realized he raised his hand against his King. I would not trouble him with that knowledge. And besides, it is best I keep such tricks secret.”

“But you got punched.”

“Yes, I did. But it was important. And I have a healing potion in my rooms. Follow me.”

Flos refused to continue the conversation until they were in his quarters. There he took a bottle of clear blue liquid from his drawer and let Teres dab a tiny bit of it onto his cheek.

“My stomach will be fine. But a King cannot be seen with a swollen cheek. That much is true.”

“So why did we do all of this?”

Trey complained as he eyed the potion bottle. He was wondering if he could use some on his sore shoulders. Or arms. Or legs. Or if he could take a bath in it. Flos sighed.

“You saw what will come, did you not? Death. Death for my kingdom and my people. It is war I walk towards, and it will take their lives.”

“Isn’t that how war always works?”

“It is. But I had not thought of the cost of it until now. When I was young I did not know why my people followed me, even to their deaths. Now I know, and I am humbler for it. They showed me their feelings—”

He winced as Teres touched his swollen cheek.

“—Quite clearly. And it is good that I know it. Because I must be the King to fulfill such expectations.”

He sat on his bed, head bowed as the healing potion worked its magic and his cheek returned to normal in seconds. At last, Flos raised his head and smiled tiredly at the twins.

“Children, did you see the other part? When I became a King again, did you see it in the eyes of my people?”

“See what?”

Flos smiled bitterly. He stretched out one huge hand and stared at it as he spoke.

“They do not see me. They stare right through me, at something else. An illusion far more complete than any Mars could create. At a dream.”

Teres was the one who hesitantly replied.

“You mean…at the King you used to be? Before you slept?”

“Not even that.”

Flos shook his head.

“They see a King who never existed. Their ideal King, the ruler they made from shattered dreams as I lay slumbering. A King without fault, who will bring them salvation. I am not that King. I never was. I never will be. And yet, that is the King I must be.”

He stood up. He took the bottle from Teres and gently put it back into the drawer of his dresser. When he turned, he stood taller than ever, or so Trey thought. And when he spoke, it was as a King, so that every word hung in the air.

“My subjects dream. It is a King’s duty to turn that dream into reality. I am a King, and I must act like it. I cannot hide behind petty tasks anymore. It is time to be a King in truth.”

He gestured towards the door, and this time the twins walked out with him behind them. Flos explained as they walked through the corridors, every head turning and bowing towards him.

“In truth, Trey, Teres, I have not acted as I should. You have seen me supervising the repairs of a wall, or managing supplies, dealing with the affairs of my kingdom. And while those are true and pressing tasks, they are not mine. I have always left such things up to Orthenon, my [Steward].”

“You did?”

“Of course! He is far more competent than I at such matters. Whenever an issue of logistics popped up I believe I said…what was it now? Ah, yes. I would probably say ‘Orthenon, take care of it’ and leave it to him.”

The twins gaped at him. Flos raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“You didn’t even say ‘please’?”

“Should I have? I am a King, and he is my [Steward]. My faith in him is complete.”

“Yeah, but—”

Trey shook his head, an activity he had come to associate with Flos. He looked around, frowning, as he realized where they were going.

“Are we headed to the map room?”

“Yes!”

Flos smiled as he threw open the doors to the room where strategy was planned and Orthenon occasionally tutored the twins. He surprised a woman organizing the carefully arranged maps. He nodded to her.

“Will you fetch us a map so I might view it. I would like a…modern map of the surrounding area. Please.”

He looked vaguely pleased with himself for adding ‘please’ at the end. The woman bowed and immediately found him the required map. Flos unrolled it and the twins stared at the inked lines on parchment.

“Hm. This is only a few years old. But I see.”

Flos sighed as he stared down at the countries and nations marked out on the map. Trey and Teres stared. Compared with the map Orthenon had shown them earlier, this map was completely different.

Most of the nations to the west had been swallowed up by a new empire, the one ruled by the Emperor of Sands. Whereas, around Flos’ kingdom of Reim…

The King traced his finger around the tiny, almost ludicrously small plot of land that was his kingdom. His hand moved up, and he went from nation to nation, staring at the tiny names listed there.

There were so many small plots of land around his kingdom that it looked like a spiders’ web. Trey saw Flos’ finger point to a tiny sliver of land to the north, directly next to his capital city.

“I remember these lands. I remember…ruling them. Now each one is ruled by a [Lord], or part of a larger kingdom.”

He turned quickly away from the map. He nodded at the woman and she rolled it back up quickly.

“That was all I needed to see. Come, Trey, Teres. There is something I must do with the two of you.”

Trey didn’t get it. But he followed Teres and Flos out the door.

“What are we going to do?”

“I wish to see for myself what Mars saw. I should have sparred with the two of you myself, rather than leave it all to her. If she does not know your worth, then how can she evaluate you properly?”

“Wait, you don’t mean—”

Trey balked the instant Flos led them back to the training grounds. He and Teres backed up to the doorway as men and women training with weapons turned and called out exuberantly to their King.

“We’re tired. We can barely lift our arms!”

“Good! That means you’ve been exercising. But I would like to see your lack of skill myself. Ah, Mars.”

Flos turned and smiled in greetings as Mars hurried over. She blinked at the sweaty and irate Trey and Teres.

“Are you going to have them train again, my lord? I gave them a workout earlier. They might not have the energy for it a second time.”

“Just a few swings. It has been far too long since I wielded a sword in earnest myself.”

Flos accepted two training swords and tossed them at Trey and Teres. Both twins failed to catch their swords and had to pick them up laboriously. Trey froze when he saw Flos had unsheathed the sword at his side.

“Why do you have a real sword?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not enchanted.”

“That’s not—”

Trey bit his tongue as Flos swung the sword through the air. It was fast in his hands. He saw Mars staring with what looked like love at her King as he held the sword. Flos beckoned at Trey and Teres as they held their blades uncertainly.

“Come. I won’t injure you two. I simply want to see you strike.”

Trey couldn’t remember how Mars had taught him to hold the sword. Reluctantly, he swung at Flos’ left as Teres viciously poked at his stomach. Flos’ sword blurred and he knocked Trey’s blade aside as he parried Teres.

“Good! That was quite a determined thrust, Teres. Try again, Trey. Strike with all the force you have! Don’t worry about me.”

Gritting his teeth, Trey did. He slashed down at Flos and felt like he’d hit a wall when the man blocked. The sword tumbled out of Trey’s hand from the impact. He scrambled to pick it up, hearing laughter as he did.

It wasn’t fun being laughed at. Trey’s ears were red. He raised his arm, ready to try again, only to see Teres try to cut Flos’ head off. She looked as annoyed as he felt, but Flos was encouraging her.

“Good! Spirit! You have a good thrust—you might have run me through there. Perhaps Orthenon would be a good teacher for her, don’t you think, Mars?”

“If you want to give her over to him, I won’t object my lord. But he and I don’t see eye to eye on how to fight.”

“Mm. True. Well, what about you, Trey? Perhaps we should let you train with Mars or I while Teres learns from Orthenon’s style.”

Flos turned to Trey, casually blocking Teres as she tried to stab him in the back of his leg. He motioned her back and raised his sword.

“Mars has taught you to strike, but how about blocking? Come, we’ll take turns.”

He let Trey strike at him, his sword not budging an inch as he blocked. Then he showed Trey how to hold a shield in his other hand. Trey flinched as Flos raised his sword, but the King laughed and gently swung down.

“Brace yourself as I strike. And don’t let your shield stray from your body. When you strike, don’t expose your arm or I might lop it off. Good! Keep your shield up as you stab—there.”

Within minutes he had Trey gingerly keeping the shield in his left hand up as he struck and blocked Flos’ gentle taps to his shield. Soon, Flos had begun using more force. Trey felt heavy buffets threatening to knock his shield away. He braced himself, letting his legs cushion the blow as Flos struck downwards.

“I think I’m ready to stop.”

“Nonsense, you’re doing splendidly. Come, strike at me.”

Trey saw Flos’ face smiling broadly as he peeked around his shield. He also saw approving looks on the faces of the others watching him, and a smile on Mars’ lips. That gave him the strength to weakly cut at Flos’ side.

“Excellent! Raise your shield—I’ll be striking from the left. Harder this time.”

Despite being ready for the blow, Trey felt his arm compress against his body. He made a wheezing gasping sound as he stumbled back. The King beamed at him.

“I—think—”

“Trey wants to quit.”

In his heart Trey blessed Teres. She glared at Flos, ignoring the disapproving faces staring at her. Flos eyed Teres and sighed.

“One last blow then, from each of us.”

That sounded fine. Trey managed to tap Flos’ sword. Then he raised his shield. Flos was smiling.

“Very good. You’ve the makings of a good warrior, Trey. Now—block!

He raised his sword high, giving Trey a chance to raise his shield. The young man did, bracing himself. It was just one more strike. But then the sword came down like lightning. Trey froze. It was too f—

The sword struck Trey’s shield. It didn’t cut through the metal, but the impact of it knocked Trey flat.

Trey didn’t feel his knees give way. He slammed back-first into the ground, hearing his back go crack in various places. Trey felt as though his entire body was whumph. The entire impact ran through him and for a few seconds he just stared at the sky. Then he remembered he wasn’t breathing and tried to gasp for air.

Trey!

Once hearing had returned he heard Teres’ voice, and felt people crowding around him. Someone opened an eyelid and Trey tried to make his eyes focus. He heard his sister shouting angrily at someone and a contrite voice that was Flos’.

The wind was knocked out of him and it wasn’t coming back. Trey sat up at Teres’ insistence, but then lay back down. He felt…floppy. Could you hit someone so hard their bones turned into rubber?

He felt like he should stand up, but he couldn’t. Trey felt himself being picked up and was carried somewhere. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he realized he was sitting up in the room he and Teres shared, in his bed.

“Trey?”

His sister was standing over him. She had a bottle of yellow liquid in her hands. Trey opened his mouth.

“I don’t want to drink that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a healing potion.”

“Oh.”

Trey thought about that.

“Can you pour it on me?”

“No. Hold still, I’ll rub it onto your back.”

“And my arms. They really hurt.”

Teres helped Trey partly undress. Trey groaned as he saw the bruised skin underneath his clothing, already turning spectacular colors.

“Ow.”

“Hold still. I’ll have you right as rain in a moment.”

He let Teres rub the yellow stuff into his skin. It stank horribly, but the agony went away every place she touched. Trey whimpered as she got to his back. Teres was scowling.

“Where’s the King?”

“I dunno. I shouted at him and then took you to our room.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe he hit you that hard!”

“I can’t either.”

“He could have killed you! I thought you were dead when you didn’t move.”

“I thought I was dead too.”

Teres glared at Trey. Then she slapped his back. He yelped. She poked him hard in the back.

“Don’t be smart.”

“Ow. Okay.”

After a while, she finished with his back and Trey felt well enough to rub the healing potion onto his legs himself. Teres sat with him, applying a bit to her own arms.

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“Being hit? It looked like he squashed you with his sword.”

“That’s right enough.”

Trey had to think as he tried to explain the feeling.

“Remember when Trevor Martin got hit by that car and had to stay in the hospital for two weeks?”

Her eyes went wide.

“That bad?”

Trey felt at his chest and back again.

“Actually, I think I’d rather trade places with him. That hurt.

“Well, he’s not doing it again. He’s mental, that one.”

“I thought he said he was out of practice.”

Trey winced as he handed the mostly empty bottle back to Teres. She rolled her eyes.

“He says he’s not good at holding back.”

“That was him holding back?”

“Yup. That’s another thing he’s not good at, then. If he’s so special that everyone loves him so, what’s he actually good at to begin with?”

Trey thought about that for a moment.

“Hitting people.”

He lay back on his bed, trying to block the horrible healing potion smell from his nose. Teres lay next to him.

“Do you think I can go to sleep, Teres?”

“I think so.”

That sounded like an awfully good idea to Trey, so he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, after what sounded like minutes, it was to hear Teres arguing with someone at the door.

“We don’t care what he wants. If he wants us, he can come and say so himself.”

She slammed the door. Trey closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

 

—-

 

Sometimes later, Teres woke him up. Trey got out of bed, still feeling foggy, but hungry. Which was lucky, because he’d apparently slept till dinner time.

Every day, Flos dined in the banquet hall, at the high table with his trusted vassals while the rest of the people in the hall ate at other long tables. Trey and Teres sat at that table with him as well, but they were used to being overlooked.

Not today. This time, when Trey passed through the tables up to the hall he heard people calling out to him and Teres. Most of them just laughed as they asked Trey if he was alright, or if his head was still in one piece. It wasn’t mocking laughter though, and Trey himself could smile at the jokes.

People reached out, and a few of the older men ruffled his hair, or gave him a slap on the arm.

“Well done, lad. You took the King’s blow like a man.”

“Thought you’d nearly died there. But you sat up, so you’ve got some grit to you!”

It was embarrassing, but Trey still enjoyed it. At the high table, the vassals of the King had words for him as well.

“Trey. I trust you are recovered?”

Orthenon nodded to Trey. Gazi smiled at him, but it was Mars who slung an arm around his shoulder, laughing as she called for a drink for the both of them.

“I took a blow like that from our King once. I couldn’t see straight for two days, I’ll swear! If you can remember your name, that’s cause for celebration.”

Flos himself only laughed as he sat with Orthenon on his right and Mars on his left. The twins sat next to Mars, and Trey found himself in the enviable and difficult position of having to stare past her to listen to the conversation. She was distracting, and Teres kept jabbing him in the side when she thought his attention was wandering.

The thing about sitting at the high table was that the conversation topics were never dull. Tonight’s was especially focused, and Trey saw the servants serving food listening just as intently as the people around him.

“We have a few experienced soldiers, but I fear we must count on a mostly green army to begin with. With Takahatres keeping the Emperor of Sands occupied, our main focus must be on raising the level of our conscripted soldiers.”

“And finding an actual army. We can’t make everyone hold a sword or we won’t have anyone to grow crops, cook, and so on. Plus, we don’t have that many swords.”

Mars stabbed at a piece of chicken on her plate as Flos nodded. He turned to Gazi.

“Your thoughts, Gazi?”

She shrugged. Her eye flicked towards Trey and Teres, while her other three remained focused on Flos.

“We have Mars’ arms. We can outfit an elite core of soldiers.”

“Are you suggesting we take on another nation’s army with a few dozen warriors?”

Orthenon stared at Gazi. She bit into a Yellat and swallowed it before responding.

“We must retake our lost lands sooner or later. Once we do, we will have more soldiers to join us.”

“Declaring the King of Destruction has returned so early is not a wise move, Lady Gazi. It is better to wait for those vassals with their own forces to arrive.”

Orthenon stared hard at Gazi, not deterred by the fact that she had four eyes and he had two. Mars sighed gustily.

“You say that Orthenon, but how long must we sit on our hands here?”

“As long as it takes. There is much to do here, unless you had forgotten. The city is in sore need of repairs, and we can best spend this time planting new harvests for next year, training those waiting to be soldiers—”

“Waiting.”

Gazi said it impassively, but Mars nodded in agreement and Orthenon stiffened in his seat. He opened his mouth to reply, and Flos spoke, cutting the argument apart.

“Orthenon. Gazi. Enough.”

His retainers looked at him expectantly. Flos put down his knife and reached for his goblet. He stared into it and then looked around the table. His eyes did not miss Trey or Teres.

“I have heard counsel from all present. I hear Orthenon’s need for caution, just as I understand Mars’ desire to raise my banner once again. Tomorrow morning I will tell you all what I have decided to do.”

He looked around at his companions. All three nodded and sat back. The conversation turned to less intense matters, and Trey resumed staring at Mars covertly. She really was stunning. Were they really fake?

 

—-

 

That night, Trey climbed into bed while Teres took the one on the other side of the room. He felt tired, but not sleepy, thanks to the long nap he’d had. Plus, the downside of using the healing potion meant his body was as energetic as ever. It thought it was time to be up and about, no matter how Trey’s weary mind tried to convince it otherwise.

Perhaps that was why he was still awake hours later to see the door to their room open slowly. Trey sat up, heart pounding as a faint candle’s light entered the room, held by a shadowy figure.

There were no locks on the door, or if there was, Trey and Teres hadn’t been given a key. It wasn’t generally needed in most parts of the castle and the servants were in and out of the rooms. But all that meant was that the mysterious intruder could be anyone.

Trey’s heart beat wildly as he looked at his slumbering sister. He opened his mouth to shout, and the figure brought the candle up to his face.

“Trey. It is I.”

Flos stared down at Trey. That didn’t make the young man feel any better. He stared at Flos.

“What are you doing here?”

This time he didn’t add ‘sire’, or ‘your majesty’. Flos smiled down at Trey.

“I apologize for the late intrusion. But I have business with you. May I sit?”

“Um. Okay?”

Trey felt the bedding shift as Flos sat on the his bed. He sat up awkwardly staring at Flos. The King hadn’t changed into his night clothes; he was still wearing the sword at his belt. He nodded to Trey.

“I trust you have healed from earlier? I did not have a chance to ask over dinner, but I am told you used the healing potion I had sent.”

“I did. Um, thank you for sending it.”

“You should not thank me for that. It was my own fault.”

Flos sighed. He looked ashamed as he stared at Trey, the candle only illuminating parts of his face.

“I was a fool. And your sister was right to call me such. I struck you far harder than I should. It is just that I wished to change the gossip about you and your sister. If you had blocked the blow of a King, it would change what was said.”

Trey recalled all the people who’d slapped him on the back and Mars’ words of praise.

“I…think you did that.”

“Yes, but I did not mean to harm you. That was my fault. I apologize, Trey.”

Flos’ head lowered. Trey stared. It took him a few moments to realize Flow was bowing his head. To him.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“It is not, but thank you for saying so. Trey, I realize today I have asked much of you. But I ask that you and your sister follow me one last time.”

“Follow you? Where?”

“Outside my city. I have had horses saddled in secret—a tricky matter, even with a [King]’s authority.”

Flos smiled ruefully. Trey stared at him.

“Wait, but where are we going?”

“A village. It is only an hour or so’s ride away.”

“An hour—

Flos clapped a hand over Trey’s mouth before he could shout.

“I know it is an imposition. But I ask it of you.”

Trey wanted to say no, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he resorted to a cowardly, if effective tactic.

“Only if Teres says yes.”

Flos nodded, and gingerly Trey went over to wake his sister. He had to shake her several times. She flailed at him until she sat up. She was ready to curse him out until she saw Flos. Her mouth opened as she glared at him.

“I am sorry for waking you, Teres. However—”

“No. Out.

She pointed to the door. Flos bowed his head towards her.

“Teres, I have one last matter I must ask you to witness. It is of vital importance.”

“No! Can’t it wait?”

The King smiled.

“No, it cannot. Because this must be done alone. No one must know where we are going. Not Orthenon, or anyone else.”

The twins stared at Flos. Trey’s first thought was that he was running away. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Teres folded her arms.

“Why do we have to come?”

“Because I trust you two. And because you are reassuring.”

The twins gaped at Flos. He smiled, and rose.

“Follow me.”

And they did. Teres complained and Trey chimed in, but somehow they ended up dressed and in Flos’ room in minutes. There they stared at the King.

“We’re leaving the city, right?”

“Correct. We must do it in secret, without alerting one of the servants. They will have seen us going into my room, but so long as we are not spotted leaving any of the palace’s exits they will not wake Orthenon.”

“How are we getting out, then? Wait—are we going through a secret passageway?”

Trey immediately grew excited, thinking of revolving walls, illusory doors and magical passphrases. But Flos shook his head, looking wistful.

“I asked Drevish to build me a hidden network of tunnels, but he told me that he had better things to do than waste time creating secret walls and doors. He refused to put a single secret tunnel in my entire palace and told me that if I wished to escape my duties, I should find a way to do it myself without relying on cheap tricks.”

“Then how—”

“It’s very simple.”

Flos went over to the balcony. He beckoned Trey and Teres over. Trey walked out into the very cold night air, expecting to see a rope made of bedsheets, or something else like that. He was not prepared for Flos to seize hold of him and then toss him over the balcony.

Aaaaaa—

Trey’s scream was muffled by a huge hand on his mouth. He felt hands on him, and then an impact, reduced by the arms that held him.

“There we are. It’s lucky you’re not full-grown or I might have shattered a knee trying that.”

Flos remarked casually as he put Trey back on his feet. Trey stared at him, and then up at the balcony above him. It had to be two stories up. He felt dizzy and had to sit.

“Teres. Jump down. I will catch you.”

The King’s voice was low as he called up. Trey heard his sister reply—and thought she was probably making her opinion clear with a gesture as well. Flos repeated his command. Somehow, in between Trey trying not to throw up, he persuaded Teres to jump.

“There we are. It’s not quite as attractive as a secret passage, but I suppose Drevish was correct.”

Flos remarked to the two twins as they tried to follow him on shaky legs. He led them around to a stable where three horses were indeed saddled. Trey and Teres stared at the horses. Trey suddenly recalled what Flos had said and realized there was a huge, wonderful flaw in the King’s plan.

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“Me neither.”

Flow’s eyebrows raised as he tied a lantern to the saddle of his horse, a tall dark beast which snorted down at the twins.

“You don’t? Well, it’s quite simple. I’ll teach you to guide your mounts another time. For now, just hold tight with your knees. I can command three horses as easily as two.”

Ignoring their protests he put Trey on one horse, and Teres on the other. Trey started as the huge thing between his legs began to move. He clutched at the reins unsteadily as he saw Teres doing the same.

Flos sat on his horse as if he’d been born there. He clicked his tongue quietly and all three horses followed him as he led his out of the palace stables. He rode down the streets, heading towards one of the gates. It was open, despite the late hour. Flos waved up at whoever was on top and Trey heard a voice raised in reply.

And then they were out of the city, racing across dry, dusty ground. Trey stared around the dark landscape, where shrubs of tough greenery sprouted up from the arid earth. He had only been out of the city once or twice. Now the air blew in his face—so cold!—and Trey could look up and see a night sky full of stars. Two moons stared down at him, one pale and yellowish like the one back home, but tinged slightly blue, and the other a shade of purple, glowing brilliant in the sky.

After a few minutes, Flos slowed their rapid pace. He turned the horses at a crossroads Trey barely spotted and turned them up another road, making the horses trot quickly. Now they had a chance to shout, the twins did so. In turns.

“Hush. You might wake someone. Or something.”

Flos ignored their complaints as he smiled. He breathed in the night air and extended an arm, indicating the wide, flat land around his city.

“Look at this land, you two. This is Chandrar. My home. Where it is not desert, it looks much like this. Dry. Some would say inhospitable. But there are valley and places where nature blooms. And the people who live here are the strongest of spirit, the most resilient.”

Trey looked around. All he saw were rocks, hills in the distance, and a dirt, unpaved road underneath. But he held his tongue.

Beside him, Teres was fidgeting on her horse. Trey couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but he knew she was glaring at Flos. She turned her head to him.

“Why do we do it, Trey? Why do we keep following him about?”

Trey shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe it’s a Skill? Or maybe it’s because it’s him, you know?”

“How?”

“It’s like…”

Trey searched for words to describe the feeling.

“It’s like, you know, even if something bad happens, whenever we follow him, something exciting happens. And it’s usually good in the end, right? It’s like the grandest circus and movie and video game all put together. You can’t help watching him, the King I mean. And you want to be part of it.”

“I don’t want to be part of this.

Teres indicated the horse. Trey heard it snort. He nodded.

“Yeah, but I guess it’s like—you know, a package. You have to take the good and the bad.”

“So which is this?”

Trey didn’t know. He looked ahead at the King, riding without a hint of discomfort on his horse. Trey felt like his bones were being shaken out of his body, but the King of Destruction was at home here. And he was happy.

Flos was smiling, staring down the dark road lit only by his lantern. And there was something about the way he sat in his saddle, staring ahead, that told Trey something was going to happen.

“Trey, Teres, thank you for today.”

They looked at him. The King sat high on his horse, staring into the distance. He spoke loud enough for them to hear him over the sound of the horse’ hooves, but only just.

“This day was special for me. I realize it was difficult for the two of you in light of my errors. I made many, and inconvenienced you and others greatly. But that is what made it so precious for this foolish King.”

He waved his hand back towards his city, already part of the landscape behind him.

“You have seen my mistakes, born witness to my failures. I am glad you have seen me as a man, not as a King. I enjoyed today more than I could say, and I will remember it. But now I must be what I am. A King.”

So saying, he stared ahead. And in the distance, Trey thought he could see light. Around him, the darkness was complete. The only light came from Flos’ lantern and the stars. But there was a pinpoint of something that was not starlight. It was no electric glow, but it was light. And as they rode on, Trey realized there was more than one speck of light.

“Where are we going?”

“A village.”

Flos pointed towards it, guiding his horses along the road. Trey expected to reach the village at any minute, but as they rode on and on, he realized their destination was very far away. It was only because the land here was so flat that he saw it from far off.

“We have left my kingdom. In truth, we left it the instant we passed beyond my walls. This land has been claimed by someone else. A [Lord] or some other land owner claims this village, and receives a tithe in exchange for protection.”

The King’s voice was low as they drew closer. Now Trey could make out the outlines of houses in the distance. And a wall. There was some kind of wooden barrier around the village, obscuring all but the roofs of the houses.

“They did not have a wall when I last came here.”

Flos frowned as he spotted the wall. Teres looked at him.

“When did you last come here?”

He didn’t reply. Now the village was directly ahead, minutes away. Trey was shifting in his saddle, his thighs and other parts aching, when he heard a shout. He sat bolt upright as he heard it again. It had come from the village, from the wall.

“They have spotted us.”

Flos said the words calmly, but Trey’s heart was racing. He saw shapes moving in the distance, and heard more shouting. The lights flickered. A door opened in one of the houses, and Trey saw someone block the light for a moment. He realized the village was coming to life.

“You there! Halt!”

When they were fifty meters or so away from the village, Trey heard a voice. He saw someone standing on the wall, dimly illuminated by a torch’s light. He had a bow and he was staring right at them.

“We’re no easy prey for [Thieves] or [Bandits]! And we don’t deal with travelers in the night. Begone!”

“We wish to enter the village. We come in peace.”

Flos raised his voice to shout back. The person on the walls made no reply, but after a second Trey heard a whining sound and then a thunk. His horse reared and Trey had to hold on for dear life. An arrow had sprouted out of the soil in front of Flos’ horse.

“The next one will strike true! Leave us alone!”

“We should go. They’ll shoot us!”

Teres hissed at Flos, but the King made no response. He slowly got off of his steed, patting it to soothe it. He grasped hold of the reins on both Trey and Teres’ mounts and guided them off the road with his horse. Then he walked back onto the road and faced the village.

“I ask again. Will you let me enter? I bear you no ill will.”

Trey thought the person on the walls faltered. He was not alone; he could see other people manning the wall, also armed. But then the voice came back, loud and angry.

“If you are a Runner or a servant of some [Lord], state your business and offer proof of it! We cannot trust your word alone!”

Flos stared at the village. When he replied, it was in a ringing voice.

“I have a right to walk here. This land is mine.”

That silenced the person on the wall. Flos did not wait for  a reply. He began walking towards the village, slowly, staring up at the people there.

“Hold your ground! Hold, I said!”

Flos made no reply. He kept walking. Trey saw the person on the wall move, and another arrow landed in the dirt next to Flos’ feet. The King paid no attention. He advanced on the village. This time, he stopped within sight of the wall, and stood there in the darkness, staring up at the figures on the wall.

“Will you not open your gates to your rightful ruler?”

Trey heard a nervous laugh from the wall.

“Rightful ruler? You’ve lost your mind, stranger. This village pays tithe to [Lord] Venith and [Lady] Maresar. But we have no master.”

“Not so.”

Flos’ voice was calm, distant. He spoke softly, growing louder until his voice filled the air.

“Once, I rode through this village. Many years ago. Yet I still remember that day clearly in my mind. I stopped here, and saw no hope, no dreams in the crushed souls of the people. So I planted my banner in the earth and claimed this land as my own. I told you to rise, to follow me and seek a brighter future by my side. Have you forgotten that day, oh villagers of Manimar?”

For a second, there was silence. Then a gasp. Trey saw the torch on the walls move. Someone took it up and brought it closer to Flos.

“It can’t be.”

They drew closer, and then Trey heard the gasp. The torch fell from the wall and landed on the ground. It cast Flos’ face into light.

Someone screamed. Another man shouted, and then there was a cry, not of anguish, but some other emotion. Trey saw the wall erupt into chaos, and then a voice, carrying above it all.

“The King! It is the King of Destruction!

On the heels of that cry there was another.

“He has returned! Our lord, Flos has returned!”

“Open the gates!”

Within moments, Trey saw the gates open and light stream out. They encircled Flos, and he heard voices babbling, people weeping. The King stood in the center of it all, taking people’s hands, turning to touch people on the shoulder or head. He turned then, and stared at Trey and Teres.

They came closer, sliding off of the horses and stumbling towards him. Flos didn’t move as the gates opened wider and more people came stumbling towards him. He said only one thing.

“I have returned.”

 

—-

 

He sat in the village’s town hall. It was a simple building, used for anything and everything that needed doing. Right now, it was filled to the brim. People filled every spot available, those closest to the King sitting and looking up at him, the rest standing around the edges, staring in through the open windows, crowding around the outside.

It wasn’t just one village. Trey had seen people racing on horseback or foot, telling other villages or finding farms. And so over the course of the fading night people had come streaming in, come to see the King of Destruction, Flos.

Their King.

He sat in the center of it all, talking quietly. He just talked. He sat on a chair or stood, pausing as each person went to him. And he had a word for them all. Trey and Teres watched as he met an old woman who had seen him as a youth, or a man who had lost a son who’d joined Flos’ army, or an old man who’d fought with Flos on the battlefield.

They all knew him, had had their lives touched by him. And Flos knew them all. He knew every face, remembered people he’d only spoken to a decade ago. He looked at them all, and his eyes were filled with tears.

But he never wept. And as night turned into day and the sky began to lighten, Flos spoke.

“Long ago, I came to this very village. I rode through with an army and told you all to follow me. I told you I would overthrow every nation, every rule of law and every government. I asked you to break all bonds and follow me for a brighter future.”

All the voices in the room went silent. Flos looked from face to face.

“Ten years ago. No—more than that. When I was a boy, I called upon you to be my sword and shield. And you did. You sent your sons and daughters, and you picked up arms to follow me. You marched across nations, through rivers, from one end of the continent to the other.”

“And we will again!”

A man stood up. He was trembling.

“Ask it of us, your Majesty! Raise your banner and we will serve again!”

People cheered and shouted in agreement. But Flos raised his hand slightly and they were silent.

“You did once. How many came back from my endless wars? How many lie buried thousands of leagues from home?”

No one could answer that. Flos looked around the room and shook his head.

“So many were lost. Too many. And yet, each man, woman, and child died with that same dream in their eyes, that same fire in their heart. A brighter future. One worth fighting for. For that alone it was worth it.”

They nodded at that. Flos paused. His fist clenched.

“But then came the day when I faltered. I lost the will to continue. I stepped off my throne and put down my sword. I disbanded my armies, and left my vassals to scatter to the wind. I let all of you down, you that had journeyed with me so far.”

He looked at them, tears in his eyes.

“I failed you.”

Instantly there was a babble of dissenting voices. Flos raised his voice above them all.

“I failed you. All of you. I abandoned my duties as King. I slept! For ten years I slept and you all have suffered my neglect. I am not worthy to call myself your king.”

Again, they shouted in denial. But Flos kept shaking his head. He waited until they were all quiet again.

“And yet, I am your King. That fact will never change.”

He stood, and turned slowly around the room. Men and women stared at him, old warriors and mothers, farmers and shepherds. Widows and children.

His people.

“I am your King, by blood and by oath. I accepted your loyalty once, and no force in this world could break that bond between you and I. I am your King, and I will not run nor hide from my responsibilities any longer.”

They stirred. Flos stood taller. His voice grew louder.

“I have no right to ask it of you. No right at all. But ten long years have passed since I slumbered and the world has not changed. There is still little hope to cling to. People live and die in service to a faceless [Lord], struggle to eat and live, sleep in fear of monsters and bandits. This is not the way to live. There is a better life out there, beyond the horizon.”

He turned and Trey saw his eyes. They were burning. Flos stared from person to person, looking into their faces. They stared back, caught by his gaze.

“Come with me. Follow my back. Raise my banner one more time. One last time. This time, I shall not retreat. I shall not falter. I will go to the ends of the world and tear down every wall, every fortress of stone. You are not the villagers of Manimar, not the people of one single farm or villagers. You are mine. You are my people, and I ask you again. Join me. Your King has a dream. Will you follow me?”

For a while no one moved. And then a woman stood up.

“I will, my King.”

An old man was next. He smiled, tears in his eyes.

“We have waited for this day, your Majesty.”

“We are with you! Until the end!”

More people jumped to their feet. Young and old. They stood up, shouting and cheering. Trey looked around the room, and then realized he was on his feet. So was Teres. They gathered around Flos, reaching out to touch him.

Someone had a flag. It was old, a relic over a decade old, eaten away by time and rot. But when Flos touched it, the colors came to life. A black flag, stitched with gold around the edges. Trey stared up at it. There was something in the center of the flag.

It was a flame. A burning flame, woven out of gold and silver, white and purple, a flame that burned brightest in the dark. It flew above the wall as people cheered and called Flos’ name. He stared up at the banner and smiled.

The sun began to rise as, in the village of Manimar, people lit torches and gathered around their King. They had not forgotten their King. And he had never forgotten them.

Trey found himself standing with Teres. She was staring at Flos, head propped in her hands, dreamily. He sat with her.

They didn’t need to speak. They sat and watched Flos, at the center of the world, accepting people’s vows, talking with them. And Trey thought he understood how someone could follow him and keep faith with him after a decade. It was because when you listened to him, you could believe there was a better place just over that mountaintop. And you would fight for it. You could follow him for that dream.

Trey turned to look towards that horizon. His eyes found the lightening sky, and the hint of a sun in the distance. And past that the hills…

Trey frowned. He stood up and Teres turned. Something was coming. Flashes of light reflected off of armor, riders. Orthenon? Someone from Reim? Trey’s heart beat wildly. He had never seen that armor, nor the banners raised. There were two dozen riders, at least. And more—behind them Trey saw more moving shapes.

An army. Marching towards the village.

He turned to call the alarm. But someone had already seen the riders. They shouted. Flos turned. The villagers tried to close the gates, but there were too many people in the way. Trey heard screams, and the thunder of hoof beats. He saw the first rider race into the village, scattering people out of the way.

The man on horseback pulled his horse to a stop in front of Flos. The King didn’t move. He stared up at the armored man, wearing light chainmail armor the color of silver. He had a shield on his back and a sword at his side.

The man looked coldly down at Flos. The King stared up at him and smiled once.

“Venith Crusand. It has been a long time since I last saw your face.”

“King Flos Reimarch.”

There was no love in the man’s voice. He stared down at Flos as the other riders rode in through the gates. Flos nodded, looking around at the other riders without fear, but sadness in his eyes.

“I had heard you became lord of this village and these lands. Tell me, you who once rode with me. Do you come to fight by my side again, old friend?”

Venith shook his head. He stared down at Flos, and Trey saw the anger there. The anger and something else. He reached for his sword and drew it slowly. The other riders did the same.

“No. I have come for your head.”

 


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“Flos of Reim. I have come for your head.”

The young man lying on the ground looked up. He stared in vague surprise at the other young man on horseback. His eyes fixed first on Venith’s set face and clenched jaw. Only then did he focus on the sword in Venith’s left hand.

He sat up and yawned, but didn’t reply to Venith’s statement. He scratched the back of his head and shook loose some of the dirt that had gotten trapped there. Of all the things Venith had expected, this wasn’t it.

He drew his horse closer, cursing a bit as his mare seemed more interested in Flos’ stallion, which was placidly eating a few whippy plants to the left. Venith glared down at the king of Reim, Flos. He didn’t seem like much to Venith. He was bigger than the young man on horseback, but Venith had beaten grown men far larger.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“I heard you.”

Flos looked up at Venith, not intimidated the least by the sword the other man held. The young king had a sword, Venith could see. But he didn’t reach for it.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

That was all the young man with bright red-gold hair said. He stared at Venith, frowning as if the young man were a puzzle, rather than an enemy.

That was too much for Venith’s pride. He lifted his sword.

“Have you any last words before I cut you apart?”

“I’m rather wondering why you didn’t do it earlier, actually.”

What?

Flos sprang to his feet, so quickly Venith cursed and pulled his horse back. He rode backwards as the king mused to himself out loud.

“It’s strange. If you were another [Assassin], or a [Bounty Hunter] or [Mercenary], or any one of the people who’ve come to claim my head this month, you’d have tried to sneak up and stab me to death, or blast me with a spell at range. Or use an arrow. Or poison. But you didn’t. You rode up and told me you were going to kill me.”

“So? I’m a [Warrior]. Are you going to draw your sword or not?”

Venith didn’t know why he was replying when he should have been attacking. But Flos just grinned as if he knew.

“If I didn’t, would you cut me down? Unarmed?”

“Yes!”

“No, I don’t think you would. Else, you’d have ridden at me and not given me time to prepare.”

That was true. Venith knew he should have done that, and he flushed angrily. But Flos just smiled.

“So you’re coming to take my head? Why?”

“My reasons are my own. I’m challenging you, king of Reim. Are you a coward, or will you answer me with steel?”

Venith raised his voice and shouted down at the young man. Flos sighed. He reached for his side and drew his sword. Venith tensed.

“Well?”

Flos looked mystified.

“Well, what?”

“Get on your stallion.”

The young King looked over at where his stallion had gone to graze. He shook his head.

“I don’t feel like it. I’ll fight you on foot. It won’t make a difference either way.”

What?

Venith stared down at Flos. He felt unbalanced. The young king of Reim, the boy with eight thousand gold pieces on his head dead and twice that alive, grinned as he spread his arms.

“Shouldn’t you be glad? I’ve heard a mounted [Rider] can defeat three [Soldiers] of the same level.”

That was just a rumor. Venith had heard the same thing boasted of, but since he was no [Rider] he’d never want to try that. He stared down with narrowed eyes at Flos. He wasn’t what Venith had expected at all. He hadn’t tried to beg for his life, or flee for safety. Part of Venith couldn’t help but admire the King for his confidence.

But he was here to kill the young man. That made everything harder. After a second of furious internal debate, Venith swung himself off his horse. He set his mare running with a slap on her side as he grabbed the shield he always carried. It was flat along the top and curved downwards to a point at the bottom. A heater shield. This one didn’t have Venith’s heraldry on it. It, like his sword, was unmarked, so no one would know his identity when the deed was done.

Flos eyed Venith as the young man approached, keeping his shield up.

“You needn’t have done that.”

“Shut up. I’m better without my horse. Now, are you going to fight?”

Venith was angry without knowing why. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to. He wished he’d never spoken. But to his surprise, the young Flos just grinned.

“As you like. I am Flos of Reim! What’s your name?”

It was too late to go back. Venith shouted over the thundering of his heart.

“Venith Crusand! Prepare to die!”

He charged, ready to end it in a single thrust. But Flos raised his sword and Venith, forewarned, raised his shield. He felt something crash into his shield and staggered. He raised his sword, but Flos was already running past him. Venith spun, and heard a strange noise over the blood pumping in his veins. It was laughter. Flos was laughing—

Five minutes later, Venith lay on the ground. He couldn’t move. Part of the armor around his legs was damaged and unable to bend. And his right hand felt broken. He stared up at the blue, clear sky while he heard footsteps crunching in the dirt, coming towards him.

“I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Venith closed his eyes. He refused to cry, or beg. He tried to speak and coughed.

“Finish me off already.”

“Why?”

Someone reached down and hauled Venith up. The young man found himself being carried to the slight incline where he’d first laid eyes on Flos. The young king dropped Venith there, and Venith stared up at him.

“If you plan on torturing me to find out where I come from—”

“Don’t be silly. I like you. And I don’t care where you come from. I just want to know why you came to kill me.”

Flos grinned down at Venith. He was barely sweating. Venith stared up at him.

“I needed the bounty on your head. That’s all.”

He felt ashamed for saying it. It wasn’t an honorable thing to do. But Venith was no [Knight]. He had duties. He was ready for Flos to scorn him, but the young king only laughed.

“That’s why you tried to kill me? Just for money? Then it’s no wonder you lost!”

That stung. Venith tried to rise and fell back.

“I had a chance! I waited until you were alone. If I’d attacked from behind—”

“You still would have lost. I can’t be killed by [Assassins], you see. I have a friend—well, a vassal, really. She would have killed you, but I told her to let you come closer.”

“A vassal?”

Venith looked around stupidly, but he hadn’t seen anyone when he’d approached Flos. The king just smiled.

“You might have beaten me, it’s true, but not with a bad reason like that.”

He laughed again. It was beginning to get on Venith’s nerves.

“What do you mean?”

The boy King stopped laughing and regarded Venith, suddenly serious.

“If your reason isn’t good enough, there’s no way you’d ever best me. I have a dream as large as all of Chandrar. If yours isn’t at least half as big, you’ll never be able to beat me.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

“It’s not. I’ll never die so long as I have my dream. That’s why I knew I could beat you.”

Flos stared down at the other young man. He offered Venith a hand again. After a moment of hesitation, Venith took it.

“You’re nothing like what I’ve heard of.”

“Oh?”

“I heard you were a fool who accepted traitors and slaves into his kingdom. A rabble rouser with no respect for law or tradition.”

“That’s partly true. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

Flos spread his arms wide, grinning broadly with a smile that was infectious.

“I am a King. If I cared what people thought, I’d really be a fool, wouldn’t I?”

Venith stared at him. He wasn’t like any [King] Venith had ever met, not that he’d had a chance to talk to any other one. He’d only glimpsed other monarchs from afar, usually on bended knee or while dining at a feast or banquet. But Flos was different.

“So if you won’t kill me, what will you do? My family…cannot afford to pay a ransom if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“I don’t want that either. I think I’ll just let you go.”

Flos turned and whistled as Venith gaped. One horse came running. Venith’s mare. Flos stared at his stallion and kicked at the dirt irritably. Then he smiled again as Venith staggered over to his mare.

“When you have a better reason for fighting, come find me again. That was fun.”

The other young man made no reply. He hauled himself up into the saddle, wincing. He wheeled his mare to stare at Flos. Then he shook his head.

“You aren’t worth my time.”

Venith spurred his stallion and rode away as he heard the young man named Flos howl with laughter. At that moment, Venith hated that sound. But he would hear it for many more years and smile. Until the day the laugher stopped…

 

—-

 

Laughter. It was fierce, loud, and unexpected. It made Trey jolt as he stared at Flos. The King of Destruction was laughing at the man who’d spoken. Venith Crusand.

It made everyone stare. The villagers, crowded protectively around their King, the mounted warriors, even the man with the sword. He wore a helmet with no visor, allowing Trey to see his face. Venith was an older man, around Flos’ age. He had dark hair, and a stern, set face. He held a shield on his right hand, and a drawn sword in his left. But Flos only laughed at him. He laughed and laughed, as if he’d heard a truly hilarious joke, not a threat against his life.

When he finished, there was silence. Flos wiped tears from his eyes, and then stared up at the mounted man, his smile fading. Venith Crusand hadn’t moved, and his eyes hadn’t shifted from Flos’ face.

“Memory is a strange thing, Venith. Do you have a better reason for seeking my life this time?”

The man on the warhorse stared down at Flos, cold emotions locked behind his eyes.

“Peace for my people. Vengeance, and retribution for an oathbreaker. And an end to your lies.”

Flos sighed. His shoulder slumped slightly, and he stared at Venith with disappointment. Disappointment, and something else. Regret, Trey thought. Or was it guilt?

“Oh? I had hoped to see you before now, Venith. I thought you would be the first to ride through my gates. I waited for you long, old friend.”

“You would have had to wait forever. I did not rejoice to hear you had awakened. And if you had the sense to stay clear of my lands, you would not have forced my hand.”

Venith raised his sword slightly. Flos stared at it.

“You are serious.”

“I do not forgive betrayal. And I swore an oath to take arms against you should you ever wake from your slumber.”

Now Venith rode forwards. He motioned slightly with his shield, and the other mounted soldiers spread out with him. They drew their weapons as well. But…hesitantly. Trey saw one armored warrior riding next to Venith fumble before raising a spear.

Venith didn’t seem to notice. The [Lord] stared at the mob of villagers surrounding Flos.

“Move aside.”

“No, my Lord Venith!”

A man moved to bar Venith’s way. He stared pleadingly up at the [Lord].

“Our King has returned, don’t you see? How could you raise  your sword against him?”

Trey heard more voices raised in agreement around him. Venith stared as the villagers moved to protect their King, forming a living wall between him and Flos. His face twisted with fury.

“Silence! You are not his subjects. You are mine! I am your [Lord]! I have ruled you for ten years!”

“But I am their [King].”

Flos strode forwards. The people around him parted unwillingly, but they did move. Flos stood at the head of the villagers, staring up at Venith without fear.

“Pull your warriors back, Venith. The people of Manimar are not tainted by my guilt.”

“Then send them away and face me yourself, coward.”

“No.”

Trey saw Venith blink incredulously. But Flos was calm as he went on.

“I will not let myself die here. But neither will I order my subjects to a slaughter. And neither will you. You are not that sort of man, Venith.”

“You do not know me.”

The [King] met the [Lord]’s eyes steadily.

“Yes. I do. You will not slaughter innocent people here. Pull your forces back and we will settle this in a duel, Venith.”

For a second, Trey thought Venith might order his men to attack. His face was red with fury, but he eventually growled a command. He wheeled his horse and the others did likewise.

All except for one. The rider holding the spear was staring at Flos. Trey had an uneasy feeling. He fought to get closer and realized Teres wasn’t at his side. Where had she gone?

Then his head turned as he heard her voice.

“Look out!”

Teres was standing near the edge of the crowd. She had something in her hands. She hurled it as the mounted rider kicked his horse forwards. She’d thrown a stone, but it was too late. The mounted warrior was shouting as he aimed his spear at Flos’ chest.

“Die, King of Destruction!”

He ducked the thrown rock and raised his spear to impale Flos. The King stared at the rider as he charged at him. He seemed to sigh.

The spear shot forwards as the rider thrust with it. But it stopped as Flos reached out and grabbed the shaft. He didn’t budge, and as the horse continued forwards the spear was locked between the two. The warrior slammed into his saddle and then tumbled off it as his mount’s forward momentum tried to carry him forwards and the spear held him back.

He tumbled off the horse and landed hard on the ground with a crash of armor. At once, the villagers were upon him. Enraged by the attack, they began kicking and stomping on him as he tried to get up.

“Calac!”

Someone shouted that name amid the roars of anger as the rest of the villagers streamed towards the downed warrior. Trey turned his head and saw Venith was riding back, sword in hand. The villagers scattered as he rode through them, striking with the flat of his sword and knocking men and women away.

He dismounted and reached for the fallen figure. At once, the villagers were around him. Venith turned, sword and shield ready, but it was Flos who strode forwards. He stopped the villagers from descending on the two warriors.

“Enough. Let him go.”

“But your Majesty—”

“Let him go. ”

Reluctantly, the people backed away. Flos stared down at Venith; the man was a head shorter than him. Then his eyes went to the warrior who’d tried to kill him. He was still helmeted, but Trey thought he was a younger man.

“Is that your son, Venith? I remember the name. Calac. You wrote to me the day he was born, and I drank to his health. I am happy he is grown, even if his manners are lacking.”

“He is my son. And a fool.”

For all his harsh words, Venith carefully carried his son to his horse. He helped Calac to mount as a second mounted soldier brought a second horse over to Venith. Flos called out to him as Venith put one foot in his stirrups.

“I have never seen his face.”

Venith’s head turned. He did not look grateful. There was fury in his eyes. Fury and dark hatred.

“And you never will.”

He kicked his mount in the sides and he rode out of the village without looking back. Flos watched him go as people shouted curses at Venith’s back. He somehow found Trey, trying to push towards him in the crowd. Flos sighed. And then he rolled his shoulder and stood tall. Because he was a King.

 

—-

 

When they were outside of the village and riding towards the rest of the soldiers Venith had brought, he stopped and turned to his son. Calac had taken off his helm, and his face was pale as he rode next to his father. He was bruised on his right cheek and his armor had been dented in places by the villagers.

Venith didn’t waste time with words. He slapped his son across the face with one hand. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but with his gauntlets on it drew blood.

“You idiot.

Calac’s face was red with embarrassment.

“Father, I could have—”

“You have disgraced yourself and your family’s name! Be silent!”

There was too much memory and guilt in his eyes. Venith turned away as he guided his horse towards his forces. A rank of cavalry waited for him, along with a cluster of armed foot soldiers and archers. But not his [Mage], nor the vast majority of his forces. They had stayed behind rather than take up arms against the man that had been their King.

His mood was black. Venith had no ears for the man who rode up alongside, asking for orders.

“Keep your forces back. Encircle the village, but do not attack, even if provoked.”

“What if he runs? The King?”

Calac flinched as Venith looked at him. For a second his father struggled with the urge to shout, but he controlled his temper. Barely.

“He will not run. Even if he is a shadow of what he was, that man would not run.”

“But what if he does?”

Too stubborn, and too insolent. Venith felt like he was staring at himself, twenty years ago. He scowled.

“If he does, I will run him down.”

“But if we attacked—”

That was too much. Venith shouted at his son, the first time he had done so in public.

“I will not slaughter my people! And if you draw your sword without my permission again I will disown you. Is that understood?

Calac’s face went white. He stood still and nodded. Venith turned away.

“We are not without honor, even if he is an oathbreaker. And if we attacked, we would be the ones feeding the crows.”

His soldiers stirred. The younger ones, those who hadn’t ever known the King of Destruction as more than a slumbering legend, looked incredulous. The older ones knew better.

“Don’t underestimate an army of villagers. Don’t underestimate him. He could cut you apart with ease, and he has the Skills to make any battle even. No. I’ll kill him myself.”

Venith turned. It wasn’t his son he looked at, but his oldest retainers. The ones who’d fought with him over a decade ago. They shifted. Some were uneasy. Others wavered. But some had the same anger that burned in Venith’s heart. They understood.

Venith dismounted from his horse.

“Alert me when the King of Destruction moves. It won’t be long.”

He drew his sword and inspected it. Venith knew it was undamaged; he’d sharpened the blade this very morning. And the same went for his shield. But he wanted to take no chances.

One of his men rode towards the village to keep watch on it. The burning torches made visibility hard, but Venith knew the King would not run. He wouldn’t. Even as weak as he was, he would not. And so he would come out, and Venith would make him pay for betrayal.

The man’s hands shook as he lifted his shield. He stared at the village, trying to summon more of the white-hot fury that had gripped him when he’d heard the words he’d despaired of hearing ever again. But there wasn’t any anger when he reached for it. Just a kind of emptiness—no, a lack of anything at all. He reached into his chest and felt nothing at all.

So it was with a kind of dread that Venith stood, waiting for his King. He stared at the village and remembered another sight, one far more bitter than the time they had first met.

How had it gone? A village and a King. Only the village that Venith saw in his head had no wall. It was dark, and the village was burning. He could still smell the smoke, taste the blood and fear in his mouth. His grip loosened on his sword.

Once.

 

—-

 

The second time Venith met Flos, he was galloping away from his father’s castle as it burned in the distance. The village was filled with screams and armed soldiers striking down people—his people as he fled. They cried out for someone to save them, but Venith could not stop. Sixteen riders wearing black armor and the silver insignia of a set of scales on their arms were in hot pursuit of him.

They caught him at the bridge. Venith heard his mare scream as she stumbled. He tumbled to the ground and saw an arrow in her thigh. His faithful horse thrashed on the ground as Venith tried to get to his feet.

Too slow.

“Put down your sword, Venith Crusand. Accept your judgement.”

The leader of the pursuers was female, but her face was covered by a black veil. She, like the others, hid her face. They surrounded him, weapons raised. Venith reached for his shield, but he had dropped it. So he clasped both hands to his sword and told himself he would kill one of them before he died.

“Hold.”

The voice didn’t come from in front of Venith, but rather, behind. He turned warily, and saw his pursuers back away. Because they were outnumbered.

Flos had changed little in the year since Venith had tried to kill him. He was a tiny bit taller, that was all. But this time he was not alone. An army stood at his back. The army of Reim, just as Venith had heard.

For a second hope surged in his breast. But then Venith felt movement. He whipped around and felt something touch the skin at his neck.

A glaive’s tip cut into his throat. The woman who held it stared past him, at Flos.

“Withdraw your forces, King of Reim. This does not concern you.”

“Put up your blade. Now. I know that man. Why are you trying to kill him?”

It wasn’t a question that needed asking. Venith knew Flos must have known. The woman’s response was sharp and irritated as she raised her glaive away from Venith’s head. He felt at his throat and felt blood.

“We are the Black Judgment. The house of Crusand has failed to honor its debts and refused to pay its dues. We are administering justice.”

“You mean they refused to sell their people off as slaves. And now you’re killing all of them.”

“Oathbreakers shall be punished. Criminals shall be found. Traitors slain. You know we answer to no [Monarch]. Do not interfere.”

Flos was staring at Venith. His eyes flicked to the village. Venith could still hear screaming. The Black Judgment worked methodically, going from house to house. They did not have to hurry. They just had to ensure no one escaped.

“My lord. They have many soldiers here.”

A quiet, frightened voice came from one of the people standing next to Flos. He turned his head.

“How many, Gazi?”

“A thousand—perhaps a thousand five hundred. All armored. And six mages.”

Overkill for a small [Lord]’s house and his retainers. But that was how the Black Judgment worked. Anyone who broke the law and refused to honor their debts was punished, be it a [King] or a [Beggar]. Venith’s stomach twisted. Now that he looked, he saw the army that accompanied Flos was no true army. Their numbers lay in the hundreds, possibly not coming close to a thousand.

He stared dully at the woman—no, the person who’d spoken. She was not Human. He found himself staring at a being with a huge eye in the center of her head and four smaller ones around it. He only vaguely recognized her as a species from Baleros. A Gazer.

She was female, frightened, holding a sword that looked too big for her. Venith looked around. The rest of Flos’ ‘army’ looked the same. They weren’t the professional soldiers he’d expected, merely the sons and daughters of [Farmers] and [Shopkeepers]. Common peasantry.

He turned away in despair. His father had sent [Messages] for help in every direction. If Flos hadn’t come with an army three times larger, it meant he was only here to watch.

But the King was arguing with the half-Gazer now. He stared hard at the soldiers as he spoke to her.

“I like him, Gazi. And these aren’t soldiers that are being killed.”

Venith looked incredulously at Flos. The leader of the band of Black Judgment warriors was doing the same. Flos spurred his mount forwards until he was sitting and looking down at Venith.

“So this is why you came for my head. It is still not a good enough reason.”

There was no point to talking. Venith lowered his head, biting his lip until he tasted blood.

“Go on and leave. You can’t do anything here.”

“I could. This does not seem like justice to my eyes.”

Flos leaned forwards on his mount. He was staring at the burning village. The woman with the glaive spoke sharply.

“You have no right! This is the law and they have broken it!”

The King of Reim ignored her completely. He looked at Venith.

“I have no cause. A King must not declare war for no reason. But perhaps you have one. Is this just?”

He would have loved to say yes. He would have loved to deny the truth. But Venith’s hand clenched on his sword’s hilt until it cracked. He spoke slowly.

“My father borrowed too much and refused to sell his people. That is the truth. This is—justice.”

“I see. You are a poor liar.”

Flos didn’t move as Venith whirled on him. He was staring at the village. He pointed.

“Look, Venith Crusand. Over there. That girl.”

Venith did not want to look. But he did. He saw a child lying on the ground. She was dead. Dead, or soon to be dead. He looked down.

“What about her?”

“What is her name?”

“Don’t mock—

A hand reached down and lifted Venith off the ground. Flos stared at Venith as his stallion groaned at the sudden increase in weight.

“What. Is. Her. Name?”

Venith turned to look. There was no way he could tell at a distance—

His breath caught. He saw a long braid, faintly blonde hair. He remembered the handful of flowers that she gathered every summer and handed out like they were treasures. He spoke her name.

“Merisa.”

The King dropped him. Venith landed on the ground with a thump. Flos nodded. He stared at the village, and then met the eyes of the order of Black Judgment.

“That’s all I needed to know.”

He rode back towards Gazi, and his army of amateur warriors. Venith lowered his head and raised his sword as the Black Judgment closed in. Then he heard Flos’ voice.

“Her name is Merisa!

It was a shout. Like thunder, his voice echoed across the ground, cutting above the screaming and shouts. Venith saw Flos turn. Then the young King unsheathed his sword. Beside him, the half-Gazer raised her blade.

Flos pointed straight at the woman with the glaive. He uttered one word.

Charge!

His army roared and swept forwards. Venith heard thundering hooves, and then Flos leapt past him. He cut the first warrior of the Black Judgment down and then rode on. Shouting a child’s name.

That was the first time Venith had ever wept in public. He ran after the King of Reim on the day he declared war against the Black Judgment.

For a child.

For justice.

 

—-

 

“Teres!”

Trey shouted her name amid the clamor around him. He heard someone shout his name, and then found her in the sea of people.

“Over here!”

She led him away, away from Flos, who was at the center of the throng of people. When they could talk without shouting, Trey hugged Teres. She hugged him back.

“How’d you know he was going to do that?”

“I didn’t. But when he didn’t ride off I got a bad feeling.”

“You threw a rock at him! What if he stabbed you?”

“He didn’t.”

Trey opened his mouth to protest that logic when he heard his name again.

“Teres. Trey!

Someone’s voice boomed. The twins turned. Flos was striding towards them, the sea of people parting in biblical fashion. The King smiled as he stared at Teres.

“You have keen eyes, Teres. A shame you had no bow or wand. I will fix that another time. For now, follow me.”

He turned. The twins stared at each other and then followed Flos. He was walking towards the village gates. People were trying to stop him without actually holding him back. A man—the village headman, perhaps, was trying to talk to Flos.

“Don’t go alone, my King. We’ll follow you into battle! We might not have weapons, most of us, but we’ve a wall and three times their number. We’ll choke them on our blood and flesh if need be!”

“That would be the worst outcome. Far worse than my death. Venith is your [Lord], is he not?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. He is a good [Lord], by all accounts. I remember Orthenon telling me he patrolled these lands. For ten years he has kept you safe from monsters and brigands.”

“He is not you, my King. And he was once your vassal! Taking arms against his sword master is treason!”

“Perhaps. But I was the one who betrayed him first.”

Flos sighed. He did not look at the confused headman, but turned to the twins.

“I will duel Venith now. The sun should rise shortly—stand with your backs to it so you may have the best view.”

They gaped at him. Teres was the first to find her voice.

“Why?”

“He challenged me. That is how things are done in this land.”

“Not that! Why does he hate you? Was he your vassal?”

“Yes. And he bears a grudge.”

Flos strode out of the village, people streaming after him. He was adjusting his belt, tightening it. Trey stared at Flos. He wasn’t wearing armor.

“Why does he hate you?”

“For abandoning him? For leaving my kingdom to rot? For incompetence, failure, cowardice?”

The King of Destruction shook his head.

“I do not know. But I must answer him, Trey. I cannot run from my failure. And he has every right to hate me.”

“But he’s wearing armor! And you’ve only got a sword!”

“Yes. I rather wish I had something else.”

Instantly a hundred voices rose, offering Flos a shield, a helmet that might fit, a piece of armor. He waved the voices away.

“I have no need. And Venith will not wait. Besides, a sword is all I need.”

He unsheathed his sword, and Trey stared hopefully at the blade. But it did not glow, or sparkle. It was shiny, but that was only because moonlight shone on it.

Flos saw Trey’s expression and laughed.

“There is no enchantment on the blade, Trey. I believe I took this one from my armory. It is just steel. But it is my sword, so it is a King’s sword. That should be good enough, even for Venith.”

“But he’s got armor.

Teres stared at Flos and then grabbed Trey’s arm.

“He’s not listening to me. Talk sense to him!”

“I’m trying!”

“And I am listening. But your worries are unfounded, Teres. I will not lose. Because I am a King.”

Trey’s sister gaped at Flos’ back. But at his words a huge cheer went up from the people who had heard. Flos stopped and turned to face the villagers.

“I have been challenged! And so I declare this: I will go to do battle with Lord Venith Crusand. Let no one interfere with our duel on pain of death!”

They shouted and cheered him. A King wearing no armor about to fight a man in full plate armor with a sword and shield. Trey stared at Flos as he strode across the dry, flat ground.

Venith was waiting for him. The man stood braced, ready for battle. His soldiers had spread out around him, forming a large semicircle. Flos halted with the crowd of villagers at his back. He stared at Venith, and then turned his back on the man. He raised his empty left hand and bellowed into the night.

People of Manimar! Who is your rightful ruler?

A roar answered him.

Flos!

He raised his sword, and the cheering and shouting from the villagers overwhelmed all other sound. Venith waited, braced in the dirt, shield in one hand, sword aimed at Flos’ chest.

Trey found himself standing closest to Flos, in the circle that watched the two about to duel. Teres was by his side. She was gripping his arm so hard it hurt, but Trey was doing the same to her.

This was crazy. Insane. But there was something to this moment that spoke to Trey. He thought of knights. Of honor and valor and chivalry. And when he looked at Venith he thought about vengeance and betrayal.

Flos strode towards Venith and stopped around ten paces away. When he spoke, it was far more quietly, so that Trey had to strain to hear over the restless crowd.

“Why is it that you cannot bear that I live, Venith? You, who once fought beside me fiercest of all?”

“Because you abandoned us.”

Venith raised his sword. Flos kept his lowered. The man charged and the duel began without a signal.

From where he stood, Trey could barely see Venith’s sword flash forwards. He’d stabbed at Flos’ chest, but Flos stepped sideways incredibly quickly. His sword came up and parried Venith’s thrust with the flat of his blade, knocking it aside.

Venith spun as Flos turned. He lashed out, punching with his shield. Flos stepped back from that as well, and raised his sword. Venith pulled his shield up and braced. The sword came down.

And Trey felt the clash in his bones. Venith staggered. He stabbed with his sword again and Flos dodged. The King cut horizontally at Venith’s side and the blade slashed across Venith’s shield. Then Flos reversed the direction of his cut. He was aiming for Venith’s shoulder. But Venith had raised his shield again. This time the noise made several people clap their hands to their ears.

“Your skill hasn’t changed, Venith. Your [Flawless Defence] is still as invincible as ever.”

He said it so casually, as if he weren’t fighting for his life. But Venith’s voice was tense, filled with sharp emotions.

“I haven’t put down my sword for ten years. Unlike you. And you have grown weak.”

He raised his shield as Flos leapt forwards. The King jerked his head back to avoid having it clipped by Venith’s shield. He retreated as Venith slashed at him.

The [Lord] didn’t fight like Trey expected. He never slashed wide with his sword and always kept it close to his body. When he attacked it was with a quick, precise cut, not Flos’ powerful strikes. He kept advancing on the King, not giving Flos a chance to move around and find his back.

He was forcing Flos to defend, but Trey saw that Flos could easily parry most of Venith’s strikes, even when the man tried to strike him with the rim of his shield. By the same token though, Venith’s cautious style meant that every time Flos tried to strike him, his shield was in the way.

But the sound of it. Trey shuddered as Flos struck Venith again and the very air seemed to explode. Flos was clearly stronger than Venith, and only the man’s shield held him at bay. Around him the villagers of Manimar were shouting their King’s name, drowning out the soldiers who cheered for their lord, Venith.

The noise of it was deafening, actually drowning out most of the sounds of battle, save for when Flos dealt Venith a strong blow. But Trey could still hear the two shouting at each other, in a world of their own as they fought in the center of the ring of onlookers.

“You are mine, Venith!”

Flos shouted at the man as he cut rapidly from every side, trying to score a solid blow. But Venith’s shield moved just as quickly, deflecting every strike.

“You are not my king!”

Venith roared as he cut low at Flos’ leg. This time the King had to jump away. He was nearly struck as Venith lashed out. Trey saw the sword catch on part of Flos’ royal clothing.

“A king who abandoned his kingdom is not a [King]! He is a coward!”

Venith lashed out with the edge of his shield. Flos had to avoid that; he blocked Venith’s sword with his, suddenly being pushed back. Venith charged forwards.

“You left us to rot! You left us to die!”

“Yes.”

Flos cut down, like lightning. Venith raised his shield. Again metal met metal. Trey blinked from the impact—he felt there should have been sparks. But then he saw something as Venith cut again, forcing Flos back.

Flos’ sword was bent. It was so slight Trey might not have noticed it. But then he saw Flos strike out with it and knew that he wasn’t seeing things.

“Trey—”

Teres had seen the same thing. Flos’ strength might outmatch Venith, but his sword couldn’t handle the abuse. And as Trey saw Venith force Flos back, he realized Venith knew this too.

Flos didn’t know. Or he didn’t care. He kept striking at Venith’s guard, as if to batter him down with sheer force alone. But his sword slowly and steadily deformed from the impacts.

The breaking point came when Flos charged Venith, locking his blade against the man’s shield. He tried to cut below around it, but Venith was too quick. He raised his sword up and brought it down on the bent part of Flos’ blade.

Just steel. That was what Flos’ sword was made of. But Venith’s was enchanted, or better quality. Or simply stronger. It bit slightly into the blade. Flos twisted away and stared at his blade. Venith gritted his teeth. He raised his shield as the King brought down his blade.

For the last time.

The blade met the shield. Only this time there was no crash, of impact. Flos’ sword broke as it met the shield. It didn’t shatter, but the blade snapped and spiraled into the air.

Silence followed that moment, as Flos stared down at the handle of his broken sword. Venith smiled grimly and raised his shield and sword as he spoke.

“And a king without a sword is nothing.”

Flos took a step back. Trey stared around in horror at the ring of watching villagers. They were no longer cheering.

“You are no match for me without a sword.”

Venith strode forwards, and this time Flos was in full retreat. The King cast aside the hilt of his sword.

“My King!”

Someone shouted. Trey saw a man waving a sword in his hands, trying to throw it to Flos. But the King ignored the blade as Venith’s soldiers pulled the man back into the crowd.

“What now, King of Destruction?”

There was mockery in Venith’s tone, but it was bitter. And he was not smiling. He looked as if he was in pain as he slowly backed Flos towards where Trey and Teres stood. Flos danced out of range, far quicker than any man his size should have moved.

“Your vassals will not return. Your kingdom is in ruins. Your lands are gone. You have nothing left. You are no King! You have no army, no allies, no sword—”

Silence.

Venith’s eyes widened. He raised his shield and a fist crashed into it. Trey heard the dull thump. Venith stumbled back. He raised his sword and a foot kicked him in his armored chest. He fell backwards, crashing onto the ground.

Flos stood over him. He shook his right hand, and raised his voice as he pointed down at Venith.

“Fool! Have you learned nothing of Kings?”

Everyone stared at him as Venith struggled to get up. Flos raised his right fist into the air; Trey saw the skin along his knuckles had split from the impact. It was bleeding.

“A King is more than just a sword! He is more than a crown, more than an army or a kingdom. Deny it if you will, Venith. But I am and always will be your [King]. Nothing will change that!”

Venith got to his feet, coughing. He swung at Flos with his sword, slower. Flos grabbed his gauntleted arm.

“A King cannot be beaten by any common warrior!”

He caught Venith’s shield as it flew towards his face. Flos held Venith’s arms apart as the man struggled to free himself. Then Flos’ head drew back.

Venith was wearing a steel helmet. Flos was not. The King’s head came down and struck Venith on the helmeted forehead so hard Trey winced. Venith stumbled back. Flos took three steps back and shook his head like a dog. But he was the first one to step forwards.

“A King is always a King. And I am your King!

The [Lord] groggily raised his sword. He blinked and saw Flos striding towards him. Venith tried to raise his shield, but it was too late.

Flos’ right fist met the front of Venith’s helm. The impact sent the man’s head snapping back. Trey saw Venith stagger. He took a step back and then slowly collapsed back onto the ground.

Blood dripped from Flos’ right hand. The metal faceguard on Venith’s helm was stained red with blood, but not from the man. It had cut deep into Flos’ hand. But the King didn’t appear to notice. He looked down at the fallen [Lord].

“I will always be your King, Venith.”

The man made no reply. He might have been unconscious. The King turned away. He bent down and picked up Venith’s sword out of the dirt.

Now everyone was silent. Trey stared at Flos as the King walked back to Venith. The rush of excitement and fear in his veins had turned completely to horror. What would happen now?

There was only one thing Trey could think of. Flos stared down sadly at Venith. He raised the sword in his hands. Trey’s mouth was dry with fear.

“No!”

Someone shouted in the circle of onlookers. Trey saw a young man without a helmet—the same one who’d attacked Flos with the spear.

Calac. He threw himself in front of his father, arms spread wide.

“Have mercy, sire!”

Other people rushed to hold him back. Not just villagers—soldiers as well. Flos watched them pull Calac away, and then turned his head. Trey and Teres were standing by his side, staring at the sword in his hands. Their faces were pale.

“Are you going to—”

Flos didn’t immediately reply. He looked back at Calac. Trey saw the young man’s face, darker than his father’s, but with the same features. Flos stared too.

“I wished to see his son’s face, you know. But I was too far from home.”

He turned back to Venith. Then Flos’ head turned. He frowned and then threw a hand out. Trey felt a palm knock him off his feet. He heard Teres cry out in shock, and then a thunk.

Trey sat up and saw the arrow. It had passed through the air where Flos’ arm had been. If Flos hadn’t turned, and if he hadn’t knocked Trey out of the way, it would have struck Trey’s leg.

“Who—what was that?”

Teres was shouting. Most of the people around Flos hadn’t heard or seen the arrow, focused as they were on Calac, who was struggling and shouting with the people who held him. But Flos’s head turned. He looked east, towards the brighter sky.

“His wife.”

Someone was standing on a hilltop to the east. It was a thousand feet in the distance, yet Trey could see the figure clearly. She was riding a horse. Her hair was short, but the figure was unmistakably a woman.

And she was holding a bow. A woman on a horse put another arrow to the huge bow she carried. She was a distant speck, but when she loosed the second arrow it sped towards Flos’ chest.

He cut the second arrow out of the air. Flos stepped sideways casually and Trey heard the ripping sound of cut air before the shaft splintered into two parts. One spun past Trey’s face and something stung his cheek.

“Lady Maresar disapproves of our duel.”

“Is she going to shoot us?”

“No, I think.”

Teres stared at the figure in the distance. She was raising another arrow to her bow. But Flos turned away. He didn’t appear concerned.

“What are you doing? She’s going to shoot you!”

“I see her. But I see someone else as well. She is always about. I should have known she would have noticed me.”

“Who?”

Trey stared at the hill. The woman named Maresar was sitting on her horse. But there was someone else? Then he saw her, blending in at the bottom of the hill. If she hadn’t moved, he would never have seen her. But that was why she wore that armor. It matched her skin, and it was the color of dirt. Now the half-Gazer strode up the hill, sword in hand. Flos smiled.

“Gazi.”

 

—-

 

The mounted archer lowered her bow when she saw Gazi’s head appear over the hilltop. She didn’t appear surprised to see her. And neither did she put away the arrow.

Gazi smiled widely, showing the woman her sharp teeth. She had her two-handed blade in her left hand, and all four of her eyes were fixed on the woman’s face.

“Lady Maresar.”

“Gazi. I should have known you were about.”

“I follow my King. Just as you seem to follow your husband.”

Maresar spoke shortly, with a slight lisp.

“He is a fool. But he will not die so long as I live.”

“And neither will you harm my King.”

Gazi spread her hands. Maresar nodded.

“So. We are at an impasse. I have my soldiers camped below this ridge.”

“I know.”

“Your big eye isn’t open. I could shoot you if I had to.”

“You won’t.”

Maresar turned her head. She was staring at Flos as he stood over Venith.

“And why is that?”

Gazi turned her head to stare at her King.

“My lord did not come here to kill. I know him. Your husband won’t die today.”

Lady Maresar stared at Gazi. For a second her hand tightened on her arrow, and Gazi’s hand tightened on her greatsword.  Then Maresar smiled and lowered her bow.

“Very well. If you are wrong I will kill you first.”

Gazi just grinned in reply.

 

—-

 

Trey stood with Teres, watching. That was what he seemed to do. Watch. Yet he was a part of this scene as well. He stood next to the King of Destruction, after all. He stood next to the King of Reim as, sword in hand he stood over his former vassal.

Venith Crusand. The man had regained consciousness. He stared bitterly up at Flos.

“Finish it this time. Or I swear I will come back for your head again.”

Flos smiled.

“After all this time, you haven’t changed Venith. I told you once. I like you. You fought by my side for countless years. Shed blood in my name. I could never kill you.”

“But I could kill you. I swore an oath.”

Venith struggled to his feet, but fell back. He coughed and stared with hatred at Flos. Real, deep hatred. Trey could see that plainly, but he also saw how Venith’s eyes hadn’t left Flos’ face. They searched every inch of the King’s expression, as if looking for something.

“You betrayed us. You left us.”

Flos’ head bowed. He made no reply. Venith raised his voice. He shouted as the villagers fell silent, and his soldiers watched.

“You abandoned your kingdom! A King! Every army in the world came after us, cutting us down. I swore an oath to save my people, to protect them since you would not! I am bound to kill you or die trying.”

“A powerful oath.”

Flos nodded slowly. Venith bared his teeth.

“I have never broken my vows. You know that.”

“I do.”

“So.”

Venith struggled to lift a hand. He pointed to the blade in Flos’ hand.

“End it. Or we shall fight again. Again and again, until I am dead.”

Trey heard a choked sound from Calac. He was held tightly by two of Venith’s soldiers. Flos nodded.

“Your honor. Your vows. For your people you took them, and I know you are bound to fulfill them. However, I would say one thing to you Venith Crusand.”

He raised the sword in his hands. Venith narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth silently. Flos stared at Venith, and then tossed the sword at his feet.

“I do not care.”

Venith stared. Trey stared. Teres stared. The villagers and soldiers were statues. But Flos just smiled. And laughed. And then he shouted so everyone could hear.

“I am no petty tyrant, no fearful monarch! I am Flos, King of Destruction! My heart is large enough to suffer a thousand insults, but too small to accept the loss of one friend. I care not that you renounced your oath of service, Venith. I care not that you swore a vow against me. Join me, and we will fight together as before.”

He held a hand out to Venith. The man stared up at him, open-mouthed. Then he snarled and swiped at Flos’ hand.

“You bastard. You trampled over our dreams, abandoned us when we needed you most! And you dare to come back ten years later, as if nothing has changed?”

“Yes.”

The man’s voice broke as he screamed at Flos, at his King.

“How dare you! How dare you—you trampled over us once. And now you come back as if nothing happened, spouting your same lies? How can you say the same thing again? You are a heartless tyrant, a fool!”

That is what it means to be a King.

Venith fell silent. Flos stared down at him.

“You are right. I cannot take back the past. I cannot undo my mistakes or erase my sins. And they are the gravest of this world. There is no one less deserving of a crown than I. And yet, I am your King. Your King, Venith. Just as you are my vassal.”

Flos moved slowly. He turned to face the crowd of people, the soldiers, the villagers, the twins. But when he spoke, it was only towards Venith.

“I care nothing for your oath. I care not that you raised your sword against me. I only care for you, Venith. I crave your company, more deeply than a lover, more urgently than a babe. I need you, Venith Crusland. Follow my back once more. Be my sword and shield and run with me one more time. One last time. We still have not reached the ends of the earth. But this time we shall.”

Venith stared up at Flos silently, eyes filled with an emotion Trey could not name. The King gazed down at him.

“My kingdom fell to dust because I was not ready before. But this time my dream is rekindled. And it is larger. This time it reaches beyond one continent. It encompasses the world. That is how far we will go. To the edge of the world and beyond. To the furthest nation, to the highest peak. Once, a young boy dreamed of making the world a better place. Now a grown man dreams of the same. The fire burns again in my chest, Venith. I see in my heart lands I have never laid eyes on, of oceans I have never crossed. And I know my enemies wait for me there, uncountable, and allies too. Waiting for the moment I dare to step forwards.”

He held his hand out, blood dripping between his fingers.

“The world waits for me. But I cannot face it alone. So I ask you once more. Renounce your oath. Take my hand or go. But know that you will always be mine. My sworn companion. My friend.”

All was hushed. Venith stared down at Flos’ bloodied hand. He stared at his King. And reached out.

 

—-

 

“My King.”

Venith shook his King, grasped his hand. He stared into empty eyes, a vacant expression. Flos stared back, but there was nothing of him in there.

“It is over, Venith.”

“No!”

The man turned and glared at the one who had spoken. Gazi. She was standing next to the throne, eyes downcast, more defeated than he had ever known her. Standing to her right, a soldier, one of the Rustängmarder who would ferry orders to the rest of the company, stood at attention. He and Venith had heard the words from Flos’ mouth, but Venith couldn’t accept it.

“It’s not over!”

“It is. It is all over. I am finished.”

The words came slowly and at a distance from Flos’ mouth. He did not look at Venith. He sat slumped in the small chair, staring at the ground. But Venith refused to hear.

“We can still fight! Give me a command and I will lead your armies myself!”

“It’s not about armies.”

Flos didn’t raise his head. He stared down at his hands.

“She is dead, Venith. Queravia is dead. So is Tottenval.”

“What?”

Something cold lurched in Venith. He had known. But—

“We found his body today.”

Gazi spoke quietly. There were tears in her eyes. Venith couldn’t speak for a few moments. He felt his eyes sting, but he couldn’t stop.

“Even so. Even so—we have to continue. We owe it to them! You can’t just—”

His voice broke. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t all be over. The entire kingdom, gone. Not like this. Not—

“It is over, Venith. I am done. The King of Destruction is no more.”

“What about your people? What about your retainers, those who have sworn themselves to you?”

“I cannot be their King.”

Venith lost control. He struck Flos with all his might. The King’s head snapped back, but he didn’t look at Venith. He didn’t react to the blow. He just sat, staring ahead. Silent. That was worse of all.

It was more than Venith could stomach, more than he could bear to see. He would have struck his King once more, but someone caught his hand.

“Don’t do that again.”

Gazi stared at Venith, her grip a vice on his arm. Venith knew he could break her grip, but he saw the look in the half-Gazer’s eyes. And the Rustängmarder soldier was staring at him. They tolerated no treason in their ranks. Another blow and it might be Venith’s corpse lying on the ground.

After a moment, Gazi let go of Venith and he lowered his hand. He stared at his King. A shell. Just that. There was nothing left of his King here, just his appearance. Venith turned away.

“I will never accept it. I will not. I will wait! Until the day you come to your senses.”

Flos made no reply as Venith strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. And he waited. He waited until it was too late to go back.

 

—-

 

Venith took Flos’ hand. The King smiled. He pulled Venith up. The [Lord] stared at his King. Then he smiled.

And struck Flos in the face.

Trey cried out in shock. The King’s head reeled back. He took a step as the people around him surged forwards, howling in fury. But Flos’ hand held them back like a real thing.

“I have not forgotten the day you turned your back on me. My answer is no.”

Flos nodded slowly. The King stared at Venith, not angrily, but with deep disappointment.

“Very well. Go. But know this, Venith Crusand. For ten years you protected my subjects. You guarded them against bandits and monsters alike and kept them fed. You built them a wall, and took care of my people. For that I owe you a debt beyond measuring. And yet.”

He looked Venith in the eye.

“And yet, it was not enough. You gave them food, shelter, pride in honest work. But you could not give them hope. Your dream is still not grand enough. And that is why they will always be mine.”

He turned away, and Venith stumbled, as if his strings were cut. In a moment his son and another soldier were by his side. They propped Venith up. He stared at Flos and then turned without another word.

Flos turned away as well. He walked slowly back towards Trey and Teres. He paused to look at them and then reached out.

“I am tired, you two.”

That was all he said. Then he walked back into the village, head bowed.

 

—-

 

Venith rode away from Manimar, feeling every inch of his body hurt. He could barely sit in his saddle, but he sat with back straight when he saw who was waiting ahead of him.

“Mares.”

His wife, [Lady] Maresar smiled and rode to meet Venith. She eyed her husband’s face, and then looked at her son. She frowned at him, which made Calac flinch. Then she looked at Venith and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you feeling better now? That’s twice you’ve struck your own King.”

“He is no longer my King.”

Venith gritted his teeth. His hands were still numb, and he couldn’t feel a distinct part of his face. Maresar only shook her head.

“I heard him shouting from the hill. He is your King. He claimed you, despite how you greeted him. And still you think he hasn’t returned?”

He couldn’t properly reply to that. Venith tried to flex his hand.

“I swore an oath.”

“So you did. But you swore one to him first, if I recall.”

“He abandoned—”

Maresar silenced Venith with another look.

“I didn’t come here to argue the same thing again. You are wounded, dear husband. You had better have a [Healer] see to your injuries.”

He nodded grudgingly. Venith hesitated.

“I am…glad you decided to come after all. Despite our differences.”

“Hm.”

She smiled at him. Venith reached out, and she brushed his hand away. He frowned.

“What is it?”

“I brought half of our retainers with us. Don’t worry; there are enough hands back at home to keep everything working. Until you decide to forgive your King, you’ll have to make do with that.”

He heard her, but he didn’t want to understand.

“Mares, what are you saying?”

“He’s my King too, Venith. You might have thought about that when you decided to challenge him. I’ll wait by his side, but not for too long. Hurry up and make peace with the past already.”

She rode past him. Venith reached out for her but missed. He called out as his wife rode past.

Mares!

She didn’t look back once. Venith stared at his wife’s back as she rode away from him. He stared at his King. He clenched his fist and turned away.

 

—-

 

Trey saw the procession of soldiers approaching with the woman archer at their head. Flos had seen them too. But he didn’t appear alarmed. He smiled and stopped the woman bandaging his hand.

He walked towards the woman with open arms. Trey saw a woman, darker skinned, hair cropped short, a bow at her back. She was smiling and kicked her horse into a gallop. She leapt from the saddle and onto the ground before Flos.

And then she slapped him. The crack of flesh meeting flesh turned every head in range. Trey felt like he could feel his own cheek stinging as Maresar lowered her hand. Flos blinked at her. Then the woman, Lady Maresar, flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“Ah, Maresar. I am overjoyed to see you haven’t changed.”

Flos laughed as he hugged her. Maresar embraced him tightly and then let go. She was actually taller than he was, although not nearly as heavy.

“That was for leaving us. And that was for coming back. I am delighted to see you, my lord.”

“And I you. But your husband hasn’t joined us.”

Maresar smiled a bit sadly.

“He still has not forgiven you. But you are my King. He will come back in time.”

“So I trust.”

Flos looked at the ranks of soldiers that spread out behind their [Lady]. Each man or woman slowly knelt.

“Those who would not march against you have come to fight for you.”

“I am honored.”

Flos turned to look at someone who came towards him, apart from the army.

“Gazi.”

Gazi the Omniscient smiled at her King. She had sheathed her sword, and was looking around at the people around her with all four eyes. Some had already recognized her, and the people calling her name sounded almost as exuberant as when they’d shouted for Flos.

“Lady Gazi!”

“Gazi the Omniscient has returned!”

“My lord.”

She stopped and bowed her head politely to Flos. He grinned at her.

“I should have known you would spot me going, even without your main eye.”

“Of course.”

“I suppose I should only be relieved that Orthenon and Mars didn’t notice and drag me back as well.”

Flos glanced towards the sky, where the sun was already rising. He grimaced.

“Then again, I’m sure they will have noticed by now. I don’t suppose you told them?”

“Orthenon would have found out soon enough. He’s coming with an army, by the way.”

Flos’ shoulders sagged.

“Really?”

Gazi only smiled and pointed south in reply.

 

—-

 

Venith saw the army and the two riding at its head. He called an immediate halt to his men. They formed up, looking frightened.

Orthenon rode at the head of an army of mounted warriors. There were only around four hundred of them, all wearing mismatched armor,  but they vastly outnumbered Venith’s force.

“Hold. They won’t attack.”

Or so Venith prayed. He spurred his horse towards Orthenon, wincing with every step his mount took.

“Lord Orthenon.”

He called out as the man approached. Orthenon did not immediately reply. He was holding a spear, two metal hafts sticking out just below the shaft. He rode fast and hard at Venith, and the man slowed. Venith’s hand grabbed his shield, as much out of reflex as conscious thought.

He wouldn’t—

Orthenon raised his spear. Venith’s arm moved up and he raised his shield overhead as his soldiers cried out.

The winged spear flashed down and crashed into Venith’s raised shield. The impact rang throughout Venith’s body and sent him tumbling off his saddle. Orthenon raised his spear and regarded the head, which had deformed from the impact. He tossed it to one side and Venith braced himself for the man to draw his sword. But Orthenon simply nodded calmly down at Venith as he lay on the ground.

“Lord Venith.”

He rode past the man as Venith struggled to his feet. Mars stared down at Venith and then rode past him without a word, sitting awkwardly on her mount. He was getting to his feet when she kicked him in the back.

 

—-

 

Afterwards, Trey found he didn’t know how they got back to Reim. There was only the procession of joyous people, singing and shouting Flos’ name. He was riding with Flos in front as the King spoke to Maresar and Gazi, rubbing his cheek. And then there was the meeting with Orthenon and Mars.

The man rode towards Flos at a gallop, hundreds of mounted warriors following him. At a distance a huge scowl was visible on his face. It only grew larger as he got closer.

When he was in earshot, Orthenon began shouting.

“Do you have any idea how recklessly dangerous that was? I have [Scouts] and [Riders] searching in every direction still. We feared you were kidnapped. And you, Gazi! How could you not tell us where our King had gone? Do you have any idea what will happen after word of this spreads? Where are we supposed to shelter these people? Their homes are here. How are we supposed to—”

“Orthenon.”

Flos interrupted his [Steward] calmly. Orthenon stopped, breathing hard. Flos half-turned in his saddle. He waved his arms at the cheering villagers, Maresar’s soldiers, and then expanded that wave to take in the army accompanying Orthenon. Flos nodded at it all.

“Take care of it.”

He paused, and then looked at Orthenon again.

“Please.”

He passed by the man and rode on. Trey could hear him calling out.

“Mars! Look who has decided to join us! Did you meet Venith on the road?”

He didn’t hear Mars’ shouted reply. Trey rode past Orthenon and saw the man staring at the mess behind Flos. And then…it was just for a second, but Trey could have sworn he saw Orthenon smile.

 

—-

 

And at midday, when he was about to fall asleep, Trey found Flos. The King was sitting in his room, cheek no longer red, hand healed. He didn’t look as tired as Trey, but he was a bit less energetic in greeting the boy.

“Trey. Is there no Teres today?”

“No si—your ma—Flos. She’s asleep.”

“A wise decision. I would sleep, but Orthenon insists on keeping me awake.”

Flos glanced regretfully towards his bed. He shook his head and looked at Trey.

“But you have no [Steward]. Why are you awake?”

“I don’t know.”

Trey didn’t know why he was bothering Flos, for all the King clearly enjoyed it. He hesitated.

“Is—is that Venith going to come back and try to kill you again?”

Flos raised his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised.

“Him? I doubt it. As Orthenon told me countless times, it was foolish to leave my city without an escort. Venith has not the men to challenge me if I go forth with proper protection. More to the point, Lady Maresar is now with me, and I doubt he would try to take up arms against his wife.”

“But he did try to kill you.”

“Yes. I suppose he did.”

Flos stared at his hand, now free of blood. He smiled as he flexed it.

“But that is the thing about Venith. He has tried to kill me once before, did you know? When we first met. Yet he did it so poorly then, and so poorly now, I wonder if that was ever his intention.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could have attacked with his soldiers. Or shot me from afar. Or simply alerted any number of my enemies that I was in Manimar alone and defenseless. I can think of a few enemies – the Emperor of Sands for one – who might use a teleportation spell to send an assassin after me without a second thought. But he did not. He challenged me to a duel.”

“To test you?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps because he had to be the one who struck me. I confess that I do not know. But I am glad to have heard his fury.”

“Even though he hit you?”

“I deserve it, don’t you agree? My face will not be marred by a single blow, although a few of Lady Maresar’s slaps might do the trick.”

Flos laughed. He stared pensively at the wall, his eyes going down to a blank spot on his dresser. Trey saw there was nothing there as well. No head. He wondered if Flos had buried it yet.

The King sighed.

“It is an odd thing, Trey. I went to Manimar unsure whether I would be forgiven for my failure. And yet now all I can dwell on is a single vassal of mine.”

He spread his hands as he sat on his bed, motioning Trey to join him. Trey did, almost too afraid to sit properly. Flos loomed above him, as big as the room itself. But tired. He only looked tired in here, nowhere else. And only when Trey and Teres could see him.

“I wronged him, Trey. I committed the gravest sin a [King] could make. He is right to be furious. If he never forgave me I could not speak a word of protest and be justified in it. And yet, I would give much to have him back.”

Trey cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I understand that.”

“You do? Good. Today was a victory, if there were winners or losers to be counted. But it is not the same, Trey. Not the same.”

“As what?”

Flos sighed.

“As before. Perhaps it was simply that I was young and did not see the cost in everything I did back then. But today my triumph is bittersweet.”

“I get that, too.”

“Really now? What is so lacking for you, Trey?”

“I—well, it’s nothing.”

Trey wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. But now Flos was staring at him, and Trey unwillingly continued.

“It’s just…today, well, yesterday I mean, Teres did a lot of good things. She yelled at you, threw that rock at Venith’s son when he tried to kill you—”

“Ah yes. She was brave.”

“Yeah.”

Trey nodded. He felt proud of his sister. But…

“But I didn’t do much, really.”

“Ah. Are you jealous of your sister?”

“No! Maybe. I’m not jealous. I just wish I could have done something useful too. But it’s always like this. Teres is always the braver one. She always does stuff first. I…don’t.”

He didn’t know why he was confiding in a King of all people. But there was something in the way Flos looked at him that told Trey he did understand.

“You know Trey, when I heard my subjects speaking in the dining hall, I was surprised to hear they considered both you and Teres worthless.”

It took Trey a minute to remember. It felt like an age ago.

“Well, we are, aren’t we?”

“Not so. You come from another world. From another world.

“But we don’t know much. We don’t know how to make guns or how electricity is made or…anything.”

“And yet, it is the two of you who woke me from my slumber. Where all my vassals and time itself could not do so. What is that, if not worth?”

Flos placed a gentle hand on Trey’s shoulder. The young man looked up at him, and saw a smile.

“Shall I tell you something interesting, Trey? Something not even Gazi knows?”

“What?”

“When I was a young man, no one thought I would become anything special either. I was a low-level [Prince] of a tiny kingdom. My father had little time for me, and my subjects only thought of me as royalty, not someone to inspire them. Only my mother had faith I would be successful.”

“Really?”

“Truthfully, she was disappointed when I took up the sword. She always had hopes I would pursue other paths. Like poetry.”

Poetry?

“Oh yes. She thought I was a wonderful poet, despite my only ability being a small gift at rhyming. Let me see.”

Flos thought for a moment, and then spoke softly.

 

“One last time let the forges roar.

Forevermore, forevermore.

Let hammers sing and bellows cry

And let voices split the very sky.

The King is awoke, the land awake

Now let us all an ending make.

So one last time the forges roar

And once all is over, nevermore.”

 

Trey stared at him. Flos shrugged.

“It’s not good. But I could make such simple poems for my mother at will. It made her smile. The trouble is, such a talent is largely useless. I am a King who leads his people. What use is rhyming and pretty words as a talent? I failed my people. Would that I had a stronger spirit, they would have been better served. But now here I stand with sword in hand, the mark of my folly upon this land…”

He broke off, grimaced.

“You see? It is a terrible thing. And it comes upon me more the longer I think of it.”

Trey grinned and ducked his head. Flos smiled, and then stared pensively back at the wall.

“You may not see your worth, Trey. But I promise you, it is there. In you and Teres both. You two are not the same; it is folly to compare your actions, even for twins.”

“But we’re supposed to serve you. Shouldn’t we be…good enough?”

Flos laughed. It was a genuine sound, honest and pure.

“You woke me from my slumber, Trey. There is nothing more worthy in the world than that. And as for the rest…if you doubt yourself, keep following my back. Watch me, Trey. Come with me as I learn to be King again. And one day, you will be worthy of standing by my side.”

He clapped a hand on Trey’s shoulder and rose.

“Today was a start. I failed again, but I also succeeded. One village has come back to me. One small village, but it is part of me, Trey. This kingdom is my heart. Its people are my blood. Now it beats faster. Faster. Not with rage or sorrow, but excitement at last. I had awoken, but I did not remember what it was to be King. Now I am remembering.”

He stood, and strode towards the window. Trey followed him. Flos stared out across the empty landscape and smiled. Below him a city moved with people. It was still largely in ruins, still far emptier than it should be, but there was life down there. Growing.

“It is time to do what I should have done from the beginning. It is time to act, to lead them. Not as a man or memory. But as a [King].”

Flos smiled. He turned to Trey.

“Now, I believe I shall take a nap. If Orthenon comes looking for me, I’ll throw him out a window.”

And he grinned at Trey, looking like a young man wearing an adult’s face. And Trey looked into Flos’ eyes and laughed.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.03 K

Two days after Flos returned to his city with an entire village at his back, Trey woke up at the crack of dawn. It was part of his new routine.

He woke up when Teres took his pillow away. That was a surefire method to waking Trey up. He opened his eyes grudgingly and saw she was already dressed and staring at a wall.

That was normal. Trey changed out of his clothes as Teres stood in place. They were used to giving each other privacy, but he suspected Teres wouldn’t have looked around in any case. Sure enough, when he stumbled over to her, her eyes were closed and she was swaying in place.

“Teres.”

“Go away.”

“Gotta—”

“Nuh.”

“Yeah.”

He pushed her towards the door. Teres grudgingly moved rather than fall over.

This was their new day. And it was, to quote Teres, complete bollocks. Trey preferred outrageously bollocks, but the feeling was the same.

They had to get up at dawn, without eating brekkie, and head over to the training grounds.

People were already up and about at this time of day. But it did not make the twins any happier to see people walking about briskly, looking like fresh daisies. Trey would have loved to sleep in until at least seven or eight—Teres would prefer ten. But here they were.

“You’re late.”

For once, Orthenon did not receive the shy smile from Teres. She glared at him, which did not faze the steward in the slightest. He beckoned to Teres with a wooden sword in hand and she stomped off after him.

“Trey! Excellent! Good to see you up!”

The booming voice reminded Trey of the time he and Teres had snuck some of their father’s alcohol into their room and tried it. The morning after had felt something like this. He winced and turned to bow towards Flos as the king strode towards him.

“Good morning.”

“I feel so as well. Come, Mars and I have been sparring lightly.”

The King threw an arm around Trey’s shoulders and half-dragged the young man towards Mars. As always Trey fought to keep his eyes on her face. There was always something eye-catching about Mars, but he was beginning to suspect at least part of the attraction he felt towards her was magical. It made sense, right? Mars wasn’t known as the Illusionist for no reason.

And as Teres has snidely pointed out, no warrior could get away without having any scars from battle. Flos had several on his arms, and Orthenon had a few. But Mars did not. Gazi didn’t either, actually, but Trey hadn’t bothered pointing that out to Teres.

“Trey. Ready to learn some more sword techniques?”

Mars greeted Trey cheerfully and he managed to nod without yawning. She laughed, tossed him a sword which he managed to catch this time – the last two days he’d dropped it – and they began training.

It was actually as dull as dull could be. Trey had expected practicing swordplay with the King of Destruction and one of the most high-level warriors in the world to be more exciting. But Mars and Flos just swung their swords in exaggeratedly slow motion, which looked easier than it was as well.

Trey tried to copy them, but he found that while he could deliberately swing his sword slowly the first eight times or so, his arms got really tired after the thirtieth swing. And his mind was extremely bored the entire time. By the time he was done, Trey was sweating and his arms hurt. But they weren’t done. Not even close.

After that, he hit a cloth dummy with his sword as Flos and Mars made him strike with proper footwork and form. Now Trey had to be quick and precise, neither of which felt easy when he watched Flos hit his training dummy hard enough to make the wooden pole it was attached to crack. Faced with that example, every time Trey swung the sword he’d been given, he felt slow as an ox and weak as a baby.

“Alright, now it’s practice time! Come on, hit me!”

Mars always said the same thing. She would grin and lift a shield up and rap on it with her practice sword. Trey would do his best to tap her with his sword, but she’d block him every time, often pausing to tell him why he’d failed to hit her as hard as possible.

It wasn’t fun. When he was done for the day—a good hour later it felt—Trey was miserable. And his arms hurt. And his legs. He felt like his hands were getting blisters, and he just wanted to have something to eat.

“Ah, Trey. Don’t look so depressed.”

Flos jovially slapped Trey on the shoulder. Now Trey’s shoulder hurt too. Trey glared up at the King of Destruction.

“I’m not good at fighting. Do I have to do it?”

“Unless you prove you can shoot lightning, or you find another class more suited to you, yes.”

Flos smiled at Trey as Mars practiced against an invisible enemy with her sword and shield. She was always in the training grounds, even far later in the day. She often hung about, but she would train like that for hours on end.

Now she paused to look at Trey.

“You haven’t gotten the [Warrior] class yet, have you Trey?”

Flos shook his head at the same time Trey did.

“I asked both Teres and Trey to refuse any classes for the moment. Until they were sure of their choice.”

Mars’ eyebrows rose.

“Refuse a class? You can do that?”

The King nodded. Trey had been so amazed to hear the voice in his head the first time he wouldn’t have known to stop it unless he’d been told. But Flos had told him that very night to do just that. The King frowned at Mars as he wiped some sweat from his brow.

“I could have sworn I told you about that, Mars.”

She shrugged, looking slightly guilty.

“I may have forgotten…”

Flos grinned.

“No matter. But I am not sure a [Warrior] is the class for Trey. Teres might find some success there.”

Trey looked around. Teres and Orthenon weren’t in the courtyard. Apparently, Orthenon preferred other, less populated places to practice, and so every day Teres would leave with him and come back looking like she’d run a marathon.

“Why aren’t I training with Orthenon? Is it because you think she’ll be a better [Warrior] than I will?”

He didn’t meant to sound hurt, but it must have come out, because Flos looked surprised as he turned towards Trey.

“Teres? Ah, well…yes.”

He blinked as Trey sagged.

“Surely you noticed, Trey? Teres is a bit more instinctual when it comes to fighting than you are. I recall seeing it the first time I sparred with you. She tried to stab me several times. Quite viciously, too.”

“So she’s got talent?”

Mars shrugged.

“Yeah.”

The combination of Flos and Mars was destroying what little ego Trey had. But Flos shook his head slightly as the young man sighed and lowered his head.

“It isn’t skill in my eyes so much as attitude. She takes to battle with a passion. You think more, Trey, which is why I decided to split you two up.”

“But why? Is Orthenon a better swordsman or something?”

The King and Mars paused. They shared a glance. To Trey’s immense surprise Flos nodded.

“Probably?”

“No he’s not.”

Mars scowled and folded her arms. Flos smiled at Trey conspiratorially.

“In truth, Orthenon isn’t a match for Mars. But his skill with a sword is—different from ours. He learned his style from a foreigner, and as such, doesn’t fight in a way that Mars or I could emulate. We learned how to fight on the battlefield and from experienced warriors. But Orthenon studied.

“Oh.”

“He’s not better than me.”

Mars kicked at the dirt, looking stubborn and petulant. Flos sighed.

“But it is not his main class, so he is not comparable to someone like Mars whose Skills are all geared towards combat. I thought Teres would be a good pupil for him for other reasons, though. His temperament and hers are quite similar.”

“No.”

Trey shook his head instantly. He couldn’t imagine Orthenon, always calm, always polite and thoughtful, being anything like his sister. Teres could be all those things, but she got mad. But to his great surprise, Mars was nodding along with Flos.

“Orthenon? He’s got a temper alright.”

“No. You’re taking the Mickey out of me!”

“I am being quite serious, Trey. I have never known Orthenon to ever unsheathe his sword without a bit of wrath. I have seen him lose his temper on the battlefield, and it is a sight to see.”

“He gets really mad, Trey. Did you see what happened when he met Venith? He knocked him straight off of his horse with one blow!”

Mars laughed as she recounted the tale to Flos and Trey. Flos nodded.

“But he controls his temper. Well, usually. Orthenon wields his anger just as keenly as he does a blade. If he can teach that to Teres, she will benefit greatly. Or so I feel.”

Trey could just shake his head at this new revelation. He felt like he learned something new about the people around him every day. Mars slung an arm around Trey’s shoulder and laughed when he blushed.

“Don’t be too upset though, Trey! Orthenon’s not fun to practice with at all. And he’s strict! You’ll have a lot more fun with our King and me.”

“Exactly!”

Flos grinned at Trey. He and Mars laughed as they began talking about having Trey join them on morning runs around the walls, a pair of exercising loons. But Trey was stewing on what Flos had said, or rather, wasn’t saying. The King turned to Trey, smiling.

“I realize you may wish to join your sister, but she is taking the path I feel most suited towards her, and you will do best with Mars and I instructing.”

Trey stared at him and a piece fell into place in his mind.

“And you want to separate us up, is that it? You don’t want us to be together all of the time.”

Flos blinked. And then he burst out laughing as Mars stared at Trey with a look of surprise. Flos turned to her, smiling jovially.

“There, you see, Mars? Trey has seen the truth. He and Teres are valuable to me, I tell you. More valuable than you or anyone else knows.”

“I didn’t think he’d figure it out.”

Mars grinned as she eyed Trey. He felt a bit nonplussed. But Flos was nodding.

“You are right, Trey. I wished you and Teres to be apart from each other more.”

He looked at Mars, growing more serious as he gestured at Trey.

“The twins truly are a gift in my eyes. Teres speaks the truth to me. She is unafraid to point out my failures, to stand up to me in my moments of wrath and folly. But Trey is different. Trey understands how I think at times. He sees into my heart. And that is a gift worth far more than gold.”

And that was something else. When Flos said something, he meant it completely. Mars smiled at Trey as the young man turned red and tried to deny something. But then Teres came back, looking like road kill, and Orthenon joined Flos and Mars and asked what was so funny.

And the worst part was, Flos recounted the entire moment to Orthenon and Gazi with pride over breakfast. And he didn’t lower his voice, so all the servants soon heard Trey’s amazingly not-amazing bit of deduction.

In truth, Trey understood what Flos meant. He remembered the conversation they’d had, and the little secret of Flos’ poetry that apparently not even Gazi knew about. Sometimes he felt like he understood Flos, as strange as that might be.

At other times, the King was as distant and unexplainable as the stars. Like when he decided the policy of the realm. But he did try to explain himself.

After going to Manimar, Flos had changed his daily routine. He no longer strode about the castle inspecting every little detail of his kingdom. Rather, he left most of that to Orthenon, allowing the steward to inform him of notable events. Directly after breakfast he would retire to his throne room, where he would consult with his trusted vassals.

Among that number was now Lady Maresar. Regardless of whether she was present at breakfast, she would come striding into the throne room at the same time Gazi appeared, to stand before their King and listen and speak to him.

She was tall, dark, and more handsome than beautiful, but Teres had punched Trey in the side for making that joke. Lady Maresar didn’t scare Trey exactly, but she was hard to read. She didn’t speak much in her slightly slurred, deep voice, like Gazi. But when she did speak it turned out she had a sense of humor.

“It is good you sit on your throne, my King. Else we would have had to kick you off the chair you sat on yesterday.”

That had been the debate of yesterday, which had lasted two hours. Flos sat on his throne, looking down at Trey, Teres, Orthenon, Mars, Gazi and Maresar. He wore no crown, but he sat on the throne as if he belonged there.

He was a different person on that throne. Flos’ lips quirked upwards in a smile at Maresar’s words, but he did not laugh uproariously as usual. He nodded down at her.

“Your words struck a chord in my heart, Maresar. I dislike going back on my words, even those uttered in passion, but it seems many of my vassals will be weeks or months in returning to me. If at all.”

His vassals shifted at that. Orthenon crossed his arms, scowling. Gazi kept smiling. Mars scuffed at the ground with an armored foot. And Maresar nodded.

“My husband will return, my King. But he will take time, like the others. They must see that you are back not just in body, but spirit.”

“True. And I rather disliked that chair.”

Flos smiled quietly. Then he turned his attention to Orthenon.

“My steward. Inform me. What news?”

“Three more villages from Lord Venith’s lands have declared their support for you, my lord. They are travelling towards the city, carrying all they can carry. Two more in adjacent provinces have sent messengers to see you. Word is spreading like wildfire, although it appears the local [Rulers] are attempting to halt any rumors of your return.”

Flos leaned forwards on his throne.

“Have we space for these villagers? And how dangerous are the roads they travel on? I had heard word of [Brigands] and [Bandits] infesting the realms around my kingdom. They must be wiped out, saving Lady Maresar of course.”

He nodded at her. Maresar nodded back. Trey stared at her and scratched his head. Orthenon shook his head calmly.

“I have already dispatched a group of [Riders] to ensure they arrive safely. As for [Bandits], none have ever dared venture too close to the city. Unless you have information I do not, Lady Maresar?”

She shook her head as all eyes turned towards her.

“I have not talked with many, but I do not think the most daring [Bandit Lord] would dare approach your kingdom. They still remember what happened to the ones that Gazi hunted down.”

“Do you think she was a [Bandit], Trey?”

Teres whispered to Trey as the others talked about where to put the villagers in the meantime. He opened his mouth, but Maresar turned her head towards them. Orthenon broke off as she nodded to the twins.

“I was a [Bandit Lord] of renown before I was defeated and pledged my service to his majesty.”

“A bandit…lord?”

Trey stared at her. Mars grinned and laughed.

“Everyone thought Maresar was a lord, because they never saw her! That’s how she got the class, isn’t that right?”

Maresar looked disapprovingly over at Mars and shook her head.

“No. There is no [Bandit Lady] class. That is all. All leaders are known as [Bandit Lords], regardless of gender.”

“Oh.”

Mars scratched her head and blushed a bit. Flos cleared his throat and all eyes turned back towards him. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption, although Teres and Trey’s ears were red.

“What of the other cities and larger towns, Orthenon? If any would join me now, I would rest easier with their stores of grain and food added to ours.”

“Not to mention additional soldiers.”

Gazi nodded in agreement. Orthenon sighed, looking visibly annoyed.

“I have sent messengers to the cities of Rast, Belevadim, and Chalm bearing word of your return. I have yet to hear a response from any city.”

“No doubt they are considering their response. Which means their rulers deny me, or the citizens do as well.”

Flos shook his head.

“No matter. For now, continue training and drilling those who have chosen to fight. We have the makings of a decent army here, but I take it you still lack the numbers you desire, Orthenon?”

The steward nodded.

“I have a good number of veterans, some quite old. I have given them the arms that Lady Mars obtained and they will act as a strong elite force. However, the plain truth is that we lack the proper numbers for a true army, and our newest recruits are of very low level.”

“The latter problem will be solved by the first battle. As for the first…well, I shall rely on the efforts of you four to overcome any difference in numbers.”

His vassals straightened and nodded. Flos pondered for a moment and then turned to Maresar.

“Maresar, would you take those you deem fit and train with them exclusively? I would like you to lead the archers in my army. I realize that was not your role before, but in absence of any other warriors of note, I ask it of you.”

“I would be honored, my King.”

“Very well. Mars, if you will train with the newest soldiers and if both Gazi and Maresar, will assist Orthenon in drilling the army to fight as one…”

They nodded at him. Flos turned his attention to Trey and Teres.

“Orthenon does not have the time to exclusively attend to the army. Lady Maresar and Gazi have both commanded units of soldiers and small armies of their own and know what is needed. Do you understand why we must train this army, despite having veterans of countless wars?”

It was far worse than being called on by the teacher in class. Far worse. Tongue-tied, both twins shook their heads. Flos nodded, not disappointed by their honesty.

“An army must fight as one. They must learn to follow commands given out by [Strategists] or [Tacticians] as a whole, which each smaller unit of soldiers must obey. A simple command like advance or retreat requires drilling, and the most elite armies are capable of maneuvers that can change the entire battlefield.”

“I understand.”

Trey nodded. He glanced at Mars.

“Um—why wouldn’t Lady Mars train the soldiers?”

She was a [Vanguard], which was an advanced type of the [Soldier] class, Trey knew. Flos hesitated while Mars herself flushed red.

“Mars is…not suited towards leadership, Trey. She is a [Soldier], yes, but one who fights, rather than takes up the mantle of a leader.”

The other vassals shifted and didn’t quite look at Mars. Trey felt incredibly guilty, but Flos simply nodded as if he’d asked an important question.

“Each one of my vassals stands out in their own way. Mars will teach the newest soldiers, those who have never held a sword before in their life, how to fight. That is what is needed. Now, I believe there is nothing left to discuss. If Orthenon receives a reply from any of the cities, we shall meet again. Until then, I shall attend to my daily lessons with Teres and Trey.”

The audience was over. Orthenon left at speed after bowing to Flos. Gazi vanished quickly as well, and Maresar and Mars both headed towards the training grounds. And Flos stood up from his throne and smiled. Teres and Trey exchanged a glance, and they came to the oddest part of their daily routine.

Teaching Flos. Story time with the King of Destruction. Flos’ school hour. No matter how Trey said it in his head, it didn’t feel any less surreal.

But it happened. Every day. Flos would walk to his room with the twins in tow, and they would sit in his personal quarters, on the padded seats that had been placed in the room, in front of a gilded table adorned with snacks and cool drinks, and tell him about their world.

Flos settled into his chair with a sigh. He took the snack of the day from a silver platter in front of him and eyed it curiously.

“What is this I have to sample today, Teres, Trey?”

“Yorkshire pudding, I think.”

It wasn’t quite like the good stuff back home, but Trey had to admit the [Cooks] had done a pretty good job of imitating the food from a description alone. Flos listened with appreciation as Teres explained what Yorkshire pudding was, and how you ate it. With beef drippings and gravy.

“Ah, I see we have some provided for us.”

Flos reached for a gold-and-porcelain gravy boat. Trey and Teres exchanged another look. It was surreal to eat the food of their home on plates meant for royalty. But that was Flos. He wanted to try every food from their home, and so every day the kitchen staff would try to create something from earth with mixed results.

“Mm. Far better than that black pudding that was served yesterday.”

Flos chewed down three Yorkshire puddings with delight while Trey and Teres shared one. They’d just had breakfast after all. Then Flos leaned back, a cup of mulled wine in his hands, and a Yorkshire pudding in the other.

“Now, on to the most delightful moment of my day. We had talked yesterday of your world. I understand the geography, although I can scarcely comprehend that every part of your world—a round world, no less!—is mapped. I thought long about what you had told me about the nature of planets last night. Is it perhaps that the edge of the world is linked by magic to the other edge of your world?”

Teres groaned and Trey shook his head as Flos stared at them expectantly.

“No, we told you, there’s no magic in our world!”

“That you know of.”

“Yes! And we know a lot!”

“Hmm. But then, your world truly is round, and there is no edge? No…place where the ocean ends?”

“No!”

Flos shook his head in amazement as the twins shook their heads in exasperation. He had the worst hangup about some things. Flos readily and estatically accepted the idea that the moon and the stars were other planets, far, far away. He was completely happy to listen to the twins tell him that lightning could be harnessed, steam could be turned into an engine, and oil could be made into a fuel that allowed men to fly in metal birds through the sky.

It was almost incredible how easily he accepted such things, actually. But there was one thing Flos couldn’t understand.

“Yet you say your laws apply to every planet. Each one is…round.”

“Yes, Flos. But it doesn’t feel round. You can walk across the entire world, or sail, and you’d never feel it getting curved. It would feel flat, but you’d be able to go the whole way around because it’s round, you see?”

Teres took over for Trey while he sipped some water, preparing his throat for a lot of speaking. Flos scratched his head.

“I believe I understand. And yet, that is not true of this world.”

“It is!”

Exasperated, Teres’ sister glared at Flos.

“I know this world is big, but if you took a ship—look, you could calculate the earth is round by looking at the sun and shadows! People in Greece did it thousands of years ago!”

“I have no doubt you are telling me the truth. But this world is not round.”

“How do you—”

“There is an edge of the world. A place where the sea ends.”

Flos held up a hand to forestall Teres. She broke off, staring. Flos frowned.

“I have never seen it. But there have been mighty [Captains] and fearless [Sailors] and [Travellers] who have attempted to find the edge of the known world, Teres. If the world was round they would have come around the other side and said so, yes? But they do not. Out of every thousand ships that has dared to travel to the edge of the world, past Baleros, past Rhir, only one or two ever comes back.”

“Really?”

Flos nodded, meeting Trey’s gaze somberly.

“Yes. They come back screaming of a blackness which the water pours into, a place where light does not exist. The end of the world. So you tell me the world is round in your world, and I believe you. But what is true in your world is not true here.”

The twins stared at the King and felt the ground beneath them shift. A world with an end to it. Trey sat up in his chair, heart racing at the thought.

“How—how many people have seen the edge of the world? I mean, really?”

“In this lifetime? I doubt you would find more than one or two alive, if any. But those who have come back have been written of, and I have read many books which say the same. And the [Sailors] have their own tales. They believe it. As do the islanders.”

“Islanders?”

“I told you of them, did I not? They live on an archipelago, closest to that end of the world. The next time Orthenon shows you his maps, ask him to point it out to you. They know not to sail too far in one direction, less they vanish forever. And—there are stories that sometimes something comes up from that place. Things that kill all they encounter and die slowly, if at all.”

There was suddenly a bit less warmth in the room. Trey shivered. He unconsciously reached out and Teres gripped his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I have never been to the islands, so I do not know if those rumors are true. If I ever meet an islander that is not trying to kill me, I will ask. For now, let us speak of more pleasant things.”

Flos shook his head, and the dark atmosphere dissipated. He looked at the twins, and now there was excitement in his eyes.

“I asked you about the history of your nations yesterday. But do you recall what I wished to speak of today? Heroes. Tell me of your heroes and leaders, those who shook your world.”

“Okay? Um—anyone in particular?”

“The most famous ones. The bravest, the strongest—and the ones which exist only in legend.”

“What, you mean like stories? Like Hercules and—Superman?”

“Super…man?”

Flos leaned forwards, scooting his chair forwards, suddenly filled with excitement.

“There is a hero known as a Superman? Tell me about him first.”

“No—he’s a superhero. Not a real person!”

Teres held up her hands. Flos stared at her, eyes shining.

“A superhero? What is that?”

That was how Trey and Teres found themselves eating Yorkshire pudding in a palace, sitting with a [King] and telling him about Superman. Flos sat forwards, forgetting to eat or drink as he listened, enraptured, to stories about their world. He was like a child in that he demanded to hear stories of Earth, everything from the food Trey and Teres had eaten, to things like the shows they watched on telly, and what a telly actually was.

Flos was in love with the idea of comic books, of tv shows and video games when he got his head around the idea of them. He was a boy listening to tales of another world when he sat with Tres and Trey. But he was not like a child in how he reacted.

As it turned out, Flos was not interested in Superman at all, but found the idea of Batman intriguing, and Spiderman fascinating. He kept asking questions about him, and Teres, who’d read a few comics while browsing bookshops, struggled to answer properly.

“And you say these heroes exist in another world, made up in the minds of the people?”

“No. Yes! It’s a story. But there’s movies about them, books, comic books, video games, songs…”

“Songs? Sing one for me.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing. Trey, you do it.”

“Why me? You do it, Teres!”

Embarrassment over singing the Spiderman song aside, Teres found that Flos was soon bored of superheroes. When he heard that most, if not all of them had died at one point and come back to life, Flos just shook his head and asked to hear about real heroes. So they told him about the people that had conquered entire nations when they lived.

To his surprise, Trey found that Flos was not interested at all in Alexander the Great. Privately, the boy thought Flos and Alexander sounded very similar, but Flos did not enjoy the comparison.

“A [King] who failed to fulfill his dream? He wished to see the sea, did he not? And he failed? What good is his dream then? No—what sort of [King] would fail his subjects so? They shared his dream, won him victories and carried him across countless lands. But he failed them. No, I do not wish to hear of a failure such as that.”

Flos paused, and laughed shortly.

“He is too much like myself, I fear.”

The same went for King Arthur, strangely. Even though he probably hadn’t existed, he was a point of pride for Teres and Trey, that their country had claim to one of the real heroes of legend. Yet the King of Britannia pulled little weight in Flos’ books. He just muttered to himself about arrogant [Mages] when he heard about Merlin, and had to be convinced that King Arthur wasn’t just a pawn of fate. He wasn’t impressed with the act of drawing a sword out of a stone, either.

“I can do that too. What measure of a King is this?”

Trey exchanged a glance with Teres. He had no doubt Flos could actually pull a sword out of a stone, but he was at a loss as to how to explain the difference. Flos just shook his head dismissively. He looked at Trey.

“A real leader this time. Please.”

“Okay. What about…Genghis Khan?”

“Ah. That is a worthy name. Tell me of him. Or her?”

Trey had to do almost all the explaining this time. Teres didn’t remember much, so Trey had to wrack his brains for any details. Of the twins, Trey knew more about history than Teres and it was he who spoke up more when it came to people who had actually existed, rather than mythical people.

“I have fought mounted raiders like these Mongols as you describe them. It is not a pleasant experience. I could well imagine them conquering a vast portion of the world if not checked.”

Flos nodded. He looked at Trey and Teres, impressed for some reason.

“You two are well versed in the stories and history of your world. Tell me, were you scholars? How did you come to know so many tales?”

Teres shrugged.

“Our da told us a lot of stories when he’d get home from work. When he did, he’d talk with us until he fell asleep in his chair.”

She smiled and Trey grinned at her, as they remembered those happy moments. Then the smile vanished; they remembered they hadn’t seen their father in over a month. Flos cleared his throat and the twins looked at him. But he didn’t change the subject.

“I regret that I have not met him. Perhaps one day I shall. Tell me about him, if you would.”

So they did. Their father wasn’t an exciting man to them; he was a good father, but he had a steady job, a slightly boring one. Teres flushed a bit when she told Flos he was a train guard who travelled a lot and seldom came home. Trey looked down moodily and Flos noticed.

“A working job is a fine one. What is there to be ashamed of?”

Teres bit her lip. Trey tried to explain. It wasn’t that being a train guard wasn’t bad—it just wasn’t being a conductor, or a train driver. It wasn’t the worst paying job, but it was the kind of thing you could get into fights over if you went to a nice school where some kids had parents with ‘better’ jobs.

“Ah. I see.”

Flos pondered, and then shook his head.

“Actually, I fail to. I can imagine such squabbles being similar to those I have seen in courts, where the daughters and sons of the lesser aristocracy squabble with those of a higher rank…but I have not experienced that directly myself.”

Trey bit his lip, remembering he was speaking to a [King]. Flos frowned as he bit into his pudding.

“I must confess, I understand little about money. But your father works hard, does he not?”

“Yes!”

“Then he is worthy of praise. That is all I understand, and all I care to. Those who work hard should be rewarded, regardless of station.”

The twins fell silent at that. There was a dismissive tone in Flos’ voice. Not dismissive in a bad way. Just a fact. The world is the way I say it is, and so I am right.

“I note that Trey seems to know more of such figures than you, Teres. Why is that?”

“I like school and studying. That’s all.”

Trey hunched his shoulders a bit guiltily, but Flos nodded.

“What is there not to like? A place where the young may learn free of danger, in their own time. I have not encountered such a system in this world, nor thought to implement one myself. There are academies, institutions where the gifted may learn. Some to become [Tacticians], or [Knights] who serve first as [Squires]…and of course there is Wistram which trains mages and other mage schools. But never a place where all may learn, free of charge. Where all must learn. It has a certain attraction to it.”

He paused, frowned, and then sighed, suddenly dispirited.

“And yet, these ‘schools’ are dangerous in of themselves. If being a student is a class—and you seem to describe it as such, I fear I must not allow any schools to be created. At least, not as they exist in your world.”

“What? Why?”

They looked at him, surprised. Flos hesitated. He looked around the room, oddly, as if he expected someone to be listening. But Flos had banned servants from entering when they’d glared at Trey and Teres for calling Flos by his name. He looked at Trey and Teres and seemed to come to a decision after a moment of thought.

“I am a [King]. I have lived many years, and come to understand the way in which leveling works. I know secrets, Trey, Teres, of the true nature of classes and Skills. Other rulers lack my knowledge, simply because they have never reached the level I possess. I shall share one insight with you, but you must keep it secret.”

They nodded, fascinated. Flos took a breath and glanced at the door. Then he leaned forwards and whispered to the twins.

“The more classes one has, the weaker they become. Or should I say—the weaker they will become over time? What I mean is, a person with a single class will always reach a higher level than one with many classes.”

They stared at him. Teres coughed.

“No kidding?”

The King of Destruction looked bemused.

“That is an important secret! It is a secret of rulers, and why they forbid their offspring to take up common classes.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

Their cavalier response seemed to irk Flos. In truth, it made sense to Trey. He’d played videogames. He knew how such systems worked. But this was some grand piece of knowledge in this world, apparently. Flos frowned as he bit his lip.

“I admit, it is not an earthshattering secret. But what about this one? Some classes are simply better than others.”

He paused and frowned.

“No, again, perhaps better is not the right word. I can understand what I mean in my head, but out loud I struggle to explain. Let me try again.”

Flos thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Many classes are specific to one need. A [Farmer] grows crops and manages his land and his livestock. A [Weaver] creates things made of thread; a [Blacksmith] works with iron. They can expand their skillset, but a [Farmer] will never acquire skills to aid in dancing. He may well gain a Skill that allows him to defend his land in combat, or one that allows him to lead others that he might expand his helpers, or one that helps him heal injured people or animals. But he is still locked into his path, you see?”

The twins nodded. That was straightforward. Flos dipped his half-eaten Yorkshire pudding in the gravy again, which made them both stare at him. He ate it down, ignoring their looks.

“But some classes have more…opportunity. And more force in them. A [Survivor] has many Skills, but a [Lord] will have more powerful Skills, although he may take Skills from many walks of life. And a [King] stands above all other classes, one of the few that has the strongest Skills, the most powerful benefits. There are other classes, and other combinations of classes that have strength too. But if you aim to reach the highest level possible, you must know what it is you search for, not squander your strength. That is why I have prevented you from taking useless classes like [Servant] or [Warrior] without knowing what you will become. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Does this mean you know of some…combined classes?”

“A few. But I would not necessarily steer you towards such classes. In the end, you must still find what suits you. It will become obvious in time. But enough of my world. Back to yours.”

He looked expectantly at Trey. The young man scratched his head. Teres nudged him.

“What about Churchill?”

“Oh! Right!”

They had told Flos about World War II in the broadest of terms, but he was fascinated to hear the role that Britain had played back then. However, Flos was less enamored of the great Winston Churchill, for a reason that seemed petty to Trey and Teres.

“You think his joke is bad? It’s just a comeback! ‘You are ugly, tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be ugly. That’s not nice, but it is funny!

Flos shook his head, crossing his arms adamantly as Teres argued with him.

“A ruler should not speak so to his subjects, or to anyone else for that matter. Humorous it may be, but a common insult is just that. Common.”

Thereafter he completely lost interest in any more tales about Churchill, much to the twin’s private indignation.

“I have heard of great leaders, but these are your people, are they not? Tell me of your greatest enemies, those who made your nation shudder in fear. I would know of them too.”

That was a loaded question, and though one person immediately sprang into Teres’ mind, Trey had another thought. Perhaps it was inevitable that Trey thought of Gandhi. Because he was everything Flos was not.

And he fascinated the King of Destruction.

The instant Trey began telling Flos about Gandhi and what he had done—taking his home country of India back from British rule with nonviolence, with peaceful protest and the idea of passive resistance, Flos had to stand up and pace about the room. He couldn’t contain his excitement.

“That is a far better tale than any you have told me thus far. Gandhi. A name to inspire. You say he took a country, a nation without a single death? And it happened? Truly?”

Trey hesitated. Teres stared at him and they shared the same thought.

“Not exactly. I know some people died—that was when Gandhi fasted. He refused to do anything and starved himself unless people were nonviolent.”

“And they did. He held his life over the heads of his people. Magnificent.”

Flos shook his head, eyes alight with wonder.

“There were deaths. I understand. It is a consequence of leading that not all obey. But still. To do such a thing—”

He broke off. Flos had to pace around the room in his excitement.

“I am moved. I am in awe. I would like to see if I might do the same. To do what he did. But…no. Perhaps it is not the time. This British empire, your land’s rulers…they gave in because they cared that they did wrong. I regret to say that if this Mahatma Gandhi were to appear before me, he would not succeed in his quest.”

He drooped. Trey and Teres stared at him.

“What? What do you mean?”

Flos shrugged.

“Were such a man, a [Pacifist] or…no, his very name is the class, is it not? A [Mahatma]. If such a one were to appear before me, well…I would like to imagine that my people would never be so dissatisfied with my rule as to rise up. If such a person appeared before me, I believe I would be able to find some common ground. But if not, if words failed and such an opponent were to send my kingdom into turmoil, I would remove him.”

Chilling words. Trey could barely bring himself to ask.

“How?”

Flos did not immediately answer.

“There are many ways to stop such a man. I could lock him away, not for years or decades, but forever. I could send him to a far continent. Kill him? No. I would not do that. But the problem with this brave soul is that he can only exist in your world. In a place where empires and nations care for notions like morality. Were he to come here, most [Kings] would execute him on the spot. And I…would not let his rebellion pass either.”

Trey felt a shiver run down his spine. There was a grim, sad look on Flos’ face. He remembered something he’d heard once, something that had been said of Gandhi. Even he would not have known how to stop Hitler. Or was it that even he would have failed? Trey couldn’t remember what he had been told, but the thought bothered him greatly.

Flos noticed. He always seemed to notice when Trey bit his lip, or shifted.

“What have you thought of, Trey?”

The boy coughed.

“N-nothing.”

“Ah. You do not wish to tell me. Which must mean what you are concealing is important indeed. Speak…please.”

For a little while Trey resisted. But then he told Flos.

“So I remind you of a man named Hitler in some ways, do I? Who was he?”

Teres looked at Trey. He nodded, and she took a breath and looked Flos right in the eye.

“He was probably the most vile, evil man who ever lived.”

He didn’t react to the implication. He only nodded, and settled back in his chair. He was no longer smiling. Now he was listening intently.

“All the more reason to tell me, then. What did he do?”

They told him about World War II. They told him about Hitler, about Nazis, and what had started it all, the Third Reich and its consequences. Flos listened silently, unmoved by all of it. He had seen worse. But he shifted when they told him about what had happened to the Jews. And when they talked of the worst of it, the concentration camps, the gas chambers, and the rest, he grew very still.

When it was over, they waited for him to speak. Flos’ head was bowed, and when he raised it, there were tears in his eyes. But he said only one thing that made Trey very afraid.

“From what you have said, I must call this man Hitler a great leader.”

He held up a hand as Teres leapt to her feet.

“Listen. A great leader, and a poor thing not worthy to be called a man. That is what he was.”

Slowly, Teres sat down. Flos stood up, and turned his back to stare out of the window.

“Hitler. There is a name that rings throughout your world. Understand me, Teres, Trey. Yes, I admire this man Hitler as a leader. I reject his ideals, his beliefs, and the empire he created and the things he did. But he commanded the hearts of a nation and forged a defeated people into a blade that sought the throat of the world. He created darkness I had not dreamt of. He tried to kill an entire people. How can such a man not be worthy of praise, damning though it may be? And yet. He was no [King]. And he was not worthy of such a title.”

He left it at that. Slowly, the conversation moved to other things. Flos was nearly in tears when the conversation went back to Gandhi, and they told him how he had died, assassinated in cold blood.

“These guns of yours…you speak of them and I find myself less enamored with the thought of them with each passing moment. One slew a man of peace, Gandhi. They are no proper weapon. They have brought low your world.”

It was hard to argue against that, though Teres did try, if only to explain to Flos how dangerous guns were compared to swords. But he was against them with all his heart.

“If any leader can be killed by a fool with a second of training, how can your world have heroes? How can people look up to those who would inspire them, when they are as vulnerable as the next person to a weapon which kills in an instant? How can children sleep safe at night, when they know their lives may be snatched away in a second?”

“You could do that with a sword!”

“But a sword does not reach out and kill people. Arrows do that, but a child cannot hide a bow and use it in a moment. I cannot hide a crossbow so easily. And in this world, a fool cannot so easily snuff out hope in a single moment.”

He looked away from Teres, who had no reply, and at Trey.

“The world must have heroes, Trey. It must have leaders, and men and women to shake the hearts of many. Guns are a foolish thing. I am only grateful that they might be overcome if they were to spread to my world.”

“How?”

It was inconceivable for Trey to imagine knights or men with swords trying to fight an army with machine guns. But Flos seemed confident, even dismissive.

“I can think of two ways I might easily defeat an army armed with…guns.”

His nonchalance enraged Teres.

“What about a battalion of tanks and fighter jets? Or a nuke?”

They had to explain again what all three things were to Flos. But when he understood, he just shook his head.

“There are ways. If your world has no magic, these weapons are fearsome, but not insurmountable. Such an army could slay a thousand conventional armies, I will admit, but I wonder how Amerys would do against such a force. If it came to it, I could devise a method to catch a ‘jet’ capable of flying through the air ten times faster than Takahatres. The same goes for the armor of your tanks, or defeating these bullets.”

He would not elaborate in detail, no matter how the twins pestered him.

“This world will not bow so easily if yours seeks to challenge us. I promise you that. But enough. If it comes to it, I shall see the terrible weapons of your world with my own two eyes. In the meantime, I have indulged my interests too long. Thank you for talking with me, Teres, Trey. Now, it is time to talk to Orthenon. Alas.”

They jumped in surprise, because a moment after Flos said that, someone rapped urgently on the door.

“Enter.”

A servant appeared, with a request to meet Orthenon in the throne room at once. A reply had come from one of the cities. Flos was out the door and striding down the corridor before Trey and Teres could hurry after him. Trey grabbed a handful of Yorkshire puddings as he left.

When they got to the throne room, Flos was already seated on his throne. Nervously, the twins edged into the room, but the others greeted them warmly. Orthenon blinked at the Yorkshire pudding Teres offered him, but he took it readily enough.

“What news, my steward?”

Flos regally dipped a Yorkshire pudding into the gravy that a servant had brought. Mars was already chewing down her third pudding as Orthenon straigtened and spoke.

“They have denied your return, my King.”

“As expected.”

Flos sighed. But Orthenon wasn’t done.

“That is the official response. The messenger I sent was not allowed anywhere in the city, no doubt to prevent rumors spreading. And she was escorted a good distance away from the city before being released. However, she encountered a [Trader] on the road. No doubt he and other travellers are silenced under threat from speaking when entering the city, but he was able to give her a clearer image of the situation Rast faces.”

The way he spoke made it plain that there was a problem. Flos sat up on his throne, food forgotten.

“Tell me.”

“The city is destitute, my King. The [Trader] received offers from the ruling [Mayor] to exchange his wares for promises made against future payment, but refused. As he was part of the larger network of [Merchants] his goods were not taken, but he had to fend off [Thieves] along his entire trip. He was fearful of being ambushed despite the presence of his guards. What was more, not all of the thieves were [Thieves].”

It took Trey a moment to figure that out. But Flos had understood at once.

“The people are hungry?”

Orthenon nodded. He looked grim.

“They are not starving yet. But there is little trade, and the crop harvests have been bad again this year. Few cities or villages are doing well. You could say Lord Venith’s lands are an exception to that rule, but it is only through his hard work his people have prospered.”

“And mine.”

Maresar looked pointedly at Orthenon. He bowed his head.

“My deepest apologies, Lady Maresar. You and your husband have been successful where few else have. In this case, the city of Rast is not dying of famine, but they are desperate and fearful of the future.”

“And the homeless and poor do starve. Is that not so, Orthenon?”

The steward didn’t reply. Flos’ head bowed.

“Where the average man goes without, the poor man dies. That is how it has always been. You do not need to tell me it is so.”

He stared down at the Yorkshire pudding in his hand and made as if to crush it. Then Flos stared at it and ate it in one bite. Orthenon turned his head, and the servants carrying the food instantly retreated out of the room.

“Hold. Distribute that among the others with my blessings. I know you would have already, but I ask you yourselves to try some. They are quite good.”

Flos’ words made the servants turn. He smiled at them, and they bowed or curtsied before leaving. Then he lost his smile and looked back at the others.

“It is my fault.”

Mars opened her mouth as if to protest, but she stopped. No one else had spoken. Flos nodded as he looked at the twins.

“My fault. You see, Trey, Teres, I once ruled these lands.”

Trey didn’t see the connection, and Flos noticed. He looked tired as he explained.

“I took these lands by force and claimed their people as my own. After my kingdom fell to pieces, some lands were absorbed by other kingdoms, or became independent. Those who swore themselves to other [Queens] or [Kings] survived. But other lands failed. Because I, their [King], had abandoned them, abandoned my throne. And as the [King] fades, so too does the land.”

That was like a legend too. Trey tried to imagine it. If the [King] was healthy, the land was bountiful? Was that like King Arthur? He couldn’t exactly remember any tale like that. But then Trey had a thought. What if the [King] died? Did the land die? Or…

“If the issue is that, my King, why not declare war? We could feed them with our supplies, surely.”

Mars offered the idea to Flos hopefully, a hand on her sword’s hilt. But Flos only shook his head.

“I will not declare war. Not now.”

Mars opened her mouth. Flos looked up.

“No war, Mars. I have no cause for it, no reason.”

“But your people are hungry. Surely that—”

“They have been hungry for a long time. Why should I care now? No. I care with every part of my heart, but it is not enough of a reason.”

Flos stood from his throne. He stepped down from the dais and paced back and forth in front of his vassals.

“I have not heard them cry out for my aid. I have not received supplication, nor seen the failure of their rulers for my own two eyes. I will not march my armies on a thought, any more than I would declare war against a nation without just cause.”

“Then you won’t fight?”

Maresar asked the question quietly. Flos looked at her.

“I would declare war for a child. I would burn a country to ash to avenge a fallen comrade. But I would never declare war for petty things like land or coin or treasure. A [King] should wage war for his desires, yes, but never for greed. And despite my feelings, that is how I view a war to take back my lands. They have other rulers. To take it is greed at this moment. It is a fine line. But I will not cross it.”

His vassals looked at him, some resigned, others nodding. Flos sighed. He clenched his fist, so hard Trey thought—

“Yet they are dying.”

Something red ran from his hands. It dripped onto the ground and Gazi made a small noise. It sounded like pain. Orthenon started towards Flos. The King blinked, looked down. He saw the blood from where his fingernails had pierced his skin. He waved Orthenon away.

“I am fine.”

For a second Flos stared at the blood that had dripped onto the floor. Then he looked at his hand. He gritted his teeth, and then something changed. His head slowly turned. He looked at Trey and Teres. And then he grinned in sudden delight.

The change had caught everyone by surprise. Mars blinked and Orthenon stared curiously at his King. Maresar was watching him, but Gazi suddenly smiled again. She stared at Trey and Teres, and as the boy met one of her eyes, he saw her smiling at him. As if she’d realized something at the same time as Flos. And her smile looked genuine. It was actually not a half bad smile.

Flos tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully, ignoring the blood. He stared at Trey and Teres, who began to have a very bad feeling, but it wasn’t they who he spoke to. He turned.

“Orthenon?”

The man stood straight, clearly ready for anything. His eyes were fixed on Flos, expectant. There was a hush in the room, a waiting. A wanting.

“Yes, my King?”

“I am going for a walk. It will settle my mind, and perhaps the issue of this city. Orthenon, would you see to provisions for lunch and perhaps dinner?”

Orthenon stared at him. The twins stared at him. But Flos was suddenly smiling. Orthenon chose his words carefully.

“A walk…my King? Now?”

“Yes, I desire it. It will do me some good. Teres and Trey will come with me of course, but you are free to join me, my [Steward]. You too, Mars. Gazi. And Lady Maresar, your company would be welcome. A walk will do me good.”

“For the entire day?”

“Mm.”

Flos nodded. Then he beckoned to Trey, who found himself already walking with Teres towards him. Flos began strolling out of the throne room. It took his vassals a moment to react.

“My King, are you going now?”

“Your majesty—”

“Don’t fuss, Orthenon. Come if you are coming. Teres, Trey, let us walk and talk. This is a fine opportunity to talk some more, is it not? This way, out of the palace.”

He led them at a brisk walk out of the palace. Trey and Teres hurried after him, and they heard Orthenon shouting behind them.

The [Steward] didn’t follow them, but Mars, Gazi, and Maresar walked right next to Flos as he strolled out of the palace. People’s heads turned the instant they saw their King. They cheered him, but then paused when they saw who was following him.

Three of his vassals? They called out questions, but Flos just bellowed the same reply.

“I am walking! Would you care to join us?”

And what were they to say to that? Everyone in earshot immediately dropped what they were doing and began to follow their King. Trey and Teres stared. Within a hundred paces of his palace, Flos was already being followed by hundreds of people. And word was spreading like wildfire.

“Um. Where are we going?”

“Out of the city. But don’t mind the crowd. I am simply walking. Now, what were we talking about? Ah yes, heroes. Go on, tell me more stories.”

Trey stared at Gazi, Mars, and Maresar, and about a thousand people now, most following at a distance, but a good lot of them staring at him. At him. He felt lightheaded, and Teres was walking so stiffly she looked like a robot.

“Um. About who?”

“Anyone. You mentioned figures of legend. Religious figures? Yes, you mentioned that when speaking to me about Gandhi.”

“Who?”

Flos shushed Mars as he looked at Trey. Trey gulped.

“Religion. Yeah. Right. Well, there’s important—important people there all right.”

“Such as?”

“Uh…Jesus?”

“Hmm. Not a name I have heard before. Explain him to me.”

“Well…he’s Jesus. Jesus Christ. Jesus of Nazareth. Son of God. The Messiah. Emmanuel. Our savior. Uh—”

Salvation came in a figurative sense when Trey spotted someone racing after them. As Flos walked out of the gates he saw figures on horseback riding after them. Orthenon leapt from his saddle as Flos glanced at him. The King never broke stride, as a group of horsemen slowed to keep pace with him.

“You’re rather in a hurry, Orthenon. You could have caught up later. I am not walking that quickly.”

“Apologies, my King. But I had to organize wagons to bring provisions for you and so many people.”

Orthenon stared hard at Flos, but the King let the gaze slide right off him. He nodded genially, glancing at the riders with a frown.

“My thanks. And a few wagons to carry some small snacks and perhaps a meal would not go amiss. But I must insist on no horses.”

“No—”

Orthenon nearly bit his tongue. Flos stared at him, pretending to look annoyed. But only pretending, Trey thought.

“I am going for a walk, Orthenon. Horses rather spoil the idea. Send them away. I do not mind others coming, but it must be on foot.”

For a second Trey thought Orthenon would explode. His face flushed, but the steward strode off. After a minute the horsemen rode back towards the city. Flos grinned and turned to Trey.

“My apologies, Trey. I did not mean to interrupt you. I am sure Orthenon did not mean to either.”

Trey glanced at the steward as he hurried back over out of the corner of his eye.

“No…problem.”

“Indeed. Now, that is a curious set of titles you mentioned. Jesus of Nazareth. That is a good name for a leader. But Son of God? The gods are dead. Ah, but in your world…no. It still sounds arrogant beyond belief to my ears.”

“Well, he was. I mean, it’s a religion…”

Orthenon joined the group of people staring at Trey. Tongue tied into knots and heart pounding out of his chest, Trey tried to explain gods to a group of people who kept saying the same thing.

“The gods are dead.”

“That is a fact. But not in Trey’s world. This is fascinating. So this god of yours…what did he do?”

“All kinds of stuff. God stuff. You know, creating the world and so on…”

Trey was treated to a blank look magnified a hundredfold. He realized no one besides Teres knew what he was talking about.

So for the next three hours Trey essentially narrated a good portion of the Old Testament of the bible as he remembered it. He hadn’t exactly read it end to end, but Teres whispered in his ears—she was far too shy to speak up in front of everyone—and he told the story.

In front of a crowd of thousands. Trey didn’t know how much of the city had followed Flos out, but when he looked over his shoulders—

He did so now and saw a procession of people filling the road, stretching back as far as the eye could see. Every face was turned in his direction, and people were repeating what Flos had said, what he had said to the people behind them—

Trey swiveled his head forwards so he wouldn’t pass out. But Flos just kept walking with him, asking questions.

“So this god made your world.”

“Allegedly. Some people think he didn’t. Others say it was a different god—but in this religion he created the world, and his chosen people—”

“Who?”

“Hebrews.”

Teres volunteered that. Which led to a very confused explanation of the chosen people, and how they become slaves in Egypt, then been freed by the prophet Moses. Somehow, he found himself telling Flos about how they had marched around the walls of Jericho for seven days and seven nights, much to the King’s urbane amusement.

“And then they fell down, just like that? Would that Drevish could hear that!”

He laughed and the people behind him stirred. Trey chanced another glimpse and saw people laughing as well, or just smiling to see their King laugh once more.

“But that is a fascinating story! And rather similar to the tale of Gandhi, is it not?”

“No?”

“It was nonviolent. And it gives me an ever better idea…”

Flos caught everyone staring at him and coughed. He smiled at Trey.

“There are similarities.”

“Well…afterwards the army invaded Jericho and killed everyone. Men, women, and children.”

“Ah, a practical god. And a cruel one. Or is it his prophet that ordered it? No—I am confused. I apologize, Trey, but perhaps you had better explain the aspect of god to me at a later date. I confess, I do not fully understand that issue.”

Flos sighed. He stared around, acknowledging for the first time that this was not exactly a peaceful setting. There was a hum in the air, people talking, walking, laughing—and there were thousands of them.

Trey glanced at Orthenon. The steward had walked with his King, listening to Trey speak. But he kept staring at his King, and Trey felt like everyone had the same question in their minds. So he asked it. Trey was surprised to find that much courage in him, but he had just (poorly) narrated a good chunk of the bible to an audience of thousands and a King.

“Um…my King?”

“I thought I told you to call me Flos.”

Mars’ jaw dropped. Trey felt cold sweat on his neck as everyone—except for Gazi for some reason—stared at him.

“S-sorry. Uh, Flos, how far are we walking?”

“A good ways. I believe…well, we should get to our destination in two more hours.”

Two more hours?

Trey stared at Flos incredulously. But at his words Orthenon’s brows shot together. He stared behind him, and then with a curse called out. A group of armed soldiers rushed over—on foot—and he led them back down the procession at speed.

Flos grinned.

“It took him long enough to figure it out.”

Trey stared blankly at him, as did Mars. But Maresar glanced at Gazi and the half-Gazer returned the look in a way that told Trey that those two had figured out…whatever Orthenon was figuring out.

But now Trey’s attention was ahead. He spotted a village as they walked past. It came up quickly, but what was amazing to Trey was the reaction. At first, he saw people running back and forth. They probably thought an army was coming their way, and the people that had joined Flos were an army in themselves. But when they saw their King, they rushed towards him.

“Ah, we’ve come to places where my name has not spread. I am sorry Trey, but you may wish to stand back.”

Flos kept walking, and met the tide of people that rushed out of houses and ran towards him. They had tears in their eyes, some of them. He met them as he walked, touching them, speaking to them. But the words he spoke to them were the same mysterious statement and offer.

“I am walking. Would you care to join me?”

Soon, the procession behind Flos had swelled by over a hundred people. And that was not the only time. Soon, Trey found himself spotting other groups of people, heading towards them at speed. Other villages in their vicinity had seen the army and Flos.

“It’s been happening all this time. Haven’t you noticed?”

Teres pointed out another group of a hundred people streaming into the procession, hugging people they recognized, flocking to their King. And bringing food. [Farmers] came with wagons hauling all kinds of food, and people rushed to come back with food to feed the huge procession.

Trey didn’t understand what was happening. But from the smile on Flos’ face, everything was happening the way the King intended it. And part of the puzzle fell into place when Orthenon came racing back  to the head of the considerably longer line of people, looking fit to kill someone.

“You’re using your damn Skill!”

He shouted at Flos, causing a localized hush. Flos only grinned in reply.

“Join us, Orthenon. I take it you had to run to catch up?”

Orthenon didn’t look too tired, but some of the armed soldiers looked positively exhausted. Trey stared at Flos. The King sighed.

“I suppose I should explain. Orthenon is correct, and Gazi presumably noticed it the instant we left the city. I am using a Skill on you all.”

“What sort of Skill?”

Trey couldn’t feel anything different about himself. Flos’ eyes twinkled, and it was Orthenon who snapped a reply.

“[Rapid March]. It is a Skill that [Generals] and other leaders have. It allows an army to move twice as fast on the road. And he’s been using it since we left Reim!”

“Indeed. And thanks to the pace I’ve set, we’ve moved a bit faster than normal. Now Trey,  we’ve been marching for around four hours by my count. Think about that and understand why Orthenon is so upset.”

Flos grinned at his irate steward. Trey was uncomprehending, until Teres did the math for him.

“You mean we’ve already gone over twenty four miles by now?

“A bit faster. We walk closer to four miles than three by my judgement.”

After a bit of calculaton with Teres, Trey’s face went pale. He couldn’t imagine going that far—and at a walking speed no less! Flos laughed at his expression.

“It is a powerful Skill. One that allowed me to conquer this continent without growing old. I apologize for not telling you Orthenon, but we are just walking.”

“No we’re not.”

Orthenon’s face was grim as he touched the sword at his belt. Trey stared at him uneasily.

“Where are we going?”

“If I am correct, we are no more than thirty minutes away from the city of Rast.”

The steward glared at Flos, and the King casually looked in the other direction. Trey exchanged a horrified glance with Teres.

“Are we going to attack—”

“No one is attacking. I am walking.”

“To what end?”

Orthenon asked sharply. Flos didn’t reply. The steward glared, but didn’t speak, probably realizing it was futile. But Trey saw the armed soldiers he’d brought with him slowly spreading out around Flos. He began to grow very worried, but Flos’ face and posture were as relaxed as could be.

And then they were there. Trey stared at the city that had grown larger the longer they’d walked. It had been just a smudge on the horizon, growing larger with every minute. And now…

The city of Rast lay before them. The walls were tall, made of stone; the watch towers all manned. Already Trey could see people rushing to and fro on the battlements and horns blaring. But Flos did not appear concerned.

“My King?”

Orthenon looked uncharacteristically worried. He glanced at the huge line of people, clearly wishing Flos was behind more bodies.

“Should we form up those gathered here?”

Flos looked at Orthenon in surprise, but with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Form up? We aren’t leading an army, Orthenon. I am simply going for a walk.”

The steward’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I see. And are you planning to walk through the gates?”

“I note they are closed. No, I am not welcome here, remember? I do not exist, or so the [Mayor] has said.”

“I wonder what he says now.”

Mars stared at the wall, eying a line of people standing up there. They were holding bows. Trey stared at them as well, and wondered what would happen if they fired. But it was now Flos choose to speak. He faced his vassals.

“They will not attack us.”

“Who?”

The question came from Trey before he could stop it. Flos raised his eyebrows.

“The defenders of Rast. I see them, Orthenon. I am not blind. They are armed, and they would no doubt defend their city should we attempt to storm the gates, siege the walls, or do anything so foolish. But I doubt they wish to die, so they will not fire the first shot.”

Trey looked around. The army—and it was an army, no matter what Flos said—of people was now thousands strong. Men, women, and children were gathered together. If the archers on the wall fired they would kill hundreds. Trey’s heart lurched at the thought. But he was also certain that if they fired, the archers on the walls would be dead as the people literally overwhelmed them with sheer numbers.

And the people on the walls knew that too. There was an army here, even if it was an army of noncombatants, big enough to take the entire city. That was why a messenger raced out of the gates, waving a white flag. He came asking for Flos’ demands, and got a very strange, but predictable response.

“I am simply walking.”

The messenger was a pale-faced young man on horseback who stared at Mars, Gazi, Orthenon, and especially Flos as if he were staring at ghosts or monsters.

“But you are—”

“I am going for a walk.”

Flos said it calmly, looking the young man in the eye as his mount shied away from the vast number of people. Flos waved a hand at his followers.

“I am simply walking. These people have chosen to join me. Tell your [Mayor] that I do not intend to enter the city unless invited. You have a King’s word on it. I would swear that in blood if it were not so inconvenient. Tell him we will not attack without being provoked. Make that clear to him.”

“I—I shall.”

The young man raced back into the city. Trey saw the people on the walls reacting. They lowered their bows slightly, but they kept watching. Every eye was on Flos now, and everyone was waiting. He claimed to be walking, but the King of Destruction had to be lying. Surely he was going to attack or…

Flos turned. His eyes found Trey. For some reason, Trey had expected that too. Flos walked over to him, and bent slightly.

“Do you know what I am going to do, Trey?”

“Walk?”

It was a stupid response, but Flos laughed.

“Yes, but what else?”

“I have no idea.”

Trey thought there was something niggling at his brain, but he couldn’t put the pieces together. Something about today. About Rast, about the hungry people…it was no good. The current situation was far too distracting.

Flos grinned.

“What if I gave you a hint? One hint, Trey.”

“Okay.”

The King leaned down and whispered to Trey.

“I had intended it another way, but your story about that god of Hebrews gave me an idea. But I rather think that what can be done in seven days I can do in seven hours.”

Trey stared at him. And then his eyes widened.

“You don’t—”

“My people!”

Flos strode away from Trey, practically laughing with delight. He raised his hands and they cheered him. The people on the walls watched, probably terrified out of their minds as thousands of voices shouted Flos’ name. Already Trey could see people, other people, gathered at the closed portcullis. Civilians, not soldiers, peering to see. They had to know an army was at their gates, but not why. They were desperate to know, fearful, yes, but curious. And that was what Flos wanted.

“What is he doing?”

Teres seized Trey’s arm, but Orthenon took her place. The steward’s face was focused, and his hand was gripping his sword’s hilt.

“Trey, is our King planning to attack?”

“No, no, he’s not! He’s planning to march!”

“On the city?”

“No—he’s—”

Flos’ voice answered everything. The King pointed towards the city and bows raised. But he wasn’t pointing at the city.

“Around the walls! Let us march! Come!”

He began walking towards the city. Everyone stared, but Trey found himself walking behind Flos, towards the armed defenders. He could feel the tension rising as the horde of people walked towards the walls. The bowmen had arrows nocked and Trey could feel crawling fear all over him.

But no one loosed. The King had said he would not enter, would not attack. If they fired, they would die. That had to be in their thoughts. And Flos had to know they didn’t want to die. But what a gamble to make! The King kept approaching the gates, and then he suddenly turned left.

There was a ripple of surprise as his procession followed him. But now Flos was walking around the walls, following it closely. Trey could see the people on the walls racing to catch up. But that was all Flos was doing. He just walked around the walls of the city, slowly. That was all he was going to do, Trey knew.

He was going to walk and bring the walls down.

It started when Flos turned, mid-stride. He walked backwards, and raised his voice so everyone could hear. He had a massive voice when he cared to use it and Trey, walking just behind him, winced as Flos shouted.

“My people! We have come to Rast, but they will not open their gates for me! The [Mayor] claims that I still lie asleep! But you have seen my face! You know I have woken!”

His voice carried across the crowd, and huge cheers and shouting erupted as he spoke. Trey glanced up and saw, high above, pale faces staring down. Everyone had heard. Flos raised his arms, and the sound grew louder. People were cheering him, shouting for their King. And then he asked the question.

“Who is your King?”

Flos!

The King of Destruction!

Flos of Reim!

Countless voices roared it. But that wasn’t enough. Flos raised his voice. He roared at his subjects, his people.

“What is my name?”

They all screamed the answer at the same time. Every voice, every child, every woman and man. A single word, multiplied thousands of times.

“Flos!”

This time the word split the air. It was thunder, sound given form. Flos raised his hand into the air and the sound was deafening. Flos kept walking, leading his people around the walls. He roared again.

“Who is it that rules these lands?”

“Flos!”

Trey shouted it too, and heard the ringing in his ears, the same word, all around him. It wasn’t just coming from the people with him. Trey heard it from inside the city. People were shouting his name.

“I am the King of Destruction!”

Flos bellowed the words so the people in the city could hear. His voice was louder as he halted and raised both hands up.

“And I have returned!”

Trey heard a loud sound, and then nothing. Something was ringing loudly. He shook his head and saw Teres doing the same next to him.

Slowly, noise came back. But it was thunderous, a beating wave. Flos marched on, and the wild cheering continued. But not for long.

“March! March, my subjects! Call out my name for the world to hear!”

Flos shouted and began to stamp his foot every fourth step. Without needing more than that, every person in the crowd did the same. Soon the sound of their fourth step was like a small earthquake. Then someone began shouting.

Flos!

Every fourth step, they shouted his name. And then it really was like the entire world was shaking. Trey found himself doing the same. Every fourth step he landed as hard as he could and the word burst from his lips. He was shaking with wild energy.

Flos!

The walls of Rast shook with the sound. Not in actuality, but Trey thought the mortar and stone should have been knocked loose from the sound. He stomped, and shouted. The word was deafening.

Flos!

This time he knew he heard the word bellowed from within. And then the King raised his arms. He stopped in front of the gates, and shouted.

“People of Rast! Who is your King!?”

And the walls of the city came tumbling down.

 

—-

 

“Perhaps it was simply a metaphor.”

When Trey could hear again, when the shouting and chaos had ended, hours, years later, that was what Flos said to him. It was what he said when the gates were thrown open, the people of Rast, his people, standing on the walls and cheering, the guardsmen and soldiers having either thrown down their arms and surrendered, or joined the people. They had opened the gates and flooded out, shouting and calling their King’s name.

The city was now the King of Destruction’s. The people had turned on their leaders, overwhelmed the few people who would have kept the gates barred. They had remembered their King, the starving poor, the homeless, and the hungry citizens. They had risen, and the walls of Rast had fallen in a metaphorical sense as they opened the gates for their King.

Not without blood. Trey heard it later. Some people had fought and died to prevent the gates being opened. The [Mayor] had fled, and been torn apart by a mob. That was the darkness in Flos’ victory.

But there was much to celebrate as well. Because the first thing Flos did was order Orthenon to ensure no one would starve. Already riders were racing back towards Reim, to return with food, and the warehouses were being opened and food carefully distributed to those in dire need.

They did not fling open the doors and let everyone eat their fill. Orthenon saw to that. In quick order he’d established control and posted guards on the warehouses. People would be fed, but it would be sensibly, and without exhausting the food they had. Winter would soon be here, and every sack of grain counted.

And yet, it was still a celebration in the streets. Trey still heard cheering, or he would have if his ears were properly working. They’d given up at some point and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear things properly again.

But he felt it in the air. Something electric and alive. Flos was walking his streets, still walking, but stopping to greet his people. He had an escort of soldiers around him, more to keep the King from being surrounded forever than anything else.

Trey sat on the battlements, sipping a drink. It was just water, but it was refreshingly cool, hauled up from a deep well. Teres wasn’t here; she was with Orthenon, following him about, watching him work.

She had a crush. But Trey was fine with being alone, for a little bit. He had chosen a quiet part of the wall, and so he was surprised when someone found him.

Gazi the Omniscient climbed up and sat next to Trey without a word. He stared at her. He thought about edging away, but didn’t.

“The city rejoices.”

The Gazer had a cup in her hands. Trey looked. It was water too. The Gazer’s head was staring down below into the city, away from Trey but she’d still seen Trey.

“There is not enough alcohol to celebrate. And so I make do with this. It is no hardship.”

“Oh. I uh—”

She turned her head then, to smile at him. Trey blinked at her as two of Gazi’s eyes focused on him. She was smiling as always, but there wasn’t anything scary about her right now. She was just smiling. Like a normal person. It was disconcerting, coming from her.

“He brought down the walls quickly, didn’t he? It was seven days in your story, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“But in your story the walls themselves fell. Is that the difference between a [King] and a god?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Gazi took a drink from her cup and stared down into the city. Trey had a feeling her eyes were following Flos, wherever he was. After a few minutes, Gazi spoke.

“This is what it was always like. This is why we followed him. Not simply because he was a [King]. But because of this.”

“What? Oh.”

It was a question that Trey hadn’t ever asked aloud. Gazi nodded at him.

“You have seen him as he is now. As he struggles to return to what he was. But we remember. This is why we followed him, we seven, his subjects. For these moments. For what he could do. Because he was a King.”

Trey had no answer to that, nothing he could say. But it wasn’t a statement that demanded an answer. He and Gazi sat on the battlements until the sun set. He rode back with Teres on a horse, reaching Reim in just over an hour. Apparently, the people who had followed Flos marched into the night, but met riders and wagons coming their way with food to keep them supplied. And their King walked with them the entire way, speaking with his people.

And so as Trey staggered to his room, before he fell asleep onto his bed, which was actually Teres’ and she fell asleep onto his, he heard it. The whispers.

They ran through the hallways, through the entire palace. They swept into the city, out of the roads, from person to person, by spell and letter. A rumor.

The King of Destruction was awake. He had returned, truly. And there was something else. He had taken a city. Not just taken it—he had brought the walls down. No, he had conquered it with just one word. He had stormed the city and taken it without a single life lost. He had marched up to the gates and brought down the walls with a single word.

That was rumor. But there was truth in it. And the truth was that the King of Destruction had awoken. It was no longer gossip, idle speculation, or a secret known by the few and powerful. Now it was a shout, and it spread like wildfire to the people who had waited for this day. It could no longer be ignored, and they called his name once more.

Flos. The King of Destruction.

He had awoken. He had returned at last. Trey slept with that knowledge ringing in his ears and heard.

The declaration of war reached the palace the next day.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.04 K

Trey was sitting in the banquet hall with Teres, trying to explain what a shortcake was to an interested audience of servants and a harried [Cook] when Gazi found him. The half-Gazer strode through the crowd and jerked her thumb.

“Come.”

It was indicative of her personality that no one asked questions. Trey and Teres were following Gazi out of the banquet hall in an instant.

“Why are we—”

Gazi’s head turned and she cut Teres off with an answer.

“A messenger has come for my lord Flos. He desires you to hear what is being said.”

“And wh—”

“War.”

The word precipitated a crash of broken pottery. A woman who’d been carrying a load of dirty dishes dropped them when she heard the word. Gazi glanced at her and the woman immediately bowed.

“War?”

Trey said it faintly. War? Now? Of course, Flos was the King of Destruction, but—

“It will be war.”

One of Gazi’s eyes turned to follow the servant as she bent to pick up the broken shards. She didn’t say anything, but Trey would have bet his eyeteeth—since he didn’t have any actual money—that the woman would be telling everyone in earshot as soon as she was out of sight. And Gazi probably knew that, but she walked on.

As it turned out, war had already been declared by the time the twins and Gazi reached the throne room. They entered to hear shouting, and saw a young man wearing leather armor, covered in a thin layer of dust and sweat, shouting at Flos.

“—will not kneel to you! Hellios has risen, and our soldiers are marching towards this city at this very moment!”

Flos sat on his throne, flanked by Orthenon and Mars as he stared down at the messenger.

“So Queen Calliope desires war?”

The young man’s eyes blazed up at Flos. He didn’t seem to notice the twins as they edged around the room, nor Gazi as she strode up to the throne and took a place next to Orthenon.

“You know she does. Her hatred of you burns no less brightly than my own, King Flos of Reim. You killed my father, and for that you will answer at last.”

His father. Trey looked at the young man. Was he a [Prince]? Certainly, Flos seemed to be treating him like one, to let him yell at him in front of his vassals. But why had a [Prince] come himself? He certainly wasn’t attired like one, and he looked like he’d been on the road for hours, if not days.

“That I killed King Treland is reason enough to hate. But I would have thought your mother had more sense. She knows what war brings. She has seen it once. I doubt she would be foolish to wish for it again.”

His words made the young prince flush with fury.

“We have held our peace because you slept, in cowardice. But now that you are awake, it is war, Flos of Reim!”

“And why were you sent? Did your mother fear I would slay her messenger?”

“I took his place. I had to see the truth of it myself, that you were awake. I wanted to lay eyes on my father’s killer myself.”

The young man’s eyes burned as he put his hand on the sword at his waist. No one moved, despite the threat. Orthenon stared coldly down at the prince, Mars with intensity, watching his hands. Gazi looked bored; only one eye was on him. Two were for her King and one—

Trey shuddered. One was watching him and Teres. Watching them react to the prince.

“Tell me your name, bold son of Calliope. You have not given it. If I am to be at war with the kingdom of Hellios, I would know who brings such tidings.”

“I am [Prince] Siyal of Hellios. And I swear to you, King Flos, that I will have vengeance for—”

“Your father. Yes, I heard.”

Flos sighed. He stared down at Siyal with an expression Trey and Teres hadn’t seen on him before. It wasn’t anger. It was more like grim intensity. It was a very kingly expression in that sense, but there was something else in the way he looked at Siyal.

Disappointment.

“So you seek my head as a matter of vengeance. You would not be the first, nor the last. But why for Treland? He was not worthy of it. Far better to come after me for those countless thousands I slew, or your shattered kingdom. Why waste hatred for the death of a worthless king, even if he was a father?”

“How dare you.”

Siyal’s eyes blazed and he actually unsheathed his sword a fraction. At once, Orthenon and Mars both reached for their sword hilts. The prince halted, eying both of them.

“I did not come here to bare my blade, King Flos. But one more word of insult and I will shed my blood, regardless of the odds!”

“I hear your words, Siyal. But what I said was no insult. It was the truth.”

Flos cut off Siyal as the young man looked as if he might truly rush the throne. He stood up and stared down at the young man.

“You think your father was a man worth avenging? He was not.”

The King of Destruction raised his voice over the young man’s voice.

Silence! He. Was. Not. Because I am a [King], know that I speak the truth. Your father was no hero, no great ruler, boy. He was a fool and a monster. You have a King’s word on that.”

“Liar!”

It was amazing, Trey thought, that Siyal could shout that at Flos, much less to his face. A King’s word…but Flos didn’t grow angry. He just stared Siyal down, and the [Prince] lost a bit of his bravado in the silence that followed.

“I will not lie, even for the fallen. That your father died does not change the nature of his sin. Neither did his Class. He treated his subjects like animals—no, worse than that.”

“He was a [King]! He deserved an honorable death, not an execution on the battlefield! How he ruled was no business of yours!”

“His people cried out for justice. They came to me, begging for protection, to bring down a king that cared more for his own wealth and that of his friends than his people. Is that the man you admire, Siyal? Or did your mother never tell you of his failures, only my crimes? I went to war for the thousands who died under his rule, not to steal land or wealth.”

Siyal’s face had gone pale as Flos spoke. He pointed a shaking finger at Flos.

“I will not listen to your lies. You are no worthy [King]. You dare to talk of a [King]’s duties when you abandoned your own kingdom? You—you have no right to speak of my father to me.”

Flos stared down at Siyal, that same cold disappointment in his expression. He shook his head slowly.

“You and I use the truth like blades. But I have the courage to face it. My failure and who I am does not change reality. Your father—”

Silence!

Siyal did draw his blade, then. And Orthenon and Mars did the same. They leapt off the throne’s dais, surrounding Siyal from both ends. He whirled to face them, face pale but jaw set.

“Orthenon. Mars. Enough.”

Flos stopped his vassals with one hand. He looked down at the [Prince] as Orthenon and Mars stepped back, sheathing their blades.

“You are fearless, Prince Siyal. Just like your father. But it takes more than courage to make a man. But at least you have that. Your father had neither.”

It was cruel. Flos’ words were harsh and cutting, and Trey saw the marks they left on Siyal. They cut deep, because Trey knew they were true. There was something in Flos’ voice, the way he spoke that made the truth self-evident. And some part of Siyal knew it.

The prince sheathed his sword. Tears stood out in the corners of his eyes as he glared up at Flos. His voice was rough, but steady.

“You have heard my message. Hellios declares war with Reim. My duty here is done. When we next meet, it will be under banner, bearing arms.”

He pointed at Flos.

“I will find you on the battlefield. I will hunt you down and claim your head with my sword.”

The King didn’t blink.

“I shall try to spare the effort to pick your face out from the legions of my enemies.”

He lifted a hand in dismissal. Siyal turned and stormed from the room, face crimson. All that time he had not glanced once at the twins. They were beneath his notice.

The two double doors closed behind Prince Siyal of Hellios, and Flos sat down slowly upon his throne. Only then did Mars and Orthenon turn to face him. After a second, Gazi stepped down and joined them.

And then Trey saw the curtains near one of the balconies move. He stared as Lady Maresar pushed them back. She calmly walked over to the others, putting an arrow back in the quiver at her side as she did.

Flos glanced at Maresar, at Gazi, and then the twins as they hesitantly came to stand before his throne. He smiled a bit at them, wearily.

“And so it begins.”

“War.”

This time Trey said the word and felt a chill. It was strange. One person said it, and suddenly it was true. He glanced at the doors Siyal had left through.

“Was he really a [Prince]?”

“Oh yes.”

Everyone in the room except for Teres nodded at once. Mars grinned as she tapped her chin.

“Did you see the way he kept it raised the entire time he was talking? The royals have a way of talking and standing that just screams their class. It makes you want to trip them whenever they walk past.”

Orthenon frowned at Mars before turning to Trey.

“I am surprised he came alone, but yes, that was [Prince] Siyal. Doubtless he must have come here against his mother’s wishes.”

“Calliope knows I would not stoop to ransoming her son.”

Flos looked mildly annoyed by the implication. Orthenon bowed to him.

“Of course. But the roads are not safe, my King. He must have rushed here.”

“I saw his horse as he rode in. It looked dead. That fool probably rode it at a gallop all the way here.”

Maresar’s lip curled and Flos shook his head. He sat with his back straight against his throne, staring at the ceiling.

“Yet his message was plain, and perhaps warranted such actions, at least in his mind. War.”

“It has come at last.”

Gazi’s eyes glittered with excitement. Orthenon and Mars nodded, and both looked…eager. It wasn’t a thought Trey would have associated with war, not in his world. But there was a spark of that in Maresar’s eyes, and when Flos looked down—

Trey could see it there too. That awful glimmer, that silent spark of terrible things. Terrible, glorious things.

“War.”

When he said it, Trey got goose bumps again. Only this time, Flos did not seize his sword and rush out of the room. Instead, he sighed.

“We have much to do.”

He looked at his steward.

“Orthenon, appraise me as we walk. Mars, spread the word. Lady Maresar, if you will send messengers to the furthest villages? We must ready my subjects to retreat behind the city’s walls at once. Gazi, be watchful as always. And you, Trey, Teres…”

He turned and the twins tensed with anticipation. Flos smiled.

“You have seen my kingdom in decay, at peace, such as it is. Now see its true heart. We prepare for war, at last. It is time to break my long slumber, my endless fast.”

He paused, and only Trey noticed the slight rolling of his eyes, and the look of chagrin on Flos’ face. He turned.

“Come. Follow.”

And they did.

 

—-

 

To Trey’s surprise, the rest of the day was not filled with people running about and general confusion. Oh, some people moved faster than normal, but Flos walked down his corridors at the same pace as always, and took time to greet the people he met as usual.

He had an explanation when Trey asked.

“War has been declared. But though Hellios is far closer than the lands of the Emperor of Sands, an army will not appear on my doorstep tomorrow. Or the day after, for that matter.”

“That is the convenience of a formal declaration of war.”

Orthenon nodded as he stepped out of a cluster of servants and messenger. He was the one working hardest, and Trey and Teres got to see exactly what going to war meant you had to do.

The first and most important thing was to make sure everyone knew there was a war going on. It wasn’t as if everyone had a telephone—or a [Mage] capable to receiving a [Message] spell. Within the hour, people on horseback were racing to all parts of the kingdom, bearing the news of war.

But that didn’t mean people were about to come rushing towards the castle with swords in hand, ready to fight, either. It did mean they harvested any food available, and made preparations to leave their villages and towns at once if an army came their way.

“You see, Teres, Trey, an enemy army will strip the countryside. Even if an army does not attack civilians—and there are many which would slaughter any of my subjects they came across—they will destroy villages and kill by their simple passing. Once we know from which direction the army approaches, we will begin evacuating those in need.”

Flos told them this in between readying his capital for war. There was so much to do he was giving Orthenon a hand in organizing. The walls had to be inspected, soldiers manning the battlements and watchful at all times, and gear had to be distributed. Not everyone walked around ready for battle like Mars—most people found wearing anything heavier than cloth fairly tiring, let alone plate armor or chainmail.

And not everyone got that, either. Helmets were in short supply, armor needed patching, some weapons could use a whetstone, while others had a broken haft. Potions needed distributing, pack horses and other animals found to haul all of the army’s supplies and equipment—the list went on and on. It wasn’t as if Orthenon and Flos had been neglecting doing any of this, but they’d had an entire kingdom to get working again. Now, all of these preparations were the first order of business.

Amid all of the busy work, Trey felt like the most useless lump. He could only watch as Flos strode around, taking care of matters that Trey wouldn’t have thought to address. At least Teres could say she was helping a bit—she scribbled down notes for Orthenon as he assessed the number of soldiers they had, how many saddles were in working repair, and so on.

Not so for Flos and Trey. The King of Destruction didn’t use lists, and he didn’t need another person to run messages for him. He told Trey that he just needed him to watch what he was doing. So Trey did.

He watched as the second declaration of war reached Flos in the throne room. And then the third. And the fourth.

 

—-

 

This time the messengers came together. Two delegations of armed soldiers approached the gates and demanded entry. The bulk of the soldiers remained at the gate, watched warily by soldiers from the walls, as a smaller delegation entered the throne room.

One man came alone, sweeping into the room with a bow towards the throne, his silk robes swirling around him as he approached the throne and then bowed again. The second man marched in with four warriors at his back, a scroll of parchment sealed with wax in his hands.

“I take it you two come for the same reason?”

Flos sat on his throne, staring down at the two unalike messengers. It was the man in robes who spoke first.

“Your Majesty, I come bearing word from my home country of Gemira. I am humbly [Ambassador] Illius, authorized to speak for the Quarass on matters of state.”

Flos nodded at the man as Trey stared at Ambassador Illius. He sounded like a complete ponce. That was, until Trey realized he probably was all the things he said. So…just weird.

“What does the Quarass will, Ambassador Illius?”

Flos knew. Everyone in the room knew. But somehow, the good ambassador managed to stretch a single statement into multiple sentences.

“The Quarass has determined that a state of war exists between our two nations. Having searched for an alternative, she has concluded that none may be found save by arms. We declare war upon the nation of Reim and I am tasked with ensuring this message is delivered to his Majesty Flos so that an understanding is reached.”

Flos nodded as Trey rubbed at his ears and Mars yawned. The King turned to the man standing stiffly next to Illius.

“And do you come with the same tidings, messenger?”

“Your Majesty, it is not for me to say. I am enstrusted with this letter, and may not return until I have seen it to your hands.”

The man stepped forwards, offering the scroll. Not directly to Flos, but to Orthenon, who came down to receive it. Only after the steward had checked the scroll—for dangerous magic or poison, perhaps—did he deliver to Flos.

The King broke the seal and read from the scroll as everyone in the room waited. It took him only a few seconds, mainly because Trey saw his eyes skimming down the very long scroll all the way to the bottom. Then he rolled it up and nodded. He said one word.

“War.”

The ambassador and messenger both bowed their heads. Flos looked down on them. Trey was practically eating his fingers. Three nations had declared war? Three? But the King of Destruction looked as if he’d expected nothing less.

“I have read your senate’s declaration of war, messenger of Xar. And I have heard your words, Ambassador Illius. You may go.”

They went.

 

—-

 

Apparently, all of Flos’ vassals and Flos himself had known more nations would be declaring war. And apparently, Teres had figured it out as well, which meant only Trey was caught off guard.

“Well it, makes sense, don’t it?”

She explained it to Trey when he pulled her aside—for what Trey had assumed to be a mutual freak out, but which became a stern lecture. Teres frowned at Trey as if not predicting war was a fault.

“You heard how scary Flos is supposed to be, didn’t you? Even if they think he’s just woke up, no one nation is going to pick a fight. It’s probably a lot of them that decided to gang up.”

Just how many was a surprise to both of the twins, though. Because not an hour after the two delegates had left, another declaration of war came to Reim. This one came in a box, and it was delivered by a [Runner].

In fact, it took a while to get to Flos. A servant came with it as Flos was walking around his city with Orthenon, making sure there were no glaring gaps in the wall. Only when Orthenon had spoken with the man did the small box reach the King.

“Is it another declaration of war?”

“I believe so, my King.”

Flos sighed. He eyed the package.

“I think I know which nation this one comes from. Elmvettelashar. Or whatever the name is.”

Orthenon shook his head at Flos’ incorrect pronunciation as the King took the package and began to unwrap it. It was tied with a bit of twine, and the package itself was a cheap wood box, hardly fit for a King. Trey edged away from the box nervously.

“What about traps? What if there’s a b—poison or something?”

Flos shook his head.

“This came through the Runner’s Guild. They do not allow such deliveries. It would ruin their neutrality. And this is a declaration of war, I am sure of it, as is Orthenon. Less formal perhaps, but cheaper. Let us see what they have—ah.”

Flos’ hands had unwrapped the parcel. Trey recoiled and Teres clapped a hand over her mouth when they saw—and smelled—what was inside.

The King’s face didn’t change as he showed the contents of the box to Ortheon. The steward stared with disgust at the slightly rotted heart in the box. Flos handed it to him and Orthenon immediately handed it to a servant with orders to burn the box and everything in it. Only then did Flos notice Trey and Teres’ pale faces.

“It’s not a human heart. I think it’s probably a goat’s.”

Teres was able to ask the question. Trey felt if he opened his mouth something else would come pouring out.

“But—why—?”

“Ah. It’s an ancient tradition. This is the way the people of Elmvett declare war. In the past they would have used a real heart, but this is probably more convenient.”

The King waved away the smell and the twins had to go sit down for a bit. That was the fourth declaration of war. The fifth and sixth arrived the next day. But before Trey heard them, the first assassin was discovered in the castle.

 

—-

 

Trey awoke the next morning to a scream. He rushed out of his room, and Teres ran out after him with the sword Orthenon had given her. They followed the raised voice and people running and found Gazi.

She was kneeling over the body of a child.

Her sword was drawn, and there was blood on it. Trey knew what had happened, but he didn’t want to know. He stared at Gazi with dull horror beating in his chest.

She straightened, after wiping her sword on the dead child’s clothing. She turned and paused when she saw Trey and Teres staring at her. But then her head turned. She bowed as Flos strode towards her down the corridor.

The King stopped when he saw the body. He stared at Gazi, and Trey saw his face pale. He knelt by the small corpse and the pooling blood. She had raven hair. It was a she. Flos gazed down at the child and then up at Gazi. He sighed, and it was as if part of his heart left with it.

“Ah, Gazi. Did she have to die?”

The half-Gazer bowed her head. Then she produced something and held it out carefully to Flos. He took it.

It was a dagger, coated with something dark and brown on the tips. Flos didn’t touch it. He only stared at the dagger and then dropped it.

“An [Assassin].”

Maresar spoke softly behind Trey and Teres. They turned to her. She had an arrow nocked as she stared at the child’s body. There was no sorrow there, just concentration.

There was on Orthenon’s face, and Mars. They came at a run, Orthenon first, Mars slower, running with sword and shield in hand, wearing her plate armor as always. Mars turned away from the body and Orthenon sheathed his sword harder than necessary. Flos stared at the crowd of servants and soldiers, and then at the twins.

Neither one of them could look at the body. But they couldn’t look away. Trey stared at Gazi. And then at the child.

“How?”

Flos looked at Gazi. She answered softly. As if by reflex, she smiled as she spoke, that same, damned smile that Trey hated so much. It wasn’t a smile. It was a grin. Something devoid of actual emotion.

A mask.

“A group of refugees arrived last night. They claimed to have been driven from their village by soldiers. They had marched for days. Some died. They were all starving.”

Orthenon rubbed at his face.

“I heard the report. I ordered them fed and given a place to sleep. And this child—”

Gazi turned to him, looking vaguely surprised.

“You knew they would send assassins the moment my lord woke.”

He didn’t reply. He just stared at the body and turned away. Orthenon walked down the corridor as Flos stood. He stared down at the child’s body and then looked at Gazi.

“I ask much of you.”

He did not say thank you, or that it was a job well done. If he did, Trey thought Teres would have attacked him with the sword in her hands. He did not know what he would have done. Gazi nodded once. Then she turned. She sheathed her sword and began to walk in the other direction down the corridor.

Someone covered the child’s body with a cloth. Someone else carefully picked up the dagger and wrapped it in several layers so the deadly poisoned edge was not visible. Flos walked towards the twins. They stared at him.

This was the feeling Trey remembered. This was it, pure and raw and sudden, cutting through the vague acceptance of this world, all the time he’d had to adjust to a new reality. Suddenly, he truly was a stranger in a strange land.

Until he remembered they did this very thing where he came from too. Not at home, but in his world.

Flos looked into his face. The King was silent for a while. Then he spoke.

“Some nations use assassins, Trey, Teres. This reeks of Germina. Ambassador Illius’ people train such killers and the Quarass…she would do this.”

That was all he said. He turned away and began walking towards his throne room. It took a long time before Trey and Teres moved. And when they did, they stumbled. They walked along the stone corridors, hearing the hushed voice and knew they did not belong. They did not want to belong.

Not here. And Trey remembered Gazi’s smile.

And he hated her for it.

 

—-

 

There were more shadows in the throne room that day. Flos sat heavily on his throne, and he did not smile. The fifth declaration of war reached him as Orthenon was speaking quietly.

“War with Ultea. A rider rode up to the gates and shouted it.”

Orthenon relayed the message, a look of disgust on his face.

“Barbarians. They didn’t confirm it was a true messenger from their nation. Anyone could have claimed the same.”

Flos was in no mood to debate the issue. He clenched one hand as he sat on his throne, looking as though he would have rather drawn the sword at his side instead. It was another plain sword from his armory. Not enchanted.

Not like Gazi’s.

“It is enough that I hear war declared, Orthenon. When we see their banners marching, we will know the truth.”

The steward nodded. Flos turned towards the twins, standing like ghosts. His voice softened, but he did speak to them of war.

“It is not like your world. There are no signed treaties, at least, none that require my signature. Some nations do send formal missives, but many are like Ultea and use action, not words. Other nations are subtler, but some do not bother with declarations at all.”

The twins made no reply.

 

—-

 

The sixth declaration was the most dramatic of all, and if it hadn’t been for Orthenon and Flos, Trey and Teres would never have spotted it. The King was walking out of his palace when he uttered an oath and stared up. Orthenon stared up and the twins barely saw a flaming arrow before it struck the wall of Flos’ palace. It did not shatter, but rather dropped downwards, out of sight.

Flos strode to the battlements. Trey and Teres saw a rider with a bow in hand. They had shot the arrow at the walls. A banner—dark blue, emblazoned with a white bird clutching a second flaming arrow in its talons—flapped wildly, attached to the horse’s saddle.

The meaning was clear. War, from a sixth nation. By this point Trey was numb to it.

Flos stared at the rider, hands gripping the battlements tightly. He turned his head towards his steward.

“Orthenon. If that arrow struck one of my subjects, catch that rider and kill her.”

The man nodded and strode away. Trey stared at Flos. The King’s eyes followed the rider until she had vanished. She was allowed to go; no one had been harmed by the arrow as it fell to earth.

Twenty minutes later, Flos was in the war room with all of his vassals, including Lady Maresar and the twins. He sat on a large chair clearly meant for him, staring darkly at his steward as the man spoke.

“Ultea, Oblinat, Xar, Gemira, Hellios, and Elmvett have all declared war against us now, my King. It is safe to assume they have formed a coalition and will send an army of combined forces to assault the city. I have received reports that most of the armies are on the march already.”

Trey felt a cold pit in his stomach, but Flos just nodded as if that was inconsequential. Trey couldn’t help but keep glancing left, to where Gazi stood with arms folded in one corner of the war room. No one was standing with her. Teres was deliberately sitting with her back to the half-Gazer.

Now one of Gazi’s eyes turned towards Trey. He looked away quickly.

“Will any more declarations arrive?”

“Doubtful, my King. These are all the ones I had predicted.”

Orthenon stared grimly at the map of Chandrar as Flos stood up and paced back and forth in front of the table. He turned to Orthenon.

“After yesterday, how many soldiers do we have in our army?”

Orthenon paused. He looked at Teres, and she was the one who answered.

“Just over six thousand soldiers. Six thousand two hundred and fifty…six.”

Flos nodded.

“Six thousand soldiers. A fine number, all things considered.”

“But very small.”

Mars mumbled that. She was playing with a dagger in her gauntleted hands. She hadn’t spoken much before this; Trey hadn’t seen her around the castle as Flos and Orthenon were moving about. Orthenon eyed her and nodded shortly.

“We will have more. Possibly as many as two thousand from the refugees headed towards the city. Not all will be raw recruits either; there may be a good handful of veteran warriors among their number.”

“Continue adding them to the ranks of our army as needed, Orthenon. But will it be enough?”

“I do not know, my lord. I can only work off of rough estimates of each nation’s strengths, but from what scouts and fleeing refugees have said, each nation has sent around ten thousand soldiers to do battle.”

Ten thousand soldiers. Trey felt his heart stop for a second. Against six thousand—

Flos nodded. His mouth twisted wryly.

“Ten thousand soldiers used to be an army large enough for any one nation. Not so these days, I suppose.”

“Not to go hunting for the King of Destruction’s head.”

Gazi shifted as all eyes turned towards her. She looked at Orthenon.

“Do you have a total number?”

Orthenon paused.

“One claim puts the army at seventy thousand.”

Someone made a small sound. Trey realized it had been him. Orthenon’s head turned towards Trey and his tone changed, becoming slightly more reassuring. It didn’t work.

“That number is probably highly inaccurate. There may well be over fifty thousand soldiers marching—perhaps as many as eighty thousand depending on whether it was an experienced [Scout] that counted or a [Farmer]. But of that number, a decent portion won’t fight in battle.”

“So? We’re still dead, right?”

Trey didn’t want to be a downer, but he had to speak the blindingly obvious truth when he saw it. Flos drummed his hands on his chair’s armrest as he sat back down.

“[Porters], [Cooks], [Hostlers], and [Healers]…they would account for several thousand depending on the size of each army. Still, Trey is correct that we are largely outnumbered.”

He had to say the situation was hopeless, right? Even if he was the King of Destruction…Trey waited, but Flos just shook his head.

“Putting numbers aside for the moment…Orthenon, based off of your knowledge of the nations that sent these armies, how many high-level warriors are we likely to encounter? Any specialty troops?”

“None that I know of. I would assume they would be obvious if they were included, but it seems that Gemira and Oblinat have declined to commit their most experienced forces.”

“Wise of them.”

Maresar whispered that. Flos nodded. He looked at the twins. He was still explaining. Still explaining, as if this meant…nothing.

“A battle is not decided merely by numbers in this world, Trey, Teres. Nor in yours, I suspect. But aside from the quality of arms and strategy, the existence of high-level warriors and mages can change the course of an entire battle. In fact, the enemy [General] alone can tip the scales between victory and defeat if his level is high enough.”

“So can armies geared towards a certain type of fighting, where all their soldiers have the same kind of class. Highly mobile armies, armies where the most common soldier knows a Tier 2 spell…if we don’t see them here, it is to our advantage.”

Orthenon’s calmness was getting on Trey’s nerves.

“But they have over fifty thousand—

“Trey. I understand your concerns, but we must appraise our enemy fully before worrying.”

Flos gently patted Trey on the shoulder and let him take his seat. Trey sat, fidgeting on the chair as Flos looked at Ortheon. The steward continued.

“The highest level [General] in the region would be [Duke] Balimar Wulten. I assume he will lead the coalition army.”

“An aristocratic general?”

“No.”

Orthenon shook his head to Flos’ clear disappointment.

“He gained the [Duke] class from achieving distinction in battle, not at birth. To my knowledge his one main class is [General].”

“A pity.”

Flos sighed. He looked at Gazi.

“So. We know there may be as many as eighty thousand, and no outstanding units have been spotted. I hate to ask it of you, Gazi, but you are our highest-level [Scout]…”

She was already ready. Gazi bowed to Flos, eying the position of the army on the map.

“I will appraise their forces and return shortly, my lord.”

She would have strode out there and then, but Flos caught her arm. He stared down at Gazi.

“Go safely, my dear Gazi. Take no risks for me. I cannot bear to lose you too.”

She smiled at him. Smiled in a real way, so happy that it made Trey hurt to see it.

“I will be careful.”

Then she was gone. In lieu of better knowledge, Orthenon declared the meeting adjourned. He began shifting forces along the north east wall in preparation for the battle. And he sent more riders out after Gazi had gone, although not to scout for soldiers.

“There are streams of refugees and villagers flooding the road to the city, my King. They have been forced out of their homes. Not just the ones in your lands—anyone who refuses to renounce you as King has been forced out.”

Flos paused.

“Were any killed?”

Orthenon hesitated.

“Some. But most are allowed to leave unharmed, but without any belongings. They mean to starve us, by forcing you to open your storehouses to feed so many.”

“Clever.”

Flos turned away. He stared at the map, and then walked out of the room. Orthenon called out.

“My King? Where are you going?”

“To see these fleeing people for myself. They are frightened, homeless. Because they believed in me. I will go to them. While I do that Orthenon, would you carry out an order?”

“Of course, my King. What is it?”

“Open my storehouses.”

 

—-

 

The rest of the day, Trey and Teres stood with Flos as he walked the battlements or descended to the streets, greeting the exhausted people coming to his kingdom.

They came in small groups, some of them. Others arrived in long, winding streams, stumbling towards the gates, footsore, weary. Many had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Some hadn’t eaten in over a day and had to be half-carried inside. But they called out when they saw their King, riding towards them with wagons filled with food.

It was a bad idea to help them. Trey knew that. Teres told him how many storehouses Orthenon had to open and how much was left. And yet, they were Flos’ people and no one in the entire kingdom could have stopped Flos from feeding his subjects or going to them.

They were refugees. People without a home, forced out of their country by war. The very definition of refugees. It surprised Trey, that there would be that kind of people in a fantasy world, a magical one. But that was what made it reality.

Refugees, and dead children. It was too real for Trey.

But still, Flos kept him by his side. And in the evening when the rush of people entering the city had slowed, he took them back to the war room and explained what they were facing.

“It is not a vast army. A large one, yes, but if my kingdom were not wasted from a decade, it would be a poor army to pit against me. As it is, it is the first of many. A test.”

It was incredible to Trey that Flos could say that, given the disparity in numbers. But Flos was adamant the coalition wasn’t as dangerous as the Emperor of Sands, not by a long shot.

“I am weak. Reim is weak. That is why these small nations have a chance of defeating me, and why they had to declare war now. Eighty thousand soldiers is a force to be reckoned with, but I am a [King] of the highest level, and I have two of my Seven here and Orthenon. Normally any army would hesitate to attack with that knowledge.”

“But you’re outnumbered ten to one!

Teres pointed that out and Flos nodded.

“We are. But six thousand soldiers to hold a wall is not bad. And there are tricks to be used…”

“I’d feel a lot better if you had a few more zeroes on the end of your army. Like three more zeroes.”

Flos had to laugh. He spread his hands over the map as he spoke to the twins.

“Six million? If such an army came towards me I would run long and fast, even if all of my Seven were with me. But sixty thousand is manageable. Perhaps it is a small number to you? The largest of armies I have seen mustered was over four hundred thousand strong. But it is rare that any one army grows to that size; the logistics of feeding and moving so many grows to extreme. No, when my conquest was at its greatest, I had three armies each over a hundred thousand soldiers in size, and many smaller ones led by my vassals. Is that comparable to your world?”

It was, but not exactly favorably. Trey was hazy on the exact number, but he knew over three million men had served in the British army during World War II. When he told that to Flos, the King’s eyes gleamed.

“Armies of soldiers millions strong. Would that I could see that—but I suppose they would not all be deployed along one single battleground for the same reason. In truth, Trey, Teres, there are armies of that size in this world, only no nation fields them. When a Goblin King rises, his army will be at least a million Goblins strong, and countless more will be led by his Goblin Lords.”

“How do you beat that? How do you beat any army that large?”

“With Skills and levels and a good bit of strategy. Do not worry—I do not rely solely on my Seven and Orthenon when declaring this battle winnable. But it is true they tip the odds greatly by themselves.”

Trey just couldn’t imagine that. One person shouldn’t be able to influence an entire battle, even if they were as strong as Flos. But the King seemed to think each one of his vassals was worth thousands of soldiers.

“Thousands? If used correctly, certainly they could kill thousands. In their own way. Amerys could do it directly with lightning magic. Drevish could probably count the soldiers his walls have killed in the tens or hundreds of thousands.”

“Who were they?”

Trey found the courage to ask that question. Flos blinked at him. Trey found his tongue knotting, but went on when Teres nudged him.

“I mean—sorry, but we’ve heard some stories, but no one talks about them. Even Mars and Gazi—people seem to think we should know what they’ve done, but we don’t. What were they like? Mars seems so…normal. Well, sort of. She doesn’t look normal, but—”

Trey yelped as Teres trod on his toe. Flos laughed, but his eyes had turned distant. He went to the map and picked up a small pin with a flag on it.

“What were they like? Ah, Trey. Of all the questions you could ask, that is the hardest. My Seven. You know they were the highest leveled of my vassals, my greatest and most trusted companions?”

Trey and Teres nodded. Trey held his breath as Flos stared down at the map. He seemed older, as he spoke of the past. Older, yet there was a smile on his face when he said their names. And unshed tears in his eyes.

“Mars, Gazi, Takhatres, Drevish, Amerys, Tottenval, and Queravia. Those are the names of my Seven, the heroes who rode with me and shook the world itself.”

Trey hadn’t heard two of those names before. Tottenval and Queravia. He knew without being told they were the two who had died.

Flos went on.

“Not all of them were warriors. Drevish was not, and neither was Tottenval. But they all contributed to my kingdom in some great way. In the past, each of my Seven fulfilled a different purpose. Gazi often rode alone, scouting ahead and behind, safeguarding my kingdom. With her eye and Skills, she slew every [Scout] that sought to the movement of my forces, and killed each [Assassin] or [Spy] that dared lurk within my borders.”

“That’s why you sent her out?”

Flos’ eyes met Teres’. He nodded.

“Other nations feared to commit their forces, because they had no clear image of my forces. Some could use magic, but if they sent a person, that person would die within a fortnight. Gazi was feared for her ability to hunt down anyone and find their deepest secrets. When battle called, she would ambush the enemy, infiltrating the camp and killing a valuable soldier or stealing battle plans. Then she would slip away.”

Trey could imagine Gazi doing just that, with her slight smile. That was why she was always looking. That was how she’d found the child. He shivered.

Flos continued.

“Others occupied different roles. Mars is a pure warrior. She would be at the head of every charge, and crush the opposing army’s champion before each battle. She deserved her class. [Vanguard].”

“And Drevish?”

The name made Flos stiffen at first, but then he relaxed. Trey hated to ask. But he wanted to.

“He was an [Architect], right? He built walls, castles, and stuff?”

“More than that. He was one of the three of my Seven who knew magic, Trey. He could enchant a gate so the mightiest battering ram couldn’t break it. He could build a wall overnight with his teams of [Builders], so that an enemy army would be facing a fortified defense when they tried to launch a counterattack. He did not like war. But he was essential. Ah, but I asked too much of him, didn’t I?”

Flos’ head lowered. Trey and Teres exchanged a glance. She was the one who asked the next question.

“What about Orthenon? He’s not one of the Seven, but he’s like them isn’t he?”

“My steward? Yes. He deserves to be placed among them. But he is not one of them. He is my left hand, the one who does what I cannot. So he never achieved the same level of fame during the war that they did.”

Flos smiled ruefully. Trey thought about Orthenon carefully and meticulously plotting the enemy’s movements, just like he took care of everything else.

“Is he the one who led your armies? Like a [General], I mean? Or was that you?”

The King looked first surprised, then amused. And then heartbroken.

“Orthenon? No. He was far too busy managing my kingdom to plan out the movement of armies and lead battles himself. I led my own army of course, but I did not have the skill to plan out the grand movements of each of my armies. No, it was another of my Seven who did that. Who…used to do that.”

His fist tightened on the wood. Trey didn’t want to ask, but Flos continued. He lowered his head and stared at something neither Trey nor Teres could see.

“Her name was Queravia. She was one of my Seven. She and Tottenval died in the war. She led my armies, not Orthenon. It was she who won the fiercest battles in my name, directing soldiers while my other vassals rode forth and fought on the front lines.”

He had to ask it. Trey whispered.

“What was her class?”

The wood on the war room table cracked slightly. Then Flos looked up and smiled. Tears ran down into his beard.

“She was a [Strategist]. The finest in the world.”

His smile slipped.

“Second finest. No. No—she was the greatest of them all!”

He seemed to be arguing with himself. Flos turned his face to Trey, and there was pain in his eyes.

“I did not see her end. But I heard of it. I did not think it was possible that she would ever die. She was my great strategist, Trey. Not just any [Strategist] either—she bet against luck itself. She was a gambler, a [Gambler Strategist]. Before she died she was a [Gambler of Fates]. And she lost her last bet in Baleros.”

There were no more questions after that. Flos wept and the twins left the room, shaken, hearing the past echo around the King of Destruction. They knew him well, after having lived and heard his more secret confidences for a month. And yet, they knew him not at all. They did not know what he had lost.

 

—-

 

In the days that followed, things went simply for Trey and Teres. They followed, they watched, they saw streams of refugees fleeing the enemy army, and they heard endless reports about it approaching.

Gazi returned after two days, riding hard, looking tired. But she had come with vital news.

“Sixty-two thousand strong.”

Orthenon bent over the map, looking tired. He had good news for Flos and a lot of bad news.

“There are less mages than we could hope for in their number, and Lady Gazi reports that none of them are of the highest level each nation could offer.”

“They’re being cautious. No one wants to commit all of their best.”

Gazi sat gulping water in a chair. She eyed a plate of biscuits that had been prepared for the meeting in the war room, but didn’t take one. Trey didn’t either; he knew they’d go to people who were actually hungry afterwards.

“Less mages is good news. Without Amerys, we lack any magic users of note. What is the bad news?”

Orthenon grimaced.

“They’ve brought siege weapons. Even a pair of trebuchets.”

Mars swore. Trey looked around. Flos had to explain.

“Siege weapons are not common for most armies. They are hard to produce, and only rare classes such as [Engineer] can create them. However, they are manageable in battle…”

“But not what we want in a siege.”

Orthenon nodded. He stared out of the window at one of the battlements. Trey knew that the city had a number of high watch towers and decently tall walls, but no trebuchets or catapults of their own.

“Drevish worked on the city, but he only did so once. And that was before we formed an alliance with the Mad Ones. He never installed siege fortifications for defense.”

“And if they had, no doubt they would have rotted away by now. That complicates the issue.”

Flos nodded. He still didn’t look concerned, but perhaps that was because he was a King and couldn’t afford to show weakness. Trey could do that for the both of them. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

“I think we had better rely on the original plan. In which case, we must sortie and meet the army in the field, rather than wait for them to assail us with their siege weapons.”

Orthenon began placing units outside of the city. Flos nodded. Trey, who hadn’t been privy to every discussion stared blankly at the board. Orthenon was taking half of the soldiers out of the city? Three thousand versus sixty thousand sounded a lot worse, and Trey had thought it was impossible to make the odds any more stacked against them.

“In that case, I will take all of our mounted forces, a good number of our highest level foot—a unit of archers under Lady Maresar, and Lady Gazi. Our plan will be aided by some of Gazi’s acquisitions from her adventuring days.”

“Oh?”

Gazi grinned.

“Fog arrows. I bought a quiver back when I was going through one of the Walled Cities.”

“Fog arrows? Now that changes things. I assume they’re mine to use?”

Maresar broke into the conversation, looking intrigued. Gazi smiled, and they walked to a corner to talk with unsettling grins. Trey saw Orthenon glance several times at his King before he cleared his throat.

“This plan will necessitate you staying behind in the city, my King.”

Flos’ brows snapped together.

“And leave you to face that army alone?”

“We cannot execute our plan if you are with us, my King. The coalition army is here for only one reason. Your head. And we must keep the city secure or else lose it while half of our army is in the field.”

“Your plan is dangerous, Orthenon. I cannot sit idly by—I will ride with you. My Skills will make this part of your plan—”

“We need them at a later point, my King! You must wait. You must—

Flos began arguing hotly with Orthenon. Meanwhile, Trey and Teres stared at the map. Teres nudged Trey.

“What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know! Did they come up with it when we weren’t there?”

“Maybe yesterday? When we went to lunch?”

They were so busy whispering, they didn’t notice Mars coming up behind them. She slung an arm around both twin’s shoulders.

“Hey. You two. Explain the plan to me.”

They stared at her. Mars stared back.

“Come on, you’re always hanging our King.”

“We don’t know.”

“Aw. You two don’t?”

“We know they’re taking half of their forces—the fastest out to fight. Flos—uh, the King will stay here. And Gazi’s got fog arrows.”

“Does she? Okay…that could be useful. But why aren’t we all going out at once?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

Mars stared down at the map. Her brows furrowed. She eyed the enemy army, Orthenon’s proposed force. She blinked.

“I don’t get it.”

She’d spoken a bit too loudly. Every head turned towards Mars. She flushed red. Orthenon turned back to Flos and the others as if she hadn’t interrupted.

“You must stay here, my King.”

“I suppose I must, mustn’t I?”

Flos clenched his fists as he stared at the map. He sighed, looking tired.

“Very well, Orthenon. We shall go with your plan. But only if our inspection shows an adequate charge. Understand?”

Orthenon nodded. Then he turned to Mars. She was busy telling the twins about fog arrows, which wasn’t helpful. Because what they did was apparently create fog. Lots of fog.

“Lady Mars, it would be best if you stayed with our King in case more assassins are sent in great numbers. You must guard the city while we are in the field.”

What?

Mars stared incredulously at Orthenon. Trey and Teres stared too. They had been under the impression that Mars was great at fighting—better than Orthenon or Gazi. Mars glared at Orthenon.

“Don’t be an idiot! You need me out there! Against seventy thousand—”

“We need you to guard our King more. This initial part of the plan will work without you, and I will not leave our King without at least one of our number in case the enemy splits their forces.”

Orthenon stared at Mars. Gazi turned and grinned at the [Vanguard].

“And you wouldn’t be able to keep up with us for what we need to do. Sorry.”

Mars argued. She raged. She turned over chairs. But Flos told her she had to stay, and that was that.

And afterwards, when the meeting was over and everyone split up. Mars sat in a chair and sulked. This came as a surprise to Trey, since everyone else was busy. Gazi was scouting the terrain, Maresar was drilling soldiers and Orthenon was managing everything else. Flos was inspecting the battlements, but Mars was sitting where she was. Doing nothing.

Now that he thought about it, Trey hadn’t seen Mars doing anything these last few days either. He asked Orthenon about it as the man strode out of the war room. It was the first time Trey had ever seen the steward’s pained expression as he tried to explain Mars’ role in the kingdom to the young man.

“Mars is…competent. In battle. However, outside of it she is best suited to training and…”

He paused. Orthenon opened is mouth and searched for words. Then he gave up.

“Well, her presence may inspire others. But she is best utilized at this moment sitting and…”

“Not getting in the way.”

Gazi put that in. Maresar nodded as she broke off from them. Trey stared at Flos’ vassals, and then at Flos. The King looked sheepish.

“Of her talents…talent…well, Mars is suited for war, Trey. One part of it. Fighting. At other matters, she is somewhat lacking. But then, if we were all like her…”

He had trouble finishing that thought. In the end, he just took Trey and Teres on a tour of the battlements, inspecting them for Orthenon’s plan. What they were looking at, Trey didn’t know. But Flos was happy to lecture them on the walls.

“They aren’t very tall, you see. Drevish could only work with the existing stone so much, and he had no desire to completely remodel the city.”

“He didn’t? I thought he worked on the city a lot.”

Teres looked at Flos. The King laughed heartily.

“Hah! He spent the least amount of time on Reim than any of his projects! If you compared this city to any of the ones he constructed from scratch, I think he’d have a heart attack. Or try to kill you. Or both. Drevish hated this city. Note how the walls are merely thirty feet high, without any additions to the fortifications? Drevish would never have constructed such mundane defenses.”

“So he didn’t work on the city is what you’re saying.”

Trey’s estimation of their odds of success went down another notch. Flos shook his head.

“He worked on the city, and my palace. But he made only one major improvement. No, you see, Drevish disliked remodeling existing architecture. He was far more interested Drake construction practices than the Chandrarian style on that note. He especially disliked the way the towers are placed, although he did work extensively with them.”

“How do you mean?”

Trey had seen the watch towers. There were sixteen of them, placed at equal distances along the curtain wall. They were very big and could hold a lot of archers on top. Flos pointed to each of them.

“Drevish considered them aesthetically disgusting. See how they jut out? And if you look at the wall, what does it remind you of?”

Trey had to think for only a second.

“A crown.”

Flos nodded, smiling at the recollection.

“All that work just to create a crown, which is rather spoiled by the palace in the center. Drevish told me my city was an eyesore that ought to be wiped from the face of the earth. But he did like the height of the towers. He believed in what he called self-sufficient architecture, buildings that didn’t need to be protected, that were capable of protecting themselves.”

“Like how?”

“Well…these towers would normally carry high-level archers and mages that could rain death upon an enemy. They’re enchanted quite heavily, and Amerys aided in that. But Drevish once made what he called a sniper tower. It was over a hundred feet tall, and so enchanted a trebuchet couldn’t knock it down. He claimed that if you put an archer in there—only one!—they could hold it forever with enough food. There are no entrances leading up, you see, and if they used the cover of the walls, they could shoot down enemy mages and so on.”

“That sounds…really interesting.”

Flos nodded. He stared at one of the towers and sighed, suddenly melancholy.

“He did work hard on this city, for all it was anathema to him. I wish I could say his work has stood the test of time, but six of the towers have worn away over the last decade. Still, I think there is enough to complete Orthenon’s plan. A pity Amerys is not here. She could have restored the enchantments.”

“And just what is the plan?”

Flos just grinned at Trey. He put a finger over his lips.

“Orthenon has bade me not to speak of it in public. But it is a good plan. And it is…appropriate. You see, my city has never been besieged.”

“What, never?”

“I was always on the offensive. And by the time other nations formed armies to attack, well, Reim sat at the heart of my empire. My bastion. So I have never had to defend it. This time will be the first. And perhaps—last.”

He patted the wall of one of the watch towers fondly, staring up at the dark peak. Trey felt another lurch of fear in his stomach, but Flos’ eyes were calm. He smiled.

“Yes, but how appropriate it is. Drevish, old friend. Even in death you protect me.”

Then he turned, and strode away. Trey stared up at the towers. They stood tall and black in the night sky.

Waiting.

 

—-

 

And then it was time. Trey nearly choked on his food when Orthenon came striding into the banquet hall, dressed for war. He was wearing leather armor and there was a sword at his waist. He strode up to the table where Flos was sitting down to eat for once. The King looked up and pushed his plate back.

“It is time?”

“The army is a day’s march away. We will meet them halfway and begin the plan.”

Orthenon stepped forwards as Flos rose. The [King] and his steward clasped hands. Flos looked Orthenon in the eye.

“Go with my heart, Orthenon. It rides with you. Come back alive. You too, Gazi.”

The half-Gazer was wearing her brown scale armor. She reached up to clasp Flos’ hands. There was a slight smile on Orthenon’s face.

“I would hardly let myself get killed on the first battle since you awoke, my King. We shall return soon enough. Be ready for us.”

“We shall throw open the gates! Ride forth, and remind these foolish nations what it is to challenge me!”

Flos roared and the people in the banquet hall leapt to their feet. Orthenon and Gazi strode out of the hall, Flos and a stream of people following. There was already an army at the gates, mainly mounted warriors on horses. Trey stared at them through a window, and then turned.

Mars was sitting at a table, hunched over, clearly miserable that she had to stay. She met Trey’s eyes and lifted a mug.

“Here’s to not being able to ride a damn horse as fast as those two! And not being able to fight on horseback at all!”

She hurled her mug as Orthenon, Gazi, Lady Maresar, and four thousand of Flos’ soldiers rode out to meet over sixty thousand soldiers in battle.

 

—-

 

The minutes after Orthenon had left seemed to drag on like hours to Trey and to Teres. She’d said goodbye to Orthenon at the gates, upon which she’d burst into tears and refused to speak to Trey. She was carrying Orthenon’s sword around—Trey had a steel sword Flos had given him personally. He felt like he shouldn’t have been wearing it, but he was too afraid to take it off.

“Don’t let your mind dwell on it. Orthenon will be riding for hours before he meets the enemy. And it will be later still that we hear any word on whether the plan is succeeding.”

Flos warned the twins. He seemed hardly able to take his own advice. He was pacing around his throne room, unable to sit still. He’d gone to the balcony twice, as if to stare at the distant patch of horizon where Orthenon and Gazi had last been spotted, when someone rushed into the throne room.

“My King!”

It was a servant, one of Orthenon’s aides, panting, almost out of breath. She could barely explain to Flos what was the matter, so he followed her out of the throne room at a run. Trey and Teres caught up outside the palace, at the western gates, to see…

Blood. Staggering bodies. A man without an arm, holding bloody rags that might have been a body. Someone without an eye. A girl with an arrow protruding from her sides.

People were coming through the gates, many wounded. Trey stared in horror at a wailing baby being held by a man who was trying not to let the blood spilling from his arm fall on the child. He wavered and would have fallen, but Flos caught him.

“Get me every [Healer] in the city! Now!”

He shouted as he held a hand over the cut in the man’s arm, stopping the bleeding. The man sagged as Teres took the baby out of his limp arms. He stared up at his King and recognized him. He smiled.

And died.

Somewhere between people rushing towards the wounded with bandages and Flos shouting, the news came out. There were more refugees, being herded from other countries. They’d been on the road for days, thousands, maybe tens of thousands of them. But soldiers had ridden down on them in the final stretch. They were cutting everyone they saw apart. Mounted soldiers, maybe only a hundred of them. Maybe a lot more.

It was impossible to tell. They were killing everything. It was just blood and death out there.

Flos stared towards the west, where more groups of shapes were approaching down the road. Trey shakily held a man’s arm with Teres as a [Healer] tried to wind bandages around a cut in his stomach. He was screaming and thrashing, but Flos didn’t turn his head.

“I must go.”

“What?”

Mars was there, in full armor. She was staring at the refugees with a sick expression on her face. She stared at Flos as he turned.

“Saddle my horse. I am going out there.”

“My lord, you cannot—

Mars grabbed for Flos’ arm. He stared at her.

“My people are dying out there.”

“There is an army approaching! Send some soldiers—”

“I cannot send a force large enough to catch a hundred mounted riders. But I can rally my people. You know I can, Mars.”

She shook her head, sending her perfect red curls flying.

“Let me go instead! I can do it—”

“You cannot catch a mounted force, Mars! No, I must go. You must stay here and—”

“No!”

“You must! Someone of high level has to hold these walls. It can only be you.”

“I cannot let you risk your life—”

Trey was holding the wounded man’s arm as tightly as possible. It was that or be thrown off, even with Teres helping him. At some point she shook him, and told him he could let go. Trey realized the shaking had stopped.

The man was dead.

Flos turned to look as Trey got up, shaking, blood on his arms and legs. He looked at Mars, and it was a [King] who spoke next.

“Mars. I must go. Guard the city for me.”

She could not disobey. Trey saw her try. Mars’ mouth opened, and her arms and legs shook. She tried to move as Flos strode away, and then slumped.

He didn’t know why he did it. But Trey ran after Flos, and Teres was there too. They caught him as he was mounting his warhorse. Flos turned to look at them.

“Will you come with me? It is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

Trey and Teres didn’t know why they said it. Neither of them were warriors. They hadn’t been trained. But they knew they had to follow. It wasn’t Flos commanding them. It was something in them, something that wanted to follow this King. To see.

Flos didn’t argue. He just called for two more horses and in minutes the twins were mounted. He said only one word.

“Follow.”

They rode out of the city at a gallop. Trey thought he heard people screaming Flos’ name, but their voices were left behind in an instant. Then Flos and the twins were riding along the dirt road, passing by people, wounded people, who looked up and saw their King.

 

—-

 

It was a trap. Of course it was. The King knew it was. But Nune Salismen knew the King of Destruction would enter the trap. Because that was the nature of [Kings]. That was his nature.

He had studied Flos, learned all there was to know about the man when he had been given his orders by Queen Calliope. So it was with satisfaction that Nune heard out the [Scout]’s report as the rider found his hidden encampment in the hills.

“The King has left his city. He is undefended, save for the fleeing civilians and two children.”

Nune nodded and ordered the camp struck. His men jumped to work with alacrity. They had been waiting for this moment. There was exaltation in Nune’s heart. His plan was working!

But there was fear as well. It was really happening. The King of Destruction would die today. Today. At the hands of a force led by Nune. Nune. Not a [General], but a [Commander]. The King of Destruction would die in an ambush as he rode to save his people from a handful of raiding soldiers.

But it wasn’t a hundred men that Nune had brought. Not even close. He had just under eight hundred soldiers, the largest force he could sneak close to Reim, even with Gazi the Omniscient blinded. Perhaps that might not have been enough, though. Irrational as it was, Nune wondered if a thousand men could slay the King of Destruction. But Nune had another advantage on his side.

He approached the only tent that stood out from the dark grey uniformity of his camp. A bright yellow tent—totally inappropriate for an ambush—housed the one man not directly under Nune’s command. He emerged as Nune waited by the tent flap.

“The King has fallen into your trap?”

“As I said. We are ready to march. My men will cut the route back to Reim off and then we will attack. Are you ready?”

The [Mage] smiled thinly. He had multiple rings to each finger, and he held a glowing staff with a crystal orb floating above the wood shaft. He was the very stereotype of a [Mage], and most would have considered him all show and no substance. But Nune knew the façade was there for that very reason.

“I am grateful for your assistance. Slaying the King might not have been possible without your aid.”

The [Mage] inclined his head, politely accepting Nune’s words.

“It is my honor as well. And my duty. I have a message the Quarass bid me deliver to the King of Destruction.”

Nune paused. This was the first time he’d heard of that.

“What is the message?”

The [Mage] smiled. He tapped the ground with his staff, and the earth shook. Nune stared into two innocuous, watery brown eyes. You would never have thought they were the eyes of a Level 36 [Geomancer].

“His death.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.05 K

Venith heard the messenger out in silence. His teeth ground together and the mounted soldiers watched him cautiously. They were eighteen, and though Venith’s own soldiers were present in the courtyard, they would have the advantage in the seconds following.

But Venith Crusand had a hand on his sword. He gripped it with knuckles that slowly turned white as he glared at the man who had delivered the demand.

“This was not what I agreed to.”

“Your oath was to prevent the King of Destruction’s return. All you must do is stand aside.”

Venith heard something crack as his grip tightened even further on his sword’s hilt. He relaxed his grip slightly. Too much strength would dull his thrusts. If it came to that.

“Those are my subjects you intend to slaughter out there!”

“They abandoned you, did they not?”

It was true. They had left. So had Mares. His wife. The very thought made Venith want to lash out, but he couldn’t. The soldiers standing before him had come in peace, and offered no insult he could claim. And he had sworn an oath.

Even so.

“It is not honorable. If you want to kill Flos, take your army and lay siege to his capital. Using tricks is the act of a coward.”

The messenger’s face didn’t change, nor did those of the soldiers behind them. Venith knew his words had little sting for them. They were from Hellios, and their hatred of the King of Destruction ran deep.

“It is one plan. If it fails, the coalition army will crush Flos and burn Reim to the ground. But it would be simpler if his head could be taken before so many lives are lost. Is that not the best result?”

It might have been. But Venith’s soul revolted at the thought.

“It is not honorable.

The mounted man’s face twisted in annoyance. He snapped down at Venith.

“Honorable or not, all you must do is not interfere. If your patrols had not clashed with ours, we would not be having this conversation!”

“Had you decided to avoid cutting through my lands, I wouldn’t have paid attention. But even a small army is my business. And your forces didn’t cover their tracks well enough. They were sloppy.”

Venith relished the flash of anger in the man’s eyes. But the messenger controlled himself. He shook his head coldly.

“You have sworn an oath, Venith Crusand. Your wife, Lady Maresar—”

He paused. Venith’s blade had inched out a bit from his scabbard. The men tensed. The messenger continued, choosing his words carefully.

“Your subjects have renounced their homes and joined the King of Destruction. But you fought and attempted to uphold your oath. The kingdoms see you as an ally, which is why your lands have been spared.”

Ally? The word was insulting. The other kingdoms saw Venith as someone they could ignore. They didn’t need to waste men on him if they could just let him be.

“This ambush will fail. All it will do is slay more innocent lives. Those refugees are not soldiers.”

“One day they might be. It has already begun. Do not interfere.”

The messenger was tired of the argument. He wheeled his mount. The escort followed him, keeping together, watching Venith’s soldiers warily.

Now would be the time. To stop them, to call out their dishonorable actions and fight. Venith knew it. He felt the blood pumping through his veins. His hand was on his sword.

He let them go.

 

—-

 

Half an hour later, Venith was in his war room. It was just a small cubicle in his keep really, a place for him to survey the terrain. It wasn’t as if he had ridden to war since he had taken his oath against his former King. All he had ever done was slay the occasional monster or crush a group of bandits.

Now Venith stared at a map covered with small flags. A vast army was on the march, to the north east, winding down the long road towards Reim. But his eyes were on the patch of land to the west of the capital, where a second road led to other crossroads and kingdoms.

There were more flags there. Venith could only guess the ambushing force’s location, but there were only so many places they could hide. They were camped in the foothills, waiting for the King of Destruction to ride out to save the refugees being attacked by raiders. They would swoop down on him and encircle his position.

And kill him. It was a sensible measure. Without him, his kingdom would fall apart, despite Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi. But it was not honorable. Those butchers would kill hundreds of men, women and children just to kill a single King.

But Venith had sworn an oath to do just that. So he could not do anything about it.

Venith had a cool drink of grape wine from his cellars. He was not thirsty, but the thought of drinking himself into a stupor was enticing. He had never done it, but now—

The door to his small war room opened. Venith turned, about to curtly dismiss whoever had opened the door and paused.

“Calac.”

His son stood in the doorway, armed for war. The plate armor had to be hot in the sun’s rays, but Venith had ordered every man and women to ready themselves for battle when he’d seen the armed force approaching. He wondered why Calac hadn’t taken off his armor yet.

“What’s the matter, son? Is there news?”

“No news. Nothing’s happening here. The soldiers are leaving.”

Calac’s face was blank. He stared at his father, eyes searching Venith’s face. Then he shifted his attention to the map. He looked at Venith.

“Is this the kind of man you are?”

Something about his tone made Venith angry. It was insubordinate, the prelude to a fight. He glared at his son. But Calac didn’t flinch.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You heard what they’re going to do. They’re going to kill the King of Destruction. Lure him out by killing innocent people. And you didn’t stop them.”

The words twisted into Venith’s heart. He turned away roughly, staring down at the map.

“So? I swore an oath—”

“Is that the kind of man you are? The kind of man who hides behind oaths when injustice is done?”

Those words. Venith spun. He hurled something—the cup of wine. Calac flinched as the liquid sprayed across his face and armor. But he didn’t back down.

I swore an oath. Are you suggesting I break it? I have never gone back on my word, never lied. That is the kind of man I am!”

He snarled at his only son. But Calac just wiped away dripping wine from his face.

“So it’s fine if everyone else breaks their oath, just not you? That man—Hellios is sending an army out to kill our people. If they’re on the road, they’ll die. They’d dishonor themselves and break the rules of war just to kill the King of Destruction. And what happens if he dies? Does that mean mother and everyone else get slaughtered too?”

“It won’t come to that. They’ll lay down their arms.”

Venith felt the words twist in his mouth. Calac made a sound that wasn’t a laugh.

“Mother? Never.”

That was true too. It was true. But Venith had—he clenched his fists.

“The King of Des—Flos broke his oath long ago. I owe him nothing.”

“You told me that all my life. Every time mother told me about him, you’d always say he was a fool. An oathbreaker. A coward who abandoned his kingdom. And I believed you. I thought he didn’t have a shred of pride or honor.”

Calac’s voice was quiet. He stared at his father.

“But now I see the truth. These kingdoms, and these other [Rulers] have no honor either. Less. At least the King of Destruction was willing to fight his own battle. And he spared you.”

“I was prepared to die. I did not ask him for mercy.”

Venith wanted his son to shout back at him, to make it an argument—but Calac’s voice was level. It wasn’t angry; there was too much of his mother’s voice, Mares’ voice in the way he spoke.

“I admire my father. The man who raised me taught me how to be honorable, to keep my word. He taught me to defend the innocent and never bow to injustice. He taught me to do what was right.

Arrows at his heart. Venith’s voice rose and he shouted at his son.

“Not to obey orders, apparently! You disgraced yourself in battle not a day ago!”

It was a petty thing to say. Calac’s head lowered, and then he looked up at his father.

“I did. I thought I could end things easily, even if it meant being dishonorable. That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It was dishonorable. There is no excuse for such actions, regardless of the reason.”

Finally, something Venith could say with conviction. Calac nodded slowly.

“Then why are you lecturing me and not stopping those men?”

Silence. Venith searched for words, and found none. Calac turned.

“I’m going. Me and some of the soldiers are going to ride to the King of Destruction’s side. We’ll probably die, but at least we’ll die doing the right thing. Like you taught me.”

“You cannot—you’d abandon your post?”

Venith forced the words out, a gasp through his suddenly tight chest. Calac nodded.

“It’s the right thing to do, father. Mom was right.”

“Then you’re a traitor too! You—abandoning your home, your people!”

“What people, father? What home? There’s just you here, and some soldiers. Everyone is with the King of Destruction. Flos. Mother’s King. Our King. Your King.”

Calac turned and began walking down the narrow corridors of the keep. Venith stumbled after him. He felt drunk, disoriented. He shouted at his son’s back.

“You swore to obey my orders! Come back!”

For a second, Calac turned. He stared at his father and Venith felt a surge of hope. But then he spoke.

“I’m sorry. You taught me how to be proud, how to keep my word. How to be honorable. But father, I guess I never learned what loyalty meant.”

Then he turned and walked away. Leaving Venith with nothing at all.

 

—-

 

The air was hot. Uleth, the [General] leading the coalition army of six nations, stared ahead at the small army barring their way.

“Not even five thousand soldiers? Is the King of Destruction mad?”

“Drunk on his own fame, perhaps. But he’s not even with this army, so perhaps it’s his [Steward] who’s made the decision.”

One of the strategists from Germina commented as he squinted at the army ahead of Uleth’s forces. Uleth shook his head.

“I’ve studied the battle tactics used by Orthenon. He’s no fool. Regardless of their reasons, they’ve come to us. Ready yourselves! I want [Mages] and [Archers] to begin firing as soon as they come within range!”

“And the formation?”

The [Strategist] frowned. Uleth glared at him.

“As I ordered.”

The man hesitated, which annoyed Uleth. But he wasn’t one of Uleth’s subordinates. The [General] wouldn’t have worked with him at all, save for his level. But the orders were passed down and Uleth saw his forces begin to rearrange themselves out of the long column they’d been marching in.

The [General] had a Skill. [Battlefield Eye]. It allowed Uleth to see, or rather, create an image of the battlefield from any angle based on his own line of sight and the reports he received. With it, he saw his army spreading out, encircling his position while his mages and the siege weapons he’d brought moved into the center.

They weren’t all bunched up in the center; that was an invitation for a mage strike, and Uleth wasn’t about to risk it, for all that Flos wasn’t supposed to have any strong mages in the field. Rather, his valuable units such as [Mages] and the two trebuchets were scattered around him, buffered by soldiers. At the center of what was a giant ellipse of soldiers lay Uleth’s command and the [General] himself. From there he could issue any order and the dozens of [Tacticians] and [Strategists] he’d brought could assume command of individual groups of soldiers.

Uleth knew it was not an orthodox formation. He didn’t care. Against an army of equal size, his deployment would leave him understrength if the enemy committed to any one side. But he was up against an army a fraction of his size.

“The instant the enemy comes within range, bombard them. When they attack, we will seal their exits with cavalry and envelop them.”

He repeated the plan to his gathered officers, making sure they could move even without orders. Uleth had [Sergeants], [Captains], and so forth, but his [Strategists] could provide incredible benefits to a battalion by using their Skills at the right moment.

That was what would tip the scales here. Not grand strategy but Skills. Uleth knew he was outmatched in terms of levels by Orthenon, known far and wide as the King of Destruction’s Left Hand. But he was only one leader. Uleth had brought dozens to match him.

And he had the numbers on his side. So many it wasn’t a fair battle, however many of the King’s Seven were on the field. Uleth kept repeating that to himself. His plan was solid. Overwhelm with sheer numbers. So long as Uleth kept his most valuable assets shielded by his soldiers, he would triumph, regardless of the King of Destruction’s superior individual might.

But the army of four thousand wasn’t moving. Uleth squinted at them. He could have had a [Mage] use a spell to enhance his sight, but they were visible in the distance. A good deal of cavalry; far fewer foot soldiers than Uleth had expected. Were some defending the city? Why? Why split up forces?

They weren’t moving. That wasn’t what Uleth expected of Orthenon. The man should have launched a surprise attack while Uleth’s army was on the move. Fast, lightning strikes were what he was known for. Why was he—

Someone blew a horn. A warning. Uleth saw a distant figure move in Orthenon’s army, but saw nothing happen. He turned to the [Strategist] from Germina.

“What’s happening?”

“Someone’s firing an arrow.”

The man had a Skill and he was shading his eyes to see. His gaze traced the flight of the arrow—Uleth, watching, saw only a blur and then heard a scream.

“A lone archer? Are they targeting someone?”

“No—they didn’t aim at any of our [Mages].”

“Well then, send a volley back! Have our highest-level [Archers]—”

“Look!”

The man cried out. Uleth turned and saw fog. It was billowing up. Fog. Despite the harsh sunlight, it rose out of the ground to the surprised shouts of the soldiers. From where the arrow had landed.

“More arrows!”

They were falling amid Uleth’s army, releasing fog which obscured all vision. Uleth gritted his teeth. He turned his head and roared.

“[Mages]! Lift the fog!”

For a few minutes he heard no response. Then one of his messengers ran towards him.

“The [Mages] are attempting to lift the fog, but it will take them several minutes! The arrows are high-Tier magic—”

“Attack!”

Someone shouted it. Uleth’s head turned as he heard the horn calls from the side. They were unmistakable.

“The army has charged us in the fog! They’re engaged with our left flank!”

“I will move our forces out to engage—”

“No!”

Uleth stopped everyone with a word. He stood still, heart pounding. But he was certain.

“Do not move. Let Orthenon attack. He is attempting to force us to break formation. But we will hold position.”

“[General], the casualties—”

“We will hold position until the [Mages] lift the fog. Even if Orthenon charges his army, he will only be fighting a fraction of this army. When the air clears we will encircle him and destroy his army. You, you, you—go and reinforce the battle zone. Everyone else will hold position.

There was no argument on the battlefield. Not with the [General]. Uleth saw men and women running and waited. Minutes until the mists cleared. All he had to do was wait. Orthenon was famous for mind-games, for striking an enemy’s weak spot when they reacted to his provocations. All he had to do was wait—

The sound of clashing arms was distant, and Uleth could hear shouts, screams, horn calls in the distance. He fancied he could even smell the blood pouring already, metallic. Sharp.

But then he heard something. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep. So deep it cut below the sounds in the distance. Uleth began to rub at his ears.

“What’s making that sound?”

He turned his head, but could barely see his command, let alone the soldiers in the dense fog. He could see faint shapes in the mist, but they turned into shadows and then nothing. But the sound continued.

“I said, what in the name of sands is—”

And then it grew louder and Uleth realized what it was.

Humming.

Ahead of Uleth, the fog parted. A slim silhouette emerged from the white oblivion. A stranger holding a huge sword in one hand. She walked forwards, humming that haunting melody under her breath.

Dark shadows ran towards her, and Uleth heard the voices of men and women shouting. The figure swung her sword. Shadows fell to the ground. She walked on.

“Enemy attack!”

Someone shouted. But more voices were yelling the same thing. And the soldiers weren’t moving. They couldn’t see in the fog and they were a force of many nations. If they rushed to attack, they might find themselves locked in combat with their own forces.

Some were. Uleth heard the clash of arms behind him, where no one was attacking. But he only had eyes for the advancing shape. No one could see in this damned fog. No one. Except perhaps someone who had earned her title for doing just that.

Uleth felt a chill. He knew she was on the battlefield. He knew she was here. But it was one thing to hear of her, and another to see her. He whispered her name.

“Gazi the Omniscient.”

The half-Gazer walked into view. Her sword was red. Her armor was dyed crimson. Her central, main eye was closed, but all four of her smaller eyes were focused on him. On Uleth.

He drew his sword. His command formed up, [Tacticians] shouting, Uleth’s elite soldiers forming a wall between him and one of the King’s Seven. Two [Mages] strode forwards, grasping wands nervously. They were all staring at Gazi.

She could not hope to kill them all herself. Uleth’s mind babbled it as he froze, trying to think of orders. But all he could remember were the tales of entire commands slain in the middle of battle, of night ambushes that left no one alive.

“Ch—char—”

His men were staring at him. But Uleth couldn’t form the words properly. How had she come here? They were at the heart of his army! She would have had to cut her way through all those soldiers? Alone?

And then Uleth heard galloping horses and more screams. He saw a second figure appear out of the fog. A man on horseback, a spear in hand. More shapes broke out of the mist behind him. Mounted soldiers. They had cut their way through the stationary troops, led by the leader of the army himself.

Orthenon. Uleth stared at him. The King’s [Steward] raised his spear, and Uleth tried to make his mouth work.

“Char—”

Charge!

The King’s [Steward] kicked his horse forwards, and his entire army, cavalry and screaming soldiers, rushed out of the fog straight towards Uleth.

 

—-

 

There was a war going on. Trey knew he should be hiding in the city of Reim, away from it. He was no soldier, no fighter. He could barely use a sword. But he rode across the barren ground, following a King.

Flos rode like the wind. No—the wind was weightless. In that case, Flos rode like thunder. He was mounted, riding hard and fast down the road, past groups of people.

And bodies. Some were collapsed, bundles of rags on first glance, until you saw the blood. They flashed past Trey, but he could smell the death as he passed.

And then he saw the people on horseback. He must have turned past a mound of dirt or else there was some gradient to the landscape, because there they were. Trey saw it in a flash. A huge crowd of screaming people fleeing. A knot of armed men and women—barely armored. Flashing swords, and the riders breaking away from the fighting to ride down on some of the fleeing refugees.

They barely saw Flos before it was too late. A man wearing scale armor and holding a spear was riding towards a young woman who’d fallen. He raised the spear, and his head turned as he spotted Flos, riding towards him.

He tried to turn his horse. But too slow. Flos’ sword cut up, through the man’s armpit. The arm holding the spear fell; the second cut went halfway through the man’s neck, between the gap of helmet and armor.

Flos yanked his sword away as the man fell. He turned and rode at the other riders without pausing. They paused, uncertain. Then they recognized him. The King of Destruction.

Some tried to flee. Flos rode down on a slimmer shape on horseback. A female warrior? His sword flashed and one of the riders fell, headless. Flos turned and his sword shot out, stabbing at another rider’s chest.

The man or woman blocked, but the thrust carried them out of the saddle. Flos rode his mount forwards and trampled the fallen rider as he cut at the third man on horseback as he rode at Flos, curved scimitar raised, screaming.

The man was wearing armor, but Flos’ blow knocked his sword aside and smashed into the pauldron the man was wearing. The armor bent around the blow. So did flesh and bone. Trey heard the man cry out in agony. He died reaching for his crushed shoulder as Flos’ second blow crushed his skull and helmet.

Seconds. Trey was still riding towards the dead rider as the last toppled from his horse when he realized he was riding straight into the battle. He pulled desperately at his horse’s reins and the horse reared.

Trey had to clutch desperately at the horse to keep from falling off. He heard someone shout his name.

“Trey!”

His sister rode past him, only managing to slow her horse after several more yards. She turned and he saw she’d drawn her sword.

“Don’t—”

He reached for her. Trey couldn’t have said why. He just knew he couldn’t let his sister, Teres, ride into the heart of that battle. She stared at him, and then turned her head.

There was no need for Teres. Flos was enough. He rode at the group of fighting men and women, aimed straight at the attackers on horseback. They too saw him too late.

It was like a red whirlwind. Flos’ sword moved in flashes, each time slicing through skin, bone, and even armor, or crushing the very same. There were two dozen mounted soldiers—Flos rode into them from behind and they began falling from their saddles. In pieces.

Trey saw the blood. He saw people dying, in ways he couldn’t have dreamed of. He saw a man raise a shield and Flos’ blow split his helm and expose his shattered skull.

Trey leaned over and threw up on the ground. That felt appropriate. There wasn’t any glory in this, any excitement.

But there was vengeance. And there was hope, when the fleeing people and those who had tried to fight looked up and saw their King, holding his bloody sword in the air.

“My King!”

The twins couldn’t bring themselves to ride towards the carnage, but Flos rode back towards them. Trey flinched when he saw the blood spattered along his arm and chest. Flos just looked at him and nodded.

“This is my world. See it with your own two eyes.”

Then he turned to the people who were flocking around him. They shouted his name.

“My King!”

“Our King has come to save us!”

“Long live Flos!”

Flos said one word.

Silence.

And there was. He turned to one of the few refugees holding a weapon. Trey was surprised to see it was a balding man, hair white and wispy, with a wide hat on his head. He didn’t look like a warrior, but there was blood on the short axe he carried, and none on his body.

“You. Tell me what is happening.”

This man wasn’t weeping. He stared up at Flos with a huge, face-splitting grin. He bowed his head, but spoke clearly.

“My King. I don’t know how many of ‘em are out there, but there’s dozens of these fiends chopping anyone on the road to bits. We were marching when they came out of the blue, like. We tried to fend them off, but they were choppin’ us to bits before you charged into them.”

Flos nodded. His eyes found the other people holding weapons. They were all older men and women, Trey saw. Some were much older. Grandparents. An elderly woman had a shortbow in one hand. But what was surprising was how natural it seemed in her grip.

“There are elite warriors among you. Few, but I see it. I know you, don’t I?”

The man looked startled and then grinned, exposing a few teeth.

“I was an [Axe Guard], a [Sergeant] in your army, my King! I retired after you went into slumber, but I kept my levels and my axe.”

“I remember you. I remember not your name, but your face. You have more levels than these soldiers did. How have these raiders managed to overwhelm you?”

The man bowed his head.

“My King, there is a [Leader] of some kind out there. His Skills are aiding them. Without a commander of our own, we cannot match their tactics! And they outnumber us, us that can fight, that is.”

Flos looked surprised.

“There are no [Strategists] among you? Not a single one?”

There was a shaking of heads. Flos closed his eyes.

“Of course. [Strategists] may find work regardless of age.”

He turned, looked about the steep inclines. There were hills, rising out of the ground, obscuring vision. Flos’ eyes narrowed.

“More of my subjects are trapped in these passes. I must find them. Those of you with arms who can fight on horseback—mount up! You will ride with me! The rest of you—hold this position.”

He looked down at the retired [Axe Guard], the old man.

“Tengrip? Is that your name?”

“My King. You remember.”

Flos smiled. He reached down from his horse and Tengrip caught his hand. Flos turned and pointed at the twins.

“These two are my sworn followers. Trey and Teres. Guard them with your life. They can tell you what passes. Hold this spot, Tengrip. I will return shortly.”

He turned. The attacker’s horses had scattered, but someone in the crowd raised their fingers to their mouth and uttered a piercing whistle. The horses immediately turned and raced towards him.

Men and women followed Flos. Some paused to grasp weapons and even armor from the fallen; the rest mounted up. It was old men, pot-bellied adults, mothers and grandmothers who raced with Flos away from them.

Trey stared. Then he heard Tengrip’s voice.

“You heard the King! Grab weapons! Grab stones if you need to and form up! Children in the back—you lot with classes, front!”

People rushed to do as he said. Trey jolted when Tengrip turned towards him. The old man peered at Trey.

“You there, lad. Trey, was it? Do you have any classes in fighting?”

“N-no. Not really. I can use a sword. Sort of.”

“Best you’d give that horse to someone who can use it, then. Here! Reddy!”

He called out to another old man, and Trey found himself getting off the horse and letting an elderly man who looked like he was all skin and bones mount up. He only had a staff in his hands, but he looked more at ease sitting in the saddle of Trey’s horse than he had standing.

“You, girl. Give your horse up.”

Teres stared at Tengrip, but let herself be persuaded to give up her mount as well. The twins stood standing with hearts racing as the people around them rushed about, arming themselves, helping the wounded—or mourning the dead.

“This your first battle, boy?”

Tengrip’s hand startled Trey as he stared at the dead bodies. The boy turned to him. Tengrip made Trey face him.

“Looks like it. Blue as an unripe Yellat, aren’t you? Well just look at me. Breathe. You said you can use that sword?”

“Yes.”

“Draw it.”

Tengrip watched as Trey unsteadily unsheathed his sword. He made Trey swing a few times for him, and nodded. By the time that was done, Trey had forgotten about the bodies. Or rather, he’d begun to focus on more pressing issues.

“The King is awake! And he’s riding to save us, alone no less! Why ain’t Orthenon with him, or Lady Mars? Or Lady Gazi? I heard they were all at the capital!”

Tengrip was interrogating Teres. She was trying to explain about the army, and how Mars had to stay at Reim and Orthenon and Gazi were leading an army against one ten times their size.

“Can’t worry about that! Can’t worry—soon as the King hunts down the rest of the raiders we’ll be at the city! There’s thousands of us headed towards Reim—enough to hold the walls. You’ll see. The King’s back. He even remembered me! Tengrip!”

“That’s not your name, is it?”

Trey felt it was a silly question as he stared at the bloody axe Tengrip still hadn’t bothered to wipe. The [Sergeant] grinned at him.

“‘Swhat the fellows in the army called me. And if the King says it’s my name, well, it’s better than my old one!”

Then he turned to shout at the people milling about.

“Don’t break formation, you sand-cursed idiots! Hold your ground!”

They reacted to the voice of command. Tengrip eyed Teres and Trey, and put them well behind the ranks of people he’d spread out in a box formation. Not close to the center, where those without weapons and the ability to fight were, but far back.

Trey felt that was fair, but Teres protested.

“We can fight.”

“Teres—”

Trey wasn’t sure about that, but Tengrip was adamant.

“You two are the King’s servants. If he says you’re to be defended, you’ll stay back. Don’t worry—if we’re attacked, you’ll see fighting.”

And they were. At first it was tense, Trey feeling every second go by as he held his sword awkwardly in a sweaty hand. And then he was bored, talking with Teres, watching Tengrip show some people how to strike. And then he heard screams and saw riders coming over the hill.

There were ten of them. No—nine. One rider was just a horse, galloping with saddle half torn-off. Trey saw some of them had bows. They loosed arrows the instant they were in sight, and he heard a scream as someone was hit.

It was terrifying. The armored people were riding straight at them. But the refugees weren’t idle either. Bows raised. Several people had them, and arrows forced the riders to raise their shields. One struck a horse and made it rear, throwing its rider off—another caught a man in the shoulder, punching through chain links.

The rest were getting closer, though. It seemed as though they’d be right on top of Trey and Teres! He saw a man raising a sword and forgot he was behind several rows of people. Trey began to move along with a mass of people, but a voice stopped him.

Hold your position!

Tengrip’s voice made his feet obey. Trey halted, and the riders crashed into the rows of people.

It was a terrible sound and sight. Two of the riders were stopped by the first person—one literally thrown back by a man with a huge tower shield, the second impaling both horse and rider on a pike that was thrust into their path despite the rider’s attempts to swerve.

But the rest, six riders, charged straight into the ranks of people. Trey saw flashing hooves as horses reared, saw people beating at the people on horses. Someone was riding towards him. He raised a sword and then Tengrip was in the way. The old man hacked at the horse’s neck, and there was blood—

In seconds, it was done. The horse fell, to die in moments and the rider was beaten to death, stomped into the dirt. The other attackers were also dead.

But the broken bones and dead people who’d taken the charge were a testament to the cost. Trey wanted to run or throw down his sword, but Tengrip shouted, and soon the square changed. The wounded were taken to the center, and Trey was closer to the front.

Minutes passed. Hours? Trey heard more shouts and saw more riders. He held a sword as his heart and stomach lurched, but he had passed beyond throwing up. But this time the riders weren’t alone.

Cheers rang out as Flos rode towards them, at the head of a huge column of people, most on foot, clutching weapons. His arm was drenched in blood and gore, but he wasn’t wounded.

“It is a trap.”

He rode straight towards Tengrip and said the words so all could hear. Flos silenced the voices and pointed back the way he had come with Trey and Teres.

“The raiders are breaking off. They’re reforming and making for the pass. There’s more behind us as well—keeping their distance.”

“How many?”

Tengrip asked apprehensively, eying the foothills in the distance. Flos shook his head.

“Many. Many more than there should be for [Bandits] or [Raiders]. These aren’t ordinary brigands either, but soldiers. This is a trap, meant for me.”

“In that case, we’ll hold them off while you escape, my King!”

Tengrip raised his axe, but Flos shook his head.

“I am their target. And I will not abandon my people. No, we will fight here and win or die. Now, assemble! [Archers], to the center of the formation! Those of you with the highest levels and mounts, to me! Tengrip, take charge of the rest and form a line. You will be fighting.”

“Aye, my King!”

Trey wanted to speak with Flos. But for once the King had no time for him. He was organizing the frightened people like soldiers. No, turning them into soldiers. The desperate, fleeing people had weapons now, and a leader. They were inexperienced, but there were hundreds of them, thousands. They were ready to beat their enemy to death with rocks or their fists if they had to.

For their King.

But it might not be enough. Trey heard the thumping in his bones before he saw the army. It was a thud, like a drumbeat. But what drum could make the very earth shake?

He got his answer when he saw the army. They emerged from the hills, surrounding the square of people and the mounted group led by Flos. Trey saw archers taking positions on the hilltops and soldiers waiting in clusters. But the main force of the army came down the road they had travelled, hundreds of soldiers, and mounted warriors.

And at their head, a man dressed in bright yellow robes, standing next to an armored man with a purple feather on his helm. But it was the robed figure the thumping was coming from. Every time he took a fourth step, the earth shook around him.

“[Mage]. High level one, it looks like.”

Tengrip spat the words as the army slowed, blocking the pass. Flos stared at the enemy commander, glancing to the hills. He nodded to Tengrip.

“Have the highest-level archers pick off those on the hilltops. Don’t engage them unless they come down; focus on those ahead.”

“Yes, my King.”

“Flos of Reim! You are surrounded and outmatched! Give yourself up and we will spare your subjects!”

The commander had begun to shout. His voice was faint; he didn’t have Flos’ incredible lungs or a Skill. Flos glanced at him and then at the mage. The man in bright yellow robes was staring at Flos, and there was a grim look in the King’s eyes as he stared back.

They were the true centers of this moment, Trey felt. The [Commander] was barely a speck in Flos’ eye. He kept shouting though.

“—Surrender yourself now, or your people shall be slaughtered! You cannot—”

“Riders! On me!”

Flos turned, ignoring the man and raised his sword. The old men and women following him shouted and raised their weapons. Flos pointed—not at the [Commander], but at the [Mage].

“Ride with me! You are my blade, my spear! My [Royal Vanguard]! Charge!”

He kicked his warhorse forwards and the people screamed as they followed him. The stunned [Commander] had to withdraw into the lines of soldiers as the sixty or so riders raced after Flos, into the ranks of the soldiers.

“Charge! For the King!”

Tengrip ran forwards and the group of men and women with warrior classes ran forwards. People around Trey and Teres began firing arrows at the soldiers on the hilltops. The twins stared at Flos as he raced across the dusty ground, aimed straight for the [Mage] in yellow robes. They saw the magic-user grin, and then twist his hands.

The earth split. Stone walls rose in front of Flos, knocking aside the [Mage]’s own soldiers, forming a wall between him and Flos. The King swerved, cutting left into the army. Stone shards exploded from the [Mage]’s grip, cutting through the air. The [King] swung his sword and cut several from the air.

A woman riding behind him fell, a spike sticking out of her stomach. Then the soldiers were clashing with Tengrip’s warriors, and Trey saw the old man’s axe biting. The ground was red with blood already and screams filled the air. The smell of fear and sweat was in Trey’s grip, and the smell of iron too.

The battle had begun.

 

—-

 

They were losing the battle. But then, Maresar knew that was the point.

Mounted, loosing arrows into the fog with her group of archers, Maresar turned when she saw the figure appearing out of the fog. She had an arrow ready, but relaxed it when she saw Gazi.

“You’re wounded.”

The half-Gazer staggered towards Maresar, and the woman saw the black smoke rising from Gazi’s armor before she felt the heat. Gazi gasped.

“[Mage]. Got me. Hit me with a [Flare Orb].”

Her armor wasn’t brown anymore. It was black with soot in places, but red blood had painted it liberally as well. Gazi’s two-handed sword was also crimson and dripping. Maresar’s hands moved and she kept loosing arrows as she spoke.

“How long?”

“Two minutes. Orthenon needs more time.”

“He needs to retreat. Tell me where.”

Gazi was still panting, but Maresar saw two of her eyes turn, roving the clouded battlefield. She pointed.

“There. She’s mounted—aim up.”

“This high?”

Maresar aimed, calculating for the arc of her arrow, and loosed in an instant. Gazi waited a heartbeat and then shook her head.

“No. To the left two feet and down half a foot. That’s their head.”

“Fine.”

Maresar loosed a second arrow. Gazi nodded.

“Down. Straight through the chest. Next—over here. They’ve got a barrier spell up.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any enchanted arrows.”

“Hit the horse.”

Gazi’s rasped commands let Maresar target three more mages in the mist. She killed one more, and only distracted two, but it was enough. The fog persisted a few more minutes as the [Mages] were forced to scramble for cover rather than focus on dispelling the enchantment.

That done, Maresar turned back to firing into the mist. She couldn’t see anything, even with her Skills, but she didn’t have to look. There were so many soldiers all she had to do was loose arrows and she’d hit someone.

“How are we doing?”

“We’re being cut up. We can’t hold much longer.”

Gazi was staring at the place in the fog she’d come from. The place where she’d gone with Orthenon, leading them straight to the center of the army.

It was a tactic that required the fog arrows to occupy the army. It could only work on a coalition army, too. The soldiers didn’t recognize each other, and some were too afraid to enter the fighting for fear they’d attack each other. Some did, and began killing their allies. But it was all to get to the enemy command, Maresar knew.

They’d charged the entire army in, save for the archers led by Maresar. A wedge had been driven into the enemy army, a spear aimed straight at the center. But it was a thin, brittle spear. Maresar knew the lines of soldiers were collapsing, struggling to fight an enemy on both sides that vastly outnumbered them.

“I’m going back in.”

Gazi gripped her sword, coughing. Maresar kicked her mount and blocked the Gazer’s way.

“Not a chance. You’re too weak without your main eye.”

“Orthenon needs help.”

“He can do without you. You just took a spell to the chest. Even with your armor, it nearly got you. If you can’t dodge that, you’ll just get killed.”

Gazi opened her mouth to protest, and then all four eyes swiveled across the battlefield at once.

“The fog’s lifting! Orthenon’s…a few more seconds. He’s nearly killed half—he’s moving! Be ready!”

“At last!”

Maresar turned her horse and raced down the line of her archers, shooting.

“Volley the soldiers to the right and left of the formation! Loose!”

Her archers turned. They began to shoot, avoiding the patch of fog where their own soldiers lay. Maresar put an arrow to her own bow and began loosing arrow after arrow, as fast she could.

They only had a few more seconds to do as much damage as possible. And then…it would depend on Orthenon whether the plan had worked as well as not. If he could kill the enemy [General], excellent. But that wasn’t the plan. The plan…

Was simpler than that.

 

—-

 

He had truly thought he was going to die. But as Uleth stared at the heavy ranks of soldiers between him and the struggling warriors on horseback, he knew he would live.

Orthenon was fighting in the center of the scrum of soldiers, slashing with his spear as if it were a sword. He’d killed a score of Uleth’s finest soldiers, but it wasn’t enough. Uleth gripped his sword’s hilt, but made himself let go. A [General] didn’t need to fight and risk his life. He had mobilized the nearby regiments and they were all converging on this position. A few seconds and he’d have Orthenon cornered—

The tall, gaunt man on horseback raised his spear. There was no mistaking his voice, even over the clash of arms.

“Withdraw!”

He shouted and turned his mount. To Uleth’s disbelief, the soldiers began withdrawing, falling back, disappearing back into the fog.

But it was lifting too. And as Uleth stared, he saw the battlefield swim back into focus. Only now did he see the huge line of soldiers, like an arrow, penetrating the ranks of his soldiers, pulling back. It was insanity. If they had tried that in the daylight, they would have been overrun from every side. But in the fog, where no one could see who was friend or foe—

“Crush them! Don’t let Orthenon escape!”

The order came too late. As the soldiers returned to their formations, Orthenon and his riders raced past. Uleth saw the [Steward] stab a soldier through the helmet as he charged his mount down the pathway he had created, back towards safety.

Uleth turned, almost blinded by fury.

“I want every mounted warrior out there hunting him down! Now!”

He looked for the [Strategist] from Germina, but the man was nowhere to be found. Uleth had to shout before one of the [Tacticians] ran towards him, face pale. Uleth screamed at him.

“Where are my [Strategists]?

“They’re all dead! All—there’s only the lesser [Tacticians] alive!”

What?

But it was true. Caught so close together, without their shields of soldiers, Orthenon’s men and the [Steward] himself had cut right through the [Strategists] and [Tacticians]. That was why he’d attacked, surely.

An army without [Strategists] was slower. Weaker. Uleth could feel his blood boiling in his veins. But they were still outnumbered. He snapped at the frightened [Tactician].

“What are you waiting for? Surround them and kill them all!”

His [Horncaller] raised the horn and blew the call to attack. But it was too late. Uleth stared in disbelief as Orthenon’s mounted cavalry retreated. As did the [Archers]. And the foot. The entire force of the King of Destruction’s army began to retreat as fast as they could from the battlefield.

 

—-

 

This was war. Trey found himself hacking at a man with a shield, screaming as he tried to strike the man, stab him through the faceguard. Then someone cut into the man’s side. Teres shoved her blade deep as the soldier screamed and fell back.

They were alive. For a few more seconds. Trey turned, shaking, from the group of soldiers who’d attacked the square of refugees from the rear. He looked back towards the real battle.

With Flos. The King of Destruction was racing through the heart of the soldiers as if they were grass, cutting left and right, arm moving almost too fast to see. And behind him rode the vanguard, the old men and women. And they were…slaughtering the soldiers.

“How?”

Trey whispered it. He saw a woman who could have been anyone’s mother crack someone’s head open like an egg with a mace, and then smash someone in the chest. The people behind Flos were fighting like you saw in movies, like they were untouchable!

“It’s his Skill! It has to be!”

Teres screamed it in Trey’s ear. [Royal Vanguard]. But that couldn’t be it. Not just that. Because across the battlefield, the refugees were giving the enemy army an incredible battle.

The group of people on foot had charged into the ranks of soldiers and begun hacking them apart with the same incredible display. Trey saw Tengrip, slashing about him with an axe.

“He’s old! How can he do that!?”

“Because he’s old!

What?

Trey stared at his sister. She stared at the battle, her sword wet with blood, a look of—excitement?—on her face.

“They’re old! Retired! But they were all warriors! Think of how many levels they have!”

Trey thought. Then he saw Tengrip struggling with a huge man. He was darting back as the other man, holding a much larger axe, tried to cut Tengrip in half with it. But the [Axe Guard] slid forwards, and then he did something with his axe—

Teres clapped a hand to her mouth and Trey’s stomach lurched as Tengrip cut sideways with one hand. The huge soldier had a shield, but it was like it didn’t exist. The axe struck the shield. The metal deformed, and then the blade of the axe cut into the man’s body, through his armor, into his side, rending skin, tearing his body in half—

The huge soldier fell without a word. Tengrip staggered away. He’d lost his axe. He limped away from the battle, towards the square of refugees. He was bloody, but grinning as he saw Trey and Teres.

“Still alive?”

“Where are you going?”

Teres stared at Tengrip, as if he hadn’t just killed at least eight soldiers himself. The old man wrinkled his nose and lifted his right hand.

“I’m tired and I think I sprained my wrist. I’ll leave the rest of the fighting to you lot.”

His wrist was hanging loosely, as if it wasn’t…attached properly. Trey stared at it.

Fragile bones.

Then someone grabbed his arm. Trey stared into a woman’s face and saw more soldiers were breaking off towards them.

“Get ready!”

The fighting was reaching their position in the line. Trey saw bodies pressed together, hacking at each other, and then he was in the middle of it again. Tengrip was hacking at someone with his off-hand, and Trey was trying to block something—and then—

Look out!

The world went dark. Trey looked up, and saw something huge pass overhead. He felt the earth shake. He looked up.

A huge boulder, bloodied, three times as large as a horse, had just landed. It had crushed dozens of people and—and rolled.

There was blood and…and…Trey stared at what was left of the people after the boulder had hit them. He turned, forgetting about the battle and saw the [Mage].

He was standing alone now, at the center of the clashing soldiers. His hands were raised, and he was pointing. Every time he pointed, a spire of stone would shoot up from the ground, impaling those above. Then the [Mage] put his fingers together and another spray of rock fragments shot out, shredding a group of people that had tried to charge him.

Two figures dominated the battle. Flos, racing through the soldiers, cutting them down like grain. And the [Mage], casually killing everyone he saw with a gesture.

And they were aiming for each other, the King and the [Mage]. Flos turned his mount, beheading a man and rode straight at the [Mage], ignoring the people in his way. But the [Mage] raised a finger and Flos threw himself from the saddle. Jagged spears of stone shot from the earth, impaling the soldiers around Flos and his horse—his own side.

But he was still aiming for Flos. The King leapt sideways, as more stone darts shot across the ground like hail. He deflected some with his sword, but more struck him on the chest and arm. Trey saw Flos stagger and cried out.

A huge boulder rose from the ground in front of the mage. It hovered and then shot at Flos like some ancient cannonball. The King dodged by a hair’s breath. The boulder shot through the ranks of soldiers, sending bodies flying like bowling pins. But there was difference between pins and bodies crushed, turned to red paste by the [Mage]’s spell.

He was doing as much damage to his side as Flos’. But he was closing in on the King. And so, for the first time, Trey saw Flos run. The King darted through the ranks of soldiers. He leapt—at least six feet into the air!—and kicked a horseman out of the saddle. Flos kicked the horse and ran as more stone spires burst out of the ground behind him.

“Fall back!”

He roared it and the people broke away, running across the ground towards the refugees. Far less. Far fewer. And the [Mage] still kept casting spells.

The earth broke around the fleeing people. Spears of stone stabbed up—stone arrows struck their backs. The spellcasting only stopped when one of the archers around Trey began shooting at the [Mage]. The first few swerved before hitting him, but the [Mage] immediately raised stone slabs, covering him from attack.

Trey saw Flos riding towards them, gripping his side. He had a potion in his hands, but he thrust it at a man who was trying to hold his insides in. He had jagged bits of stone embedded in his very skin. Flos was holding a hand over his ribs and he was bleeding.

He stopped before his subjects. They called out to him, but Flos stared until he saw the twins. He slowly walked his horse towards Trey. He coughed and Trey heard a wheezing sound as Flos spoke.

“I fear…I may have been outmatched. By a single [Geomancer], no less.”

There was no despair in his eyes, no denial either. Only grim determination, and…acceptance. He would go down fighting.

Trey looked at Flos, and then stared at the other army. They were forming into ranks. Fewer of them…far fewer. But still several hundred. And the [Mage] stood in an open space in the center of that army.

They weren’t moving to attack. They had taken up the same formation as the refugees, in fact. A close box around the [Mage]. They were going to let him kill everyone.

The man in yellow robes wasn’t casting spells. Not yet. He was drinking from a bottle. A mana potion? He tossed it aside and raised a hand. An arrow flying at him broke on a second shield of stone.

Flos turned his mount. He looked around, and saw only a dozen of the people who’d charged with him. But they rode towards their King, holding their weapons at the ready, not a trace of fear in their eyes.

“I have one Skill I could use. If this were an army. But it is not. These are my people. Not soldiers. If I had an enchanted blade, or armor like Gazi…but I do not. And I have few Skills that can be activated.”

Flos looked at Trey, eyes full of regret. He sighed, and raised his sword. All was silent as Flos shouted.

“The King of Destruction rides! Who will come with me?”

This time everyone shouted. They raised their blades, and Trey found himself raising his sword. The refugees, thousands of them, prepared to charge. Together they could—

The [Mage] clapped his hands. The ground turned to mud ahead of him, a wet, deep bog. Flos’ eyes narrowed. He pointed to the hills.

“Around, then. If he cuts us down by the hundreds, we must still charge. Do you understand?”

Trey’s heart was beating out of his chest. This was it then. Flos sighed. He looked at the twins and then raised his sword.

“One last time, then.”

He opened his mouth to shout the command to charge, and halted. His eyes widened. Trey saw the King’s grim expression change. He stared past the army of soldiers, past the [Mage] in yellow robes and breathed one word.

“Mars.”

 

—-

 

They were running. In full retreat. Gazi was on horseback and she felt her burnt skin screaming every time her horse took a step. But she had to run. They all had to run.

An army of tens of thousands was hot on their heels.

They had done it. The enemy [General] was enraged beyond belief. He didn’t have any clever strategies, any schemes. He wasn’t using his [Mages] or siege weapons. He was just trying to crush their small force with his own.

His soldiers were charging, but they weren’t faster than the soldiers that Orthenon had picked. And he had his own Skills that let them race across the ground. Even a foot soldier could cover miles in full armor with Orthenon leading them. It was the cavalry that was the true danger. Gazi’s head turned and she snapped at the man riding ahead of her.

“Another group. Two hundred, coming from the left!”

“The Second Horse, on me! Crush them!”

Orthenon turned his mount and a group of riders broke away. They shot back, meeting the armed [Lancers] in a clash of weapons. Gazi saw Orthenon’s sword blur. He’d tossed away his spear to use his Skills.

[Sword Art: The Tide Breaks]. Five warriors racing at Orthenon crumpled from their saddles, cut straight through their armor by devastating slashes. Orthenon cut again and his blade scythed through a lance. It was enchanted.

But it wasn’t enough. Not alone. Not against an army. Orthenon used a second Skill even as Gazi watched, striking all around him.

[Sword Art: Scattering Petals on the Wind]. This too killed as his enchanted blade cut in every direction. But he was running out of Skills to use.

“Gazi!”

Someone rode past her. Maresar was still loosing arrows from her bow, picking off riders on their trail. She shouted at the half-Gazer.

“How many more miles?”

“Twelve!”

They raced across the dry ground as an army poured across the flat landscape after them. Gazi felt her horse panting for breath. Would they die before they reached the city? She didn’t know. She saw a group of warriors—elites by the look of them—riding camels and bearing down on a group of fleeing soldiers. Gazi gritted her teeth and turned her mount. She rode back, unsheathing her sword.

Twelve miles.

 

—-

 

“Mars.”

It was one word. A whisper that carried. Flos stared at a hilltop. Trey followed his gaze.

“Mars? But isn’t she—”

“Guarding the city. But if she heard of the battle she would have come.”

“She’d need an army! What about the city?”

“No. She wouldn’t need an army. Look.”

Flos pointed and Trey saw her at last. A figure in shining armor on a hilltop, red hair blowing in the wind.

“She came alone.”

It was like a dream. There stood Mars, her silver armor buffed, her hair caught by the setting sun. But this was also reality, and Trey’s blood ran cold.

“She’s alone?”

She couldn’t be. No one could be that stupid. But Mars raised her sword and took the shield from her back, and Trey saw she was indeed alone. And now the enemy had seen her too.

A cry went up as the [Mage] lowered his stone shield, preparing to cast a spell. He had a staff in his hands now, and the orb at the top shone with a bright light. He turned his head with a look of irritation and went still when he saw the figure on the hill.

“My loyal Mars. Yes.”

“What is she doing? She’s not even wearing a helmet!”

Teres fought her way over to Flos, pale with fear. Flos laughed.

“She has a helmet.”

But she wasn’t wearing one. Trey watched as Mars raised her sword to point at the [Mage], standing in the center of the ranks of soldiers. She struck her shield with her blade, and then Flos raised his voice.

“One of my Seven is here!”

Many hadn’t seen her. Trey heard shouts and exclamations as heads turned up, and people spotted Mars. Flos shouted over the cheers.

“Who is my [Vanguard]? Who strikes fear into the hearts of my foes?”

He rode down the line of people, and they shouted.

“Mars!”

“Who is my champion?”

Mars!

They screamed her name. The enemy was turning, forming into ranks to face the [Vanguard], the lone member of the King’s Seven. They were treating her like an army herself. But Trey looked at Mars’ bare head. He saw the [Mage] raising his staff.

And he feared what would happen next.

It started slowly. Mars began racing down the hilltop. She was a distant figure, armor flashing silver as she ran. Her shield was raised, her sword held at her side. She looked like a surging wall of metal.

A group of cavalry rode to meet her. Each warrior had a lance. They thundered at Mars as she hit flat ground, aiming their lances at her heart.

Trey cried out as they met her. The lances struck Mars’ shield. Four lancers struck her with all the weight of a horse behind them. And Mars—

Stopped.

She didn’t move. The lances broke and two of the riders were thrown from their saddles by the impact. The other two galloped past Mars, riders knocked back by the force of the blow. Mars raised her sword and stabbed the two fallen warriors almost perfunctorily. Then she ran on.

“Impossible.”

Teres breathed the words. The soldiers were just as stunned. Then the archers began to loose arrows. They rained down on Mars but she didn’t bother to lift her shield. They struck her armor, breaking and bouncing off the shining metal. And they struck her head.

And those arrows broke too. Trey’s jaw fell open as Mars ran on. He saw an arrow strike her in the eye and shatter as if it had hit steel.

“Prepare to charge.”

Flos’ voice broke him out of the moment. He was staring at Mars, and someone else.

The [Mage]. The [Geomancer] watched Mars racing towards him, eyes narrowed. She struck the first line of soldiers with a clash that Trey heard even from a distance. Mars’ shield swung like a mace, edge striking a man’s face and caving it in. Her sword flashed, and two warriors stumbled back, falling. But she didn’t stop.

Swords cut her. A mace fell towards her face and Mars blocked it. She charged into the ranks of soldiers, and they were forced back. They couldn’t stop her. A pike snapped as Mars ran onto it. She ran on, soldiers falling back, tossed aside, helpless to block her way.

But the [Mage] just watched Mars come. He gestured with his staff, and a hail of stone shards burst out of the orb, striking Mars. The stone tips broke on her armor.

The man frowned. A boulder rose out of the earth, forming itself from bits of stone, and shot towards Mars. She stopped then, and braced herself. The huge stone struck her shield and Trey felt the impact. It was stone that broke. Not Mars.

She ran on. Now the [Mage] had lost his confidence. He sent a wave of spikes shooting upwards, but they could have been grass for all they hindered her. He tried to hit Mars with another boulder, but she blocked again.

“She’s going to get him.”

“Not quite. He has one stronger spell.”

Flos’ voice was quiet. He was watching Mars as she cut through a group of soldiers trying to protect the [Geomancer]. And he was right.

The [Mage] raised his staff and struck the earth with it. Suddenly, Mars was wading through mud as the earth turned to sludge beneath her. The [Mage] raised his staff over his head, mouthing words, and now Trey felt uneasy. Something was happening.

A huge stone formed out of the dirt, the earth caving in around it and drifting upwards, compacting into a mass of stone and dust. The same thing that the [Mage] had thrown towards Trey earlier.

It was bigger than a car—the size of a small bus. Trey could see the [Mage] struggling to lift it. But he had an easy target. Mars was stuck, trying to reach the edge of the mud pit. She halted and raised her shield as the stone rose. The [Mage] threw it with one motion. It shot towards Mars and the impact shook the earth.

And this time Mars didn’t block. The boulder crashed into the mud, sending it shooting up around it. When it fell, there was no silver figure. No Mars.

A groan went up from the people around Flos. They cried out, and the soldiers around the [Mage] raised a cheer. He turned, arms held high as they cried out in victory. Trey looked at Flos—

And saw the King was smiling.

She walked out of the air itself as the [Mage] was laughing in delight. Mars appeared, her form fading into existence, rather than out of it. The [Mage] hadn’t seen. He heard the cries of alarm too late. Mars ran him through and he stared at her, completely surprised.

“Now.”

Flos’ voice rose and he shouted as Mars spun away from the [Mage], raising her sword. Flos raised his and bellowed.

For Mars and glory! To me!

They ran forwards, shouting. And Trey was right behind Flos until they met the enemy. He saw the King riding towards Mars as she fought, surrounded by soldiers on all sides. He thought he saw Mars laughing. He knew Flos was.

 

—-

 

They weren’t going to make it. Gazi slashed left and someone cut her on the cheek. She hadn’t seen it coming.

“Gazi!”

Maresar shot the person who’d wounded her. Her fingers were a blur as she nocked arrows and loosed in one motion. One arrow. Two arrows. Five…seven…each time she loosed, another soldier on horseback fell.

They were so close. Gazi kicked at her horse, but the animal was wheezing. It was at the end of its tether. She leapt from her steed and stumbled.

Someone caught her. Orthenon spurred his mount, his bloody sword in hand. There was the wild fury of battle in his eyes.

“What are you waiting for!? We’re nearly there! Run, damn you all! Run!

They ran. Reim’s gates were in the distance. They were so close. But they were too slow. The enemy caught them at last.

 

—-

 

Afterwards, Trey realized he was standing on the dead [Mage]’s body, a staff in his hands. He was panting. He had a deep, deep cut on one arm—if he looked he could see something like bone. The staff shone in Trey’s grip as he bled on it.

“I think it’s his. But I took it.”

He babbled at Teres when she found him, sword bloody. She stared at his arm and screamed for help.

Flos ran towards them and covered Trey’s arm with his, pinching the flesh together. That hurt and Trey told him so. But then Mars was running over, armor pristine, hair still blowing like an action hero. She didn’t even have a speck of blood on her. Not a bit. Trey found that weird.

“I have a potion. Here.”

She took a small bottle out of…somewhere, and uncorked it. Trey gasped as it was poured over his wound and then he saw the cut on his arm close. He blinked at Mars and then his head cleared a bit.

Ow.

“Are you injured anywhere else Trey? Teres?”

“No. I don’t think—no.”

Teres wasn’t injured either. Flos stared around the battlefield. The enemy soldiers were either dead or fled. Their [Commander] might have been among them—it didn’t seem to matter. Their spirits had broken when the [Mage] had been killed, and between Flos and Mars, they had carved up the soldiers.

Now Trey stared at Mars. Mars the Illusionist. The [Vanguard]. The most useless of the King’s Seven when it came to anything but war. But war…she was pretty good at war.

There was not a scratch on her. Not a bit. And no blood, although it was practically matted in Flos’ beard. It was a mystery that Trey was on the verge of solving. And then Flos solved it for him.

“Mars. You have my deepest gratitude.”

“I disobeyed your orders, my King. I wouldn’t have come, but I received a message from a certain son of a certain vassal you might know.”

“No. Venith’s boy?”

“He told me you were in danger. So I rode out against your command. I apologize, my King.”

She bowed to him. Flos laughed softly.

“I am a fool. Were it not for you, I would be dead, I think. And if the city still stands, this will be a victory on all fronts.”

“There were no other enemies nearby, which I found odd. So I took a horse—I left it somewhere so I wouldn’t get it killed.”

Mars was still smiling, looking as beautiful and sounding as nonchalant as ever. But she was surprised when Flos dismounted and came towards her.

“Mars. Enough modesty. You saved my life. I would look on your face now, and speak my thanks to my vassal myself. Your true face.”

She hesitated. Mars lost her usual swagger, and glanced at Trey and Teres.

“In front of them?”

“If you are uncomfortable, they will turn away. But I want to see you, Mars.”

Flos’ voice was gentle. Trey took hold of Teres’ arm, but Mars shook her head.

“No, I—they can—”

She hesitated, and then raised her right hand. She was wearing silver gauntlets, but she twisted at her ring finger. There was nothing there that Trey could see. And then—

The illusion vanished. Mars vanished. The tall, buxom redhead in silver armor vanished. A shorter figure, spattered in blood, grime, and wearing armor that was just grey stood in her place. She had a helmet on her head with the visor down. She wasn’t thin, and her breastplate could have been made for a man or a woman.

And then she took off her helmet and Trey saw a woman’s face. It wasn’t hideous—it was a bit plain, that was all. Mars had pale skin from lack of sunlight, and a few faint freckles. Her hair was brown. And her nose was a bit snubbed. She was sweating heavily. She looked down at the ground, rather than meet anyone’s eye.

And Flos bent and kissed Mars on the forehead. She went still. Her eyes were wide. And Flos kissed her again.

“My [Vanguard]. My beautiful vassal.”

That was all. Flos stared into Mars’ eyes and she looked up at him with tears in hers. By the time Tengrip came over, his broken hand splinted and the people began cheering, Mars was standing next to Flos with her illusion back in place, laughing loudly and waving to the people who cheered for her.

But for a second Trey had seen the truth. And it changed everything. He’d seen the ring she twisted to change her appearance, and remembered the broach she’d given Flos. Mars was no good at magic. But she had a lot of magic on her.

Mars the Illusionist. And Flos turned towards her, looking at his vassal with pride that had nothing to do with looks. He held out a hand towards her and she grasped it.

“Come, Mars. You too, Trey, Teres. This was only one battle. It’s time to win another.”

 

—-

 

They caught Orthenon’s army four miles from their destination. Venith saw the struggling lines of soldiers, trying to fight and run before the rest of the army caught up. They were on the verge of being overrun.

“Mother’s there.”

By his side, Calac was staring in horror at the endless sea of soldiers. He had probably never seen so many people in his life, and they were all the enemy. But Venith could close his eyes and remember greater armies. But his eyes were open now.

“It’s a trap. Not for Orthenon and the others. That army’s in the middle of his trap.”

“How? There are so many—

Venith glanced at the city of Reim in the distance, the sixteen towers piercing the sky.

“I know what they’re doing. Stay back, Calac. Take the foot and archers to your mother.”

“But—”

“No arguments. You won’t die today. This—is my duty.”

Venith rode forwards. His retainers, his sworn friends and companions from another war, rode with him, shouting. They were a handful, but it was enough. Venith found his heart was beating harder, harder than it had beat for many years.

The soldiers had noticed him now. Venith saw a four-eyed stare, a gaunt man turning his head in disbelief, and a woman on horseback, more beautiful than one of Mars’ lies, staring at him. It was the only thing Venith had ever wanted to see. That, and one more face.

He raised his sword and shouted.

“In the name of the King of Destruction! Charge!

His soldiers raced with him, cheering and broke upon the startled enemy. Venith rode into them, deep, cutting, slashing, blocking every strike with his shield. He heard a wild sound and realized it was coming from him.

He was laughing.

 

—-

 

Flos and the small army of refugees reached the city. The King and Mars raced towards the northeastern gate. They saw the army fighting in the distance, and the soldiers running for the city with the last of their energy.

“Venith!”

The King cried out when he saw the man locked in combat, holding the enemy back. Gazi and Orthenon were riding back towards him, but it was Venith’s wife who turned first.

Maresar nocked one arrow and loosed it. She had a second arrow at the string in an instant. She loosed.

In Trey’s vision, two soldiers rushing towards Venith fell. One staggered and clawed at an arrow in his chest; the other fell soundlessly, an arrow protruding from one cheek. More arrows flew, and the people trying to kill Venith fell from their saddles.

“Retreat, you idiot!”

Mars shouted it from the battlements at Venith, as if he could hear. She turned to Flos.

“He doesn’t know about the plan!”

“Oh, but he does. This is Venith. He knows the nature of my city. He knows what we would do.”

Flos answered calmly, but his hands were gripping the stone so tightly Trey feared it might break. His eyes were on Venith.

His vassal.

It looked as if Venith’s thin line of soldiers might buckle and break at any moment. They were falling, but the last of Orthenon’s army was breaking away. Trey waited for Venith, searching for him amid the fighting. And then—

“There!”

A man was riding backwards, fending off slashes with a shield, several wounded men around him. He rode at breakneck pace towards the gates, his fresh mount outdistancing his pursuers.

“It’s time.”

Flos turned from the battlements, a huge grin on his face. He leapt down the stairs and Mars was by his side. They ran towards the gates, where an exhausted group of soldiers had collapsed just inside the city.

“Orthenon! Gazi! Maresar! To me!”

Flos shouted and the three ran towards him. Each one looked battered. Trey had never seen Orthenon looking so haggard, and even Gazi looked tired. But as they reached their King, their faces changed.

“It’s time. Form up the rest of the army.”

“Done!”

From his position, Trey could see more soldiers, fresh soldiers, standing at attention. They were ready for battle. But the army approaching Reim was enormous.

“We slew a number of their [Mages]. Most of their [Strategists]—couldn’t reach the artillery.”

Orthenon gasped at Flos as he drank from a flask. Flos nodded.

“They chased you here. That is what matters. They are too close to the city.”

“They’ll be right behind Venith and climbing the walls in seconds. It needs to be now, my King. Gazi—”

“I’ll do it.”

Gazi stumbled towards the stairs. Trey saw her climbing with speed towards him. Flos turned towards the gates and bellowed.

“Lower the gates!”

The portcullis began to drop. Shapes galloped through before it closed. Venith leapt from his saddle and hit the ground hard. He strode towards Flos.

“My King.”

“Venith.”

The man tried to kneel, but Flos seized him before he could. Flos wrapped his arms around Venith and hugged him to his chest. There were tears in Venith’s eyes.

“I do not deserve—”

“Do not speak to me of that! A [King] does not remember such things. You are back, my vassal. And now, let us put an end to this.”

“Yes.”

Venith stepped back lifting his sword and shield. Maresar joined him, and they stood together.

“Yes!”

Mars grinned and raised her sword and shield, shouting, and a thousand voices echoed hers. Orthenon raised his blade.

“For the King of Destruction!”

On the wall, Trey realized he was in danger when the first soldiers began firing at the walls, and more began pounding at the gates. He would have run or ducked, but a hand grabbed him.

“This way!”

Gazi pulled him and Teres towards the watch tower. She sprinted up the steps and the twins raced after her. They couldn’t see the soldiers, but they could hear an incredible din through the echoing tower.

“There are too many! We can’t hold them off!”

“That is not needed. We just had to get them to attack the city rather than stay away and lay siege from a distance.”

“Why?”

Trey shouted. He caught up to Gazi at the top of the tower. The half-Gazer was panting, but her four eyes were steady. She grinned and then pointed.

“Accuracy.”

There was something on the walls of the tower. Some kind of…drawing. Trey squinted, and then he saw, partially obscured by dust and filth, a symbol.

No…was it a rune? It was some kind of diagram, a circle, only each line was in fact made of smaller lines, writing that hurt just to look at. It wasn’t proper words. It was shapes. Meaning made into written word.

Magic.

Gazi slowly walked over and pressed her hand to the center of the diagram. Slowly, the runes lit up. They glowed faintly at first, and then began to shine. Yellow, the color of the sun, and then brighter still. They became searing white lines, tinged with gold. Like—

Lightning.

 

—-

 

Uleth snarled as he screamed for ladders, battering rams, anything to break open the damned walls of Reim. The city’s wall were short, the defenders less than ten thousand in number. He would kill them all now—they had nowhere to run!

“Set up the damn trebuchets!”

He shouted at one of his remaining aides, a low-level [Tactician], before remembering he’d left all of his artillery behind in the chase. Even his foot soldiers were barely catching up, winded and exhausted from the run as they were. If they’d had [Strategists], they could have used Skills to reduce the effort of the chase, move faster. Damn Orthenon!

Lacking siege weapons, Uleth spurred his exhausted mount to one of his [Mages].

“I want you to blow down the gates! Now!

“We’ll try, but it will take—”

Do it!

The [Mage] turned to the others, still panting from their ride and they began to link hands in preparation for the spell. Then one of them turned pale and pointed up.

“Someone on the castle walls is casting a massive spell!”

“What?”

“There! On the tower!”

Uleth spun. He couldn’t see any signs of magical activity—he could barely make out the top of the tower amid the gathering storm clouds. Where had his cursed clear skies gone? It wouldn’t save the King of Destruction though, nothing would.

“Kill the [Mage], then! Bring down that tower!”

Someone threw a [Fireball]. It burst harmlessly on the wall, as did the arrows of magic which failed to even damage the stones they struck.

“The towers are heavily enchanted! And the mage—it’s a Tier 6 spell! At least!

Uleth felt fear worm its way into his stomach. He stared at the tower.

“Impossible. There are no powerful mages present. Amerys is at Wistram. She has to be!”

“No! It’s not one person. It’s—the towers!”

Another mage cried out, and now Uleth could see signs of magic. Each one of the sixteen towers of Reim was glowing now, and light was shining from the tips. No—not light.

Lightning.

Electricity was crackling around the tower’s tips. As Uleth watched in horror, it began to shoot out, flickering, reaching out. Not down towards the ground, but towards the center of the city. Towards the palace.

 

—-

 

Gazi stood with one hand on the magical sigil, tracing complex patterns on it. It wasn’t just a circle, Trey now realized. It was a map of the city, formed by the runic writing.

And now he could see the magic working. Trey glanced out the window as lightning flashed.

“W-what’s happening?”

“A spell.”

Gazi whispered it, all four eyes focused on the runes. She traced a line towards the center of the city, and Trey saw lightning shoot towards the center. It was gathering there. It was impossible for lightning to do that of course, but it was arching towards the palace, crackling as it danced across the stone exterior. And now Gazi’s hand had stopped.

Outside, the electricity gathered into one spot. High above the city, all sixteen towers shot lightning up, towards a…ball of lightning. Gazi paused, and looked at Trey. There was a wild grin on her face.

“Drevish made this.”

Drevish?

“Yes. He studied Drake architecture. They build their cities to fight back even without defenders.”

She gestured at the lightning.

“Amerys and Drevish both worked on this enchantment. They called it [Storm Keep]. A spell to destroy entire armies. It was never used. There was never a need.”

No army has ever attacked Reim. Trey stared at Gazi and then realized the plan. It was so simple. Lure the enemy close. Only it wouldn’t work if they stayed back and knocked the towers down with trebuchets.

Now Gazi turned. She stared out one of the windows, down at the army surrounding Reim. The dark shapes were moving. Fleeing. Running away from the city now the trap had been sprung.

But they were too slow. Too late. Too tired to run fast, and too disorganized. Gazi smiled.

“This is for you, Drevish.”

Then she touched the map. And lightning rained down from the heavens.

 

—-

 

Venith watched the lightning fall. He could close his eyes and remember Amerys laughing and coming up with the idea and convincing Drevish to work on the enchantment.

Lightning for a King of Destruction. Lightning for his crown. From his crown. It was something only they could make, something only Drevish could engineer and Amerys could enchant.

Now the thunder rolled nonstop, and the flashes of light split the earth. Electricity arced from soldier to soldier, seeking their metal weapons. And the light fell and men died.

In silence, the King of Destruction and his vassals watched the storm bring down its wrath. Even Amerys couldn’t have done as much. Not alone. But as Drevish would have pointed out, this was architecture. It was grand and terrible.

And it was merciless. From her tower, Gazi pinpointed [Mages]. Even the best of them on the field couldn’t stand more than three strikes of lightning. Then she struck the enemy [General] as he ran, brought down clusters of elite soldiers, and then hit any group she could find. And when it was over, Flos raised his sword.

“You are my army! My army! The [Army of the King]!”

Thousands of soldiers roared. Venith felt the exhaustion in his arms disappear in an instant. He lifted his sword and shield and felt as light as a feather. The gates opened and Flos led the charge. Venith rode at the King’s back, Maresar by his side. Orthenon and Mars flanked the King and they charged the remnants of the army. They were still outnumbered.

But their King was back. And Venith laughed and laughed. Because he was finally happy.

The King of Destruction had returned.

 

—-

 

Destruction. It was fitting name for it. When he had first heard the title, Trey had thought it was a rather silly name. A title for someone pretending to be a King maybe, or a mocking name. Not something literal.

But now he stood in a tower, and all he saw was just that. Destruction. The earth was blackened. Fires had started and had to be put out. But it was the bodies that Trey focused on. The broken bodies. The burnt armor.

And the captives. There were thousands of them. More captives than captors, possibly. But they had thrown down their arms rather than face Flos, face his vassals or his army.

Gazi walked slowly down the stairs with Trey and Teres. They had to help her; Trey was the one to notice how gingerly she walked, and the burn marks on her armor. They supported her down the long, winding stairs, awkwardly taking her weight. But Gazi insisted on walking alone to meet her King as he rode back into the city.

Flos was covered in blood. His eyes were still wild with battle, and his soldiers and vassals shouted with victory. Trey stared at them and then saw Teres with that same smile.

But he didn’t smile. He felt like a stranger, even more so now than before. A stranger, staring at something he couldn’t quite understand. Something that called to Trey. Something wonderful, horrible, enticing, revolting. Something foreign.

Flos dismounted, patting his warhorse as his vassals and subjects crowded around him. He seemed larger than life, the center of the world. Trey heard people praising him, asking him questions. But it was Orthenon’s voice that rose above the others.

“The captives, my King. What shall we do with them?”

“We can guard them for a short while. But not for long. They will solve our issue of funding and food for the winter.”

Flos was speaking to Orthenon, smiling broadly. Trey saw Gazi halt as she approached her King. There was a strange look on her face. Flos turned, calling out for someone with magical skill to send a [Message] spell.

“To Roshal! To the Traders! Tell them to send the nearest caravan they have. One should already be close by if they have been watching the battle. Tell them I want all the food and supplies they can sell to me!”

It was strange. Maresar grinned slightly at Flos’ words. Mars didn’t react. Orthenon just nodded calmly as if he’d expected it. Even Venith nodded, looking steadfast. But Gazi looked away.

“The Traders? Who are they?”

Teres whispered to Trey.  He shrugged. But a small pit was emptying itself in his stomach.

And it was Gazi who heard. She looked at them, and there was no laughter, no smile in her gaze.

She answered them with one word. One word that changed the world that Trey thought he’d understood.

“Slavers.”

Above them, the sky changed. Something flew through the air, and snow began to fall. Just for a moment. Then it melted on the burning ground.

Winter had begun.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.06 KM

It was the middle of winter when the first of Flos’ vassals began to reach his city.

Standing on the balcony on one of the higher floors of the palace, Trey stared moodily down at the procession of armed warriors entering through the southern gates. His eyes were good—too good in fact; Trey was a bit farsighted—and he could see these were a different sort of people. He stared down darkly, shivering a bit as a cold wind blew at his clothing.

The foremost leader of the procession was wearing some kind of veil. It might have been a she or a he—Trey couldn’t tell from this far up. And it might not matter, because he recognized the kind of people that were being cheered by Flos’ citizens.

String People.

Trey had met a group of them once before, weeks ago. Now he hated all of them, even if these ones weren’t slave traders. He knew they were one of the main races inhabiting Chandrar, along with the Garuda and human populations. Well, String People looked human too. Until you got close and saw the stitches keeping their bodies together.

Yes, they looked human, but they were made like Frankenstein’s monsters. Their bodies were cloth, and they could be made of any fabric, from tough wool to silk. That actually mattered to them socially; Trey supposed it was a class thing. But a String Person could be built, or repaired by someone with a needle and thread, so long as you had the right cloth.

Actually, according to Orthenon it was harder than that. But Trey hadn’t asked him for details. He wasn’t speaking to Orthenon right now.

Or anyone, really.

These String People, or Stitch-Men and Stich-Women—possibly Stitch Boys and Stitch-Girls although they didn’t look that young—were on foot. They had long, wicked spears and other polearms and they all had veils on their faces.

They were probably some elite band that had served Flos years ago. It didn’t surprise Trey that String People would call Flos their King either; no doubt he would have loved having them in his army. The String People were supposed to be fearless warriors, hardy survivalists, and all the things you said about anyone you wanted to talk up. They didn’t fear being cut to death; they could just sew themselves up, after all. In fact, the only thing String People truly feared with a passion was fire.

It was odd that a flammable people would live on the hottest of all continents. Chandrar’s days were filled with blistering heat, and the nights were cold enough to freeze to death on. But when you thought about it another way, Chandrar had less vegetation. Less things to burn.

Behind the group of Stitch-warriors, Trey spotted another band of people entering. These weren’t String People, but they were being cheered just as loudly. They looked like Humans, robed and holding an…Trey had to squint in disbelief. Was that an umbrella they were holding?

It made no sense. Winter in Chandrar didn’t mean that much snow, and though it could still get very cold, you didn’t need an umbrella except if you were trying to keep out of the snow. But Trey was used to strange things in this world.

These people looked like [Mages]. So two groups of his vassals were entering the city at the same time? Trey knew that meant more feasting, and Flos welcoming his vassals into his palace with open arms. He’d certainly thrown a big enough party for Venith and Maresar and they had only been two of his former vassals.

Trey scowled and gripped the railing tightly. He wasn’t happy. And he didn’t want to be in the banquet hall, sitting at the tables—the ones far from the high table—and have to listen to Flos laugh. He didn’t want to see the King of Destruction’s face right now. Or anyone’s. Right now, Trey hated this entire kingdom.

They were all slave traders.

Trey couldn’t believe it when he’d found out. Flos had slaves. To be more accurate, he sold people as slaves. He’d struck a deal with the Traders of Roshal to sell all the prisoners he’d taken captive in the battle for Reim. Some had been ransomed off, but the rest…

Slaves. Trey couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe Orthenon, or Venith, who had seemed so honorable, would allow people to be slaves! But no one had understood his outrage. And worse…

Trey closed his eyes. It had been over a month since that day when he’d realized the entire continent of Chandrar actively owned or allowed slaves. If some kingdoms like Flos’ were too poor to have many slaves, most nations had a good deal of slaves. People, held in captivity. And it had been a month since he and his sister had stopped talking, after they’d fought bitterly about that very issue.

That hurt worst of all. That was why Trey was alone, had been alone, for so long. Because he had fought with his sister. Because Teres wasn’t willing to condemn Flos for dealing with slave traders. Because she was just as bad as the rest of them.

It had been a terrible fight. It hurt Trey now. He’d had fights with his sister before. That was normal. But fights were supposed to end after a while. There might be tears, or hitting, but in the end, after days, or maybe a week at most, you’d make up. Trey and Teres were twins. Being apart was too difficult.

But this fight was different. It had been bitter and harsh, and the scars weren’t healing. Trey could remember every word he’d said when he was alone.

 

—-

 

“You think it’s alright?

Trey screamed at Teres and threw a chair. Not at her, but a wall. His voice was hoarse; he’d been screaming for a long time. So had she, but she screamed right back.

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture!”

“Fuck your bigger picture!”

Trey looked for something else to hurl, but he’d already broken everything else in the room. He turned to Teres, face red.

“He’s keeping slaves, Teres! Slaves!

“He’s not keeping them! Idiot! He’s just selling them!”

“Oh, just selling them, is it?”

“You heard him! He’s doing it for his people! Without the money from those merchants—”

“They’re not merchants. They’re slave traders!”

“Shut up!”

Teres was red with anger. She’d tried to ‘explain’ Flos’ reasoning to Trey several times before and he wasn’t willing to listen. She took a shuddering breath.

“Flos has to protect his people—”

“By selling other people, is that it?”

“He’s got to keep people fed! You heard Orthenon—we need the coin or we won’t last the winter!”

“So that makes slave trading alright then, is that it? Oh wow, I guess if I’m hungry I should see if I can sell some folks off for a bit of cash!”

“It’s the way things are done here! You don’t have to like it—I don’t like it! But we have to change Flos’ mind, not tell him no—”

“Bugger that! You think we should just let it go? You’re mad!”

“I’ve talked with Flos and he’s listening to me. You’re just making him put his back up every time you start shouting—”

“No!”

Trey was shaking with anger. He felt betrayed. He pointed a shaking finger at Teres.

“I heard you. You think its okay? You think its okay to keep doing it? To tell Flos he can sell off thousands of people just like that? You’re as bad as the rest of them!”

“I’m not—

Teres looked like she was on the verge of tears or lashing out. Or both. But Trey wouldn’t listen. His voice rose, cracking with emotion.

“You’re as bad—no, you’re worse because you know it’s wrong. But you’re bloody sick in the head. You’re so obsessed with Orthenon that you’ll watch his lot sell slaves without blinking twice. You’re not my sister. You’re a monster, you sick, twisted, addled cunt—

That was when she drew her sword and Trey ran for it.

 

—-

 

Later, Trey had stormed into the throne room and shouted at Flos. He remembered that, too, in anger though, and not regret. He’d marched up to Flos and yelled at him. At the King of Destruction. Somehow, he’d said his bit without Orthenon kicking him out or cutting him to bits, and Flos had quietly shaken his head.

“Slaves are part of Chandrar’s blood and body, Trey. I will not change that. Nor do I disagree with owning slaves. I have explained that to Teres and she understands. I hope you will too.”

Cold fury. Trey remembered shouting at Flos and Orthenon snapping at him to mind his tongue.

“You think its okay to sell and buy people against their will?”

“Better than letting them rot in a cell. That is what your world does, is that not true?”

“Yes—but—”

Trey faltered. Flos’ gaze was piercing him like a needle. The King spoke softly.

“For years. For twenty years in cases of murder. Longer for some. Forty years? That is a lifetime. And these people must obey their captors, live by their rules, labor as part of their imprisonment. And you tell me that is not slavery?”

“It’s—it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? It sounds like hypocrisy, to me. Your world claims to own no slaves, but you enslave your criminals. Well, in Chandrar we do the same. Trey, you may have a different name for slaves in your world, and perhaps you do different things with them. But they are still slaves.”

Flos rose, staring down at Trey with cold eyes. Merciless eyes. The same eyes of a King who would slaughter an army that came against him. Why hadn’t Trey seen it until now? He hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“Slavery allows criminals, enemies of my Kingdom, to be used, Trey. They are a commodity. Locking someone away for twenty years is crueler to my mind, and far more pointless. A slave cannot be mistreated under a just ruler, and they may be freed if—”

“They’re still slaves! Who cares if they’re pampered? They don’t have free will! How could you sell all those people? I thought you were a better King than that!”

That had struck home. Flos’ eyes narrowed.

“Some will be ransomed. The Traders of Roshal are an independent third party. They may ransom those with wealth, and manage those who are not able to buy their freedom. My kingdom needs food and coin for the winter, Trey.”

“I don’t care. You think its okay? I think it’s completely wrong. No—I know it is.”

Flos exhaled hard. He threw out his hands, more exasperated than Trey had ever seen him.

“What would you have me do? My dungeons cannot hold more than a fraction of their number, and feeding them would beggar my kingdom further. Would you have me execute them all? I do not have the stomach for it, and I am the King of Destruction.”

“I’m not telling you to kill them all! You could ransom some of them, and the rest…let them all go if you have to. But don’t treat them like—like—”

In the end Trey had run out of words. He couldn’t explain why slavery was wrong to Flos. He told the King of Destruction the sky was blue, and Flos said it was green. The King had silenced Trey after a while with a wave of one hand.

“You may not like it Trey, but I expect you to live with my decision. It is necessary. Your sister has made her peace with it. So must you. I am your King. And this is my kingdom. So long as you are my subject, you will live by my rules.”

And that was it. Trey stood before Flos, and realized the truth. The terrible truth. He looked up into the face of a man he’d admired, grown to respect, and understand. And he’d shaken his head.

“You’re not my king. I still have a Queen.”

Trey turned and stormed out of the throne room. He hadn’t spoken to Flos on that day, or any day since.

 

—-

 

Trey hugged himself as he stood on the balcony, watching the happy people in the streets below. Even now he remembered. And thought it was hard, and lonely, being at odds with Flos and his sister, he still knew he was right.

But it was so hard. Each day, Trey rose and woke up in a small room, apart from Teres. He ate alone, wandered the city alone, and slept alone. No one wanted to talk to him. He didn’t train with Mars, and she had given up on trying to make him do it. Orthenon refused to speak with him so long as Trey didn’t apologize to the King—

He was trying to make Trey give in. Trey could tell. It was like a pulling, a wanting in his chest that made him feel like rushing back to Flos and begging for forgiveness. It was what Trey imagined an addiction felt like; something that couldn’t be fought and tugged at your insides forever. He wondered if this was what Venith had felt like.

But Trey refused to give in. So he stood on the balcony, watching the procession meet groups of cheering people until someone spoke behind him.

“Trey.”

The young man jumped. He turned and saw Gazi standing behind him. The half-Gazer smiled a tiny bit. She nodded at him.

“I have been looking for you. My King wishes you to join him in his throne room to welcome his vassals.”

Trey stared at Gazi. He hadn’t seen her of late; she’d been riding about, keeping track of the neighboring countries in case one decided to attack again. So far everything had been quiet. Everyone was afraid of Flos. But of course he would send her to hunt Trey down. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“The King can go bugger himself.”

Trey flinched as he said it. He waited to be hit, but Gazi said nothing. Instead, he heard her sigh.

She sat next to him on the balcony. Literally on the edge of the balcony, balancing over the three story drop as if her back were against a brick wall.

“I have been away from the city. But your sister and Mars told me of your quarrel with the King.”

She was looking at him with all four eyes. That was uncanny. Trey turned his head, feeling her gaze staring at him. Staring through him.

“It’s not right. Owning slaves. It’s not right, but everyone here does it. They’re all wrong.”

“My King would say the same of locking people up for years. Isn’t that what you do in your world?”

Trey felt something hot and angry bubbling in his chest. Teres had told Flos’ argument to Gazi? He was furious because he didn’t have a good answer to that. He wasn’t a genius! He hadn’t studied the difference between prison and slavery. And it wasn’t about that!

“That’s because they’re prisoners. They’re meant to be punished. Okay, maybe it’s bad too, but slavery is different. It means you don’t have free will. That—that some people are worth more than others. It’s wrong. It’s inhumane.

“An odd word. Especially to someone who isn’t Human.”

Trey flushed.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I understand.”

Gazi held up a hand, still smiling. It was that fake smile she was wearing, the one that hid her real emotions. She paused, staring down at Trey as the wind blew across her armor and the young man shivered again.

“You know, some nations agree with your thinking. In Izril there are no slaves. The Drakes do not tolerate them, and neither do Gnolls. The Humans in the north rarely owned slaves, but [Ladies] such as Magnolia Reinhart put an end to it during her generation. Yet in Terandria, Baleros, and Rhir slaves are legal.”

Trey shook his head. He felt empty inside. Empty and alone.

“So? It doesn’t matter if everyone thinks that way.”

Gazi nodded, as if he’d made a good point. She went on, one eye turning to follow the parade below.

“Not all slaves are treated the same way, of course. In many nations slaves have no rights. But in Chandrar, and in my lord Flos’ kingdom, slaves cannot be mistreated. In fact, my King generally frees any slaves he takes an interest in. And in Rhir and Baleros, a slave can be freed if they fight in battle and prove themselves.”

More arguments. Trey closed his eyes. He searched for the fiery conviction in his heart and just felt tired. But it had to be said.

“Just because you’re a slave for a while—it’s still wrong. If you own someone, you’re not equal to them. Just because there’s a law, it doesn’t mean it’ll ever be right for someone who’s a slave. If you’re owned, someone could do…anything to you. And you can’t stop it.”

Gazi paused. She lost her smile, and looked impassively at Trey.

“I understand your thinking. So does my lord, even if he does not agree. He is very upset that you will not speak with him. He wishes you to rejoin his side.”

“No.”

“And that is your decision?”

Trey opened his eyes and looked at Gazi defiantly, although he was afraid of her too.

“Yes. And you can tell that to Flos. Even if you—you drag me to him, I won’t obey him! I won’t pretend everything’s alright!”

“He did tell me to force you to come to him, although he asked me to persuade you first.”

Trey turned to run, but Gazi’s hand shot out. He yelped as she caught his arm. It was impossible to pull away from her; slim though she was and still sitting, she had a grip like iron. Gazi laughed softly as Trey gave up, and then to his surprise, let go. He stumbled back from her.

“What are—”

“He asked. But I am free to disobey. And I will on this matter, and this alone.”

Gazi remained seated on the balcony’s railing. Trey eyed her. He warily took a few steps back towards the doors, ready to flee, but she didn’t move. And probably everyone was on the lookout for him. He hesitated, and then slowly walked back over to Gazi. He stared at her, and all four of her eyes met his.

“Do you believe in slavery?”

She didn’t smile. For once, Gazi didn’t smile. She turned her head, and the corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly.

“I believe in it. But I do not like it. I am alone in that opinion. I think my King has forgotten that. And so did I, until I heard what you shouted.”

Something. Trey felt something tug at his memory. Back then when Gazi had told them who the Traders of Roshal were, he’d seen her face. She hadn’t smiled then.

“You don’t like slaves either? Why?”

Gazi smiled. But it was a rueful smile. It was awkward, unpracticed, as if she seldom made that kind of face. And she looked down at the ground as she replied.

“I was a slave, once. Until my King freed me.”

For some reason, part of Trey had expected that reply. It was still a surprise, but after a moment it made Gazi’s character, her loyalty, everything, more understandable to Trey.

“Oh.”

He thought for a second.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked surprised. All four eyes slowly looked Trey up and down, focusing on him. Gazi nodded.

“Yes. You are, aren’t you? That is surprising too. Few people are sorry to hear I was a slave.”

Trey hesitated. He wanted to ask.

“Were you—I mean, why did—”

“I was born a slave. But my King found me when I was a child. He bought me and freed me within a year. Ever since then I have served him.”

“Oh.”

It was stupid to say the same thing again, but Trey was no linguist. He carefully rested his arms on the balcony. He stared at Gazi as the wind blew her hair slightly. The Gazer looked a bit melancholy, distant, and wistful. She was remembering. She wasn’t wearing a mask. And she was speaking the truth to him. Her truth.

“I was a slave. I know what you speak of, Trey. I have seen good masters and bad ones. I hate slavery. But my King has never been a slave. He cannot imagine it, and sees it as a fact of life. Slaves in his kingdom are treated well and they can be freed when he orders it. Why should he hate slavery? Venith, Maresar…even Mars and Orthenon have grown up knowing a slave can be well-treated and respected. But they have never been a slave.”

“Haven’t you told them what it’s like? Have you ever tried—”

Gazi nodded. She closed all four eyes.

“Many times. But is not an argument I ever won. Slavery is part of the wealth of Chandrar, part of crime and punishment. You may be executed if you wish, or you may become a slave. So it is framed as a choice, and there is a chance for freedom. But it is only that. A chance. An illusion. If I could end slavery, I would. Regardless of the cost. But my King will not hear of it.”

She clenched one gauntleted fist. Trey nodded. He had another question, so he asked it.

“Why can’t Flos just—I don’t know, fight against the slave traders? What if I—we—suggested that to him? He could free all the slaves, and take their money, and I bet the people would join his army.”

Gazi looked surprised, and then she laughed. She laughed, and it was a bright, cheerful sound that no one had heard before. Trey’s eyes widened. But then Gazi shook her head.

“The Traders of Roshal are a nation, a power unto themselves. They are similar to Wistram. You know of them? Well, Roshal is just as dangerous in its own way. They have their own army, and more money and wealth than most nations could dream of. They have countless magical artifacts hoarded away, and they would defend their possessions to the death. The Traders of Roshal are dangerous, Trey. Remember that for the future.”

Her eyes fixed on Trey and he nodded, feeling his heart skip a beat. Now Gazi wasn’t smiling, and the air around her was intense. Her eyes swiveled around, checking the balcony, the ground below, the very air. Then she spoke quietly.

“I was only a child, but I saw much with my eyes while I was a slave. The Traders have ways of compelling obedience, of defending themselves. Even Named Adventurers must tread carefully because those who break Roshal’s rules will die, no matter where they are. There are assassins and groups of trained killers that have slain monarchs who go against Roshal. And the Traders have countless thousands of years of knowledge. They know secrets of classes and leveling that my lord Flos does not.”

She fell silent for a moment, and then looked at Trey. And he knew she had not told what she spoke of next to anyone. Not even Flos.

“There are…classes which may be gained by doing the most terrible of deeds, Trey. They cannot be earned any other way. They are not real classes either. They are born of despair and filth.”

“Why are you telling me?”

She grinned at him, a true grin, like the one Mars always wore. Was there a hint of mischief in Gazi’s eyes?

“Because you and I think alike. Of my King’s trusted vassals, you and I understand one truth. And perhaps because I trust you.”

“But I’m just a kid from another world.”

“A child? Perhaps. But you are one Flos trusts.”

“No.”

Trey shook his head, feeling weary and upset again. Everyone thought that. But they were wrong! He spread his arms, helplessly.

“I know that’s what Flos says, but look, Gazi, it’s not true. I mean, he thinks I’m special, or I can be. But I’m not. Teres might be special. She can use a sword, but I can’t. I’m just an ordinary fellow. I don’t have any talents.”

Gazi studied Trey.

“Everyone has their own specialty. My King finds it in people. Surely there is something in you that can be used, or shaped. He told me you are a scholar.”

Trey laughed despairingly, laughed in Gazi’s face.

“He said that. But it’s not true! I mean, I like to study. I like to play video games. I like. But that’s not the same as being good at something, is it? In your—this world, people know what they can do, what they’re good at. But where I come from, some people are just…normal. This world isn’t like mine!”

The half-Gazer pondered while Trey pulled at his hair. She nodded.

“Perhaps that is like this world, after all. Some waste their lives in the wrong class. Others mistake a small talent for a calling. Once I thought all I would do was obey and serve without choice. You are not so different from me, I think.”

You?

Gazi smiled bitterly.

“Perhaps no one has spoken of it to you? Ah, but Orthenon would not. Mars does not care and my King…listen to me, Trey. In truth, I am the weakest of the Seven, among the living and the dead. I was always the lowest in level. The least able.”

“No. You? Really?”

Gazi shrugged and indicated the sword on her back and her armor.

“I am a [Scout]. Not a specialized class. See my arms and armor? My King had them forged for me, to make up for my weaknesses. But they are still there. I earned my reputation as a dangerous foe, but it is only partly deserved. I worked to make my legend worthy of my King.”

“How?”

Trey edged closer. He was very close to Gazi, and could actually smell her in the cold. She gave off a metallic scent, from her armor no doubt, but there was a spiciness in the air. No—cinnamon. She smelled a bit like that. Spicy cinnamon.

Gazi laughed again, a sound like bells, or the very spirit of them.

“How did I make my name known? It is simple. Fear. All know the name of Mars, and only a fool would not know of Orthenon. But my name is whispered among those who spy and wander alone. Gazi the Omniscient. Of the Seven, my title was given not out of mockery, but hatred.”

Gazi grinned at him, showing off her classic smile. The scary one. But now Trey knew it was just an act. And that she did it on purpose. She looked at Trey, smiling.

“I did it for him, Trey. My King.”

“But he believes in slavery.”

She nodded.

“That is his one great flaw. But he is still my lord. I owe everything to him. So I follow him despite that. Can you understand? He broke my chains. He freed me—not just from being a slave in body, but in my mind.”

“In your mind? Like—how?”

“He told you once that there are secrets of rulers. Secrets only they know of this world and of leveling.”

How did she know that? Trey nodded. Gazi’s eyes searched their surroundings again. Then she leaned forwards and whispered to him.

“The great secret my King knows…one of them is the knowledge that a single class is best. But that is only half of it. The other half is that it is possible to remove a needless class. It is not easy, but it can be done. And only a [King] or other [Ruler] may do it.”

“Really?”

Gazi nodded.

“He took away my chains. I am no longer a [Slave]. A [King] can remove needless classes to those who pledge themselves to him. Orthenon was a [Traitor]. Takhatres a [Cursed Outcast]. My King freed us all of our pasts and gave us a future.”

Silence. Trey understood a bit more. He looked at Gazi. Once, she had been a slave. She had no future, until he’d freed her. He understood that. And yet.

“I can’t forgive him for selling people.”

Gazi nodded.

“I am not asking you to. But you cannot hide forever.”

Something in Trey agreed, but a part of him pulled back. He stared at Gazi, growing a bit angry.

“Is that why you’re talking to me? You’re still trying to persuade me to go to him and say sorry, right?”

A hand smacked Trey lightly on the head. Lightly, but it was still metal. He staggered. Gazi smiled at him. Genuinely.

“I am not forcing you to go anywhere. In fact, I think it will be good if you do not go to my King now. Perhaps later you will sit with me at dinner, but only then. You do not have to change for my King, and perhaps if you do not, he will. No one has ever been able to change my King—Flos—but himself. But perhaps you can.”

And that was why she was here. Trey felt a huge burden on his shoulders, realizing what Gazi was suggesting. But he felt lighter, too. Because he wasn’t alone.

For a while the half-Gazer and the young man stood on the balcony, staring down at the last of the procession as it entered the city. It had been a long parade; Trey guessed there were at least several hundred Stitch-warriors and a good two dozen or more of those [Mages].

Gazi eyed Trey. She opened her mouth speculatively, closed it, then asked her question two minutes later.

“You have a [Mage]’s staff in your room. Do you know how to use it?”

“How do you—no, I don’t. No one’s taught us magic. Orthenon said he’d start, but I haven’t spoken to him for a long time.”

Trey felt bad about that. He wondered if he would sit with Gazi tonight. If only to speak with Teres. He didn’t have to say he was wrong. And he wanted to speak with her again. Gazi studied Trey and nodded.

“Perhaps I could teach you some spells?”

He blinked. Trey turned to Gazi.

“You know how to use magic?”

She grinned and one eye winked at Trey. It was a very Human gesture and it made him smile.

“Of course. My people—Gazers—are highly magical beings. They’re what you could call a race naturally inclined towards magic, like half-Elves and to an extent, Lizardfolk. But they send very few representatives to Wistram. Their magic is more…chaotic than typical [Mages].”

“So you could teach—”

“Perhaps. We shall see.”

They waited a bit longer, as the streets cleared below, and the sun set quickly in a winter sky. It was a pretty world, for all that it was harsh. Trey exhaled and watched his breath spiral up into the sky. Then he asked the question he’d feared the answer to.

“Gazi? What is Flos going to do now?”

She was silent for a very long time, as shadows lengthened on the balcony.

“He will go to war, of course. It is time. The army is ready. With the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll—”

Who?

Gazi smiled.

“The [Mages] and the [Warriors] you just saw entering the city. I recognized their companies. They are mercenaries now, but they served my King before.”

“I get that, but why Parasol Stroll? That’s their name? Why?”

The half-Gazer shrugged.

“Mages and names seldom make sense. However, in this case each mage in the band has a parasol—a thing to keep the sun away.”

“I know what that is. But why do they have one?”

“Fashion. And each one is enchanted in some way. They were powerful mages; each one above Level 20 at the very least. With their companies, my King will no doubt begin waging war.”

Trey’s heart skipped a beat. He paused.

“On who?”

“Those who made war against him.”

Six nations, then. Trey gulped. He remembered the smell of battle, the visions of death. He never wanted to see that again. But he felt he would. Over and over.

“Who’ll be first?”

“His fury is directed foremost towards the kingdom of Hellios and the people of Germina—especially at their leader, the Quarass. When we ride to war, and it will be in days, it will be against her, I think.”

Trey shuddered. His voice was very small and quiet. He felt something squeezing the words out of his chest. He wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t help.

“I don’t want to be here, Gazi.”

She looked at him with a bit of sympathy.

“I know. But you are here. And so you must follow my King. But remember this. You are not alone.”

And she held out a hand, and Trey took it. And the next day Flos did declare war, and Trey found himself marching with the King of Destruction. To the first war on Chandrar. And the news woke up a continent, and the world.

That was six weeks ago.

 

—-

 

Now.

The coach that drove quickly towards the estate of the Melissar house was noted from a distance, and the gates were already open and servants were rushing out by the time it pulled up in front of the large manor where other coaches, carriages, and other modes of transportation were parked.

Perhaps a lesser [Lord] or [Lady] or some of the more well-respected and higher-level [Knights] and [Guildmasters] and so on would have had to identify themselves to the guards at the gates. But not so for the occupants of this carriage. The owner was identifiable at a glance, mainly because of the striking appearance of the magical carriage, not to mention the carriage itself.

It was pink. The horseless carriage, or rather, the carriage pulled by ghostly horses that used mana to travel at extreme speed, was painted painfully, eye-searingly, frightfully pink. It was said that [Bandits] and other criminals couldn’t bear to attack the carriage because of the color.

Which was a shame, because Magnolia Reinhart had standing orders with all of her carriage drivers to run over any [Bandits] they encountered on the road. Several hundred pounds of enchanted wood and metal approaching at speed tended to reduce crime in a drastic and often spectacular fashion.

Still, it was probably a good thing the carriage wasn’t covered in blood and bits as the door opened and a tall, stern [Maid] stepped out. After all, this was a social event, and Lady Magnolia knew impressions were important.

Not that she particularly cared. The [Servants] rushing to open the doors themselves backed off as Ressa held the door open for Magnolia. They knew the pecking order, and in that sense Ressa wasn’t a bird but a [Hunter] with a bow and arrow.

Magnolia Reinhart stepped out of her carriage, wearing a pink and green dress. Pink and green being colors to describe a dress that looked more like a work of art than actual clothing.

It was a long and flowing ball gown in truth, although it avoided the poofy, ruffled look that Magnolia so detested. One could fit down a narrow corridor without getting stuck, and the dress included actual sleeves and a neckline that didn’t swoop or dive, or even hover. Magnolia had no desire to flaunt anything, except for the dress itself.

It was pink and green. It started green from the bottom, the dark green of a forest mulch, or cavern moss, and spread upwards, lightening in color and texture, so that when the pink started, and it was a bright pink, a pink that practically shone in itself, you had the impression of a flower. A flower worn by a woman considered by many to be the most powerful Human female on the continent. And she was certainly a contender for a high rank in any world listing as well.

Magnolia Reinhart.

“Ressa, please tell these servants to go away and hurry up and open these doors, would you? I’m in a hurry and if I see a bowed buttocks, I shall kick it. Or order you to.”

“Yes, milady.”

The servants parted as Magnolia and Ressa strode up the stairs towards the manor quickly, ignoring their greetings and the head servant hurrying after them. Both [Maid] and Mistress walked as if nothing would stop them, and nothing did. Doors opened for them, and they strode into the estate of the Melissar family.

Magnolia was in no mood for formalities. She never was. She strode down the hallway, not needing a guide to head towards her destination. A [Lady] shouldn’t stride of course, but Magnolia was a high-level [Lady] and a good one at that, so she managed to stride with grace. One could call it gliding, or some other suitable appellation that might make it more acceptable, but Magnolia knew when she was striding.

She was in a hurry. She let Ressa field the harried [Head Butler] and crooked her fingers at the pair of servants standing at attention at the double doors at the end of the hallway. They opened the doors instantly, and she walked into a huge ballroom filled with the aristocracy of Izril.

“Lady Magnolia Reinhart!”

The [Herald] announced Magnolia without including any of her many titles, nicknames, or ranks. That was at her insistent request as well. The biggest fish didn’t need to announce itself. And when her voice was called, the room went silent.

This was the room. It was a marble floored room filled with low-hung chandeliers, magnificent inlays on the walls and pillars supporting the room, and in Magnolia’s opinion, decorated with some rather fine silk curtains that complimented the expensive glass windows that looked out onto the rest of the world.

It was a large ballroom—one of the largest around, and no doubt why the Melissar family had been chosen to host this gathering of the nobility. It was a sign of their influence and wealth.

For anyone who could claim to have hosted over a third of the [Lords] and [Ladies] of the north was powerful indeed. And that was who was present.

A sea of heads turned towards Magnolia as she calmly descended the steps into the ballroom. Ressa appeared by her side. The [Head Maid] had not changed her austere black and white dress, but she still attracted her share of glances as well.

No one knelt as Magnolia entered the room. She wasn’t royalty, after all. But heads bobbed and some people curtsied. [Lords] dressed in fashionable suits of armor or wearing cloth suits that were enchanted to be just as protective, bowed to Magnolia as she passed by. [Ladies] dressed in every fashion from the voluminous and wide gowns Magnolia hated so much to sleek dresses that left little to the imagination—not that Magnolia bothered imagining—made their own greetings.

At another dance, or gathering perhaps the style of the season would be in and everyone would dress alike. But this was a different sort of meeting, and personal uniqueness and flair trumped all. Magnolia’s rapid pace slowed to a gentle crawl as she scanned the room.

At first, the room would appear to be a jumble of bodies to the casual outsider, or someone not used to such gatherings. But Magnolia saw the currents in the room. In this room, there were tables set up with tasteful and exotic appetizers, an open central area to dance in, and many places where groups of people stood and mingled.

But it was the groups that mattered. There was an unwritten code here, and a hierarchy. In every circle, there was the most influential, the most powerful, the most high-level or simply the most politically powerful individual who commanded the attention of others, at least for the moment. Politics in Izril was a game of connections and intrigue, of strategy and alliances.

Magnolia had no time for any of it.

“Ressa, find me one of the speaking gems if they haven’t started debating already. I’ll say my greetings to our hostess, but I don’t have time for other nonsense.”

“At once.”

Ressa turned. There was already a servant hurrying towards Magnolia and Ressa with a pair of sparkling amethysts cut into circles and lined with silver. Ressa plucked the two coin gemstones off of the pillow and handed one to Magnolia. The [Lady] sighed as she gently placed it on the front of her dress where it began to glow with a soft inner light. All of the people around her had a similar gemstone on some part of their garments.

“No one’s talking. Well, good. Now, where is Lady Patricia Melissar?”

She looked around. So did Ressa.

“She’s not dancing.”

“No, and I would expect her to be finding the most handsome men right now. Odd. I wonder if she’s indisposed?”

Magnolia kept looking, and she frowned as her eyes alighted on a man standing alone, drinking from a cup. She sighed as she nudged Ressa with an elbow.

“Ah, there’s Lord Tyrion. How unexpected to see him here…or perhaps not. He’s not dancing either, I see.”

Ressa’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but her mouth tightened in a way only her long-time friend, Magnolia, would notice. Magnolia felt the same way.

“I believe there are few women of sufficient status present he would consent to dancing with. If milady wished, I have no doubt you could invite him to a dance.”

Magnolia shuddered.

“You do have the most dreadful ideas, Ressa.”

The maid smiled ever so slightly.

“I could obtain some suitably heavy boots if you wish.”

Magnolia laughed lightly, and the people hovering close to her but not so close as to be assumed to be eavesdropping chuckled as well, just in case she’d said something worth laughing about.

“You know, I heard of these wonderful shoes from our guests a while back. Stilettos. I’d love to wear a pair, although I wonder if the points can be sharpened further?”

“I shall inquire at the first opportunity.”

Magnolia sipped her drink, eyeing Tyrion Veltras, scion of one of the Five Families of Izril, and technically, as powerful as she was. Perhaps more or perhaps less. For all those in the room, that was a question whose answer would be worth its weight in diamonds.

“Why don’t you dance with him, Ressa?”

“No.”

“Even if I ordered you to?”

“Even then.”

The pair’s casual banter might have attracted Tyrion’s attention, or he had simply heard the announcement. Magnolia sighed as she saw him glance around and felt his piercing gaze settle on her face with very little love. She returned the glance, with no love at all.

“He’s coming over. Duty bound to offer greetings, no doubt.”

“Shall I attempt to stop him?”

“Best not to risk an altercation, Ressa. Besides, he’s not as weak as he used to be. You can’t push him around and I rather fear he could lay waste to this entire room with all the artifacts he has on him. Allow me to employ a gentler touch.”

She walked over towards Tyrion. A group of [Lords] and [Ladies], noticing Magnolia Reinhart and Tyrion Veltras approaching each other and realizing they were in the way, immediately shuffled at speed to one side. There was little love lost between the two, and so it was with stiff formality that Tyrion bowed to Magnolia and she gave him the slightest nod.

“Lady Magnolia. I am honored to greet you on this day.”

“Lord Tyrion. I’d rather hoped you would have eaten something ghastly and exploded by now, but fortune hasn’t been kind to either of us, has it?”

The man’s eye twitched a bit, but he covered the motion by passing a gloved hand over his mouth. He was dressed much like Ressa, which was to say, all in black. He was also a head taller than Magnolia, which annoyed her because it left a crimp in her neck every time she talked to him.

“You are as thorny as ever, Reinhart.”

“Only to you, Tyrion. Don’t tell me this was the crisis that pulled you away from your estates?”

The man glanced impassively around the room.

“I considered it an important matter. I should have expected you would be present, however. You seldom missed such events as I recall.”

“I never do.”

Magnolia retorted, noting the people watching and listening to their conversation on the peripherals of her vision. She knew many people here had Skills or an artifact that allowed them to eavesdrop. Not that she feared saying anything important—but it would be just like Tyrion to say something devastating without a second thought. Information was currency here, and someone might make their fortunes based on a sentence carelessly let slip.

Tyrion Veltras studied Magnolia, not looking too pleased to see her. He really did think it was a [Lord]’s duty to greet her as a peer. How tiresome.

“How long has it been since we’ve met?”

“Four years, I believe. I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of your wife. I hope your two young sons are in good hands.”

He stiffened at that, and the metal cup in his hand bent. Magnolia saw fury in his eyes and saw Ressa moving towards her quickly, a hand in her dress. Magnolia stopped her maid with a flick of a finger.

“What do you mean by that?

Magnolia remained cool as she stared up at Tyrion.

“Exactly what I said. That was a sincere comment from the heart.”

He paused, and she could see him visibly readjust, grow calmer. He bowed his head slightly.

“Then I shall take it as such. My apologies.”

A [Lord] does not question a [Lady]’s word. Magnolia sighed out loud.

“You really haven’t changed. As pleasant as this is Tyrion, I think I shall go walk barefoot on glass shards for a more delightful change of pace.”

“Until we next meet, Reinhart.”

They left it at that. Magnolia walked back and Ressa met her in moments.

“That was fun.”

“It will become even more enjoyable in a second.”

“Oh, what now?”

“Left.”

Ressa’s warning came a moment before another person swept towards Magnolia. A lady and a man, both dressed in bright clothing, came striding towards Magnolia. Both she recognized, and it was with a smile that Magnolia greeted them. A smile the lady did not return.

“Bethal! How wonderful it is to see you!”

“Magnolia.”

The [Lady] gave her the most perfunctory of curtsies and the man bowed to her slightly. Magnolia kept smiling, but she noticed the expression on the other woman’s face. It was not happy.

“You seem upset, Lady Bethal. May I ask why?”

The woman replied curtly.

“I do not know. Perhaps you could explain the hooded figure that my guards found in my gardens two days ago. They gave chase and slew the intruder when they fought back. An [Assassin], as it turned out. Did you have anything to do with this, Magnolia?”

There was a feeling in the air that grew strong as Bethal spoke. Not just a feeling. An aura that surrounded the woman. The word for it was spiky. It was as if invisible edged blades filled the air—it wasn’t just a feeling either. People around the two ladies began moving away at speed, but Magnolia simply smiled.

“Lady Bethal, if I sent an [Assassin] after you, would I be so foolish as to send one? You and I have not quarreled and I do believe we are friends. That [Assassin] was not mine, believe me. In fact, I am quite grateful you killed him. Or her. Or it?”

The [Lady] studied Magnolia’s face.

“Her. She was a human.”

“I am pleased you came to no harm. And I trust neither did your guards?”

Bethal hesitated. The dangerous aura around her faded. She smiled at Magnolia and laughed lightly. It was as if her fury of a second ago had never been there, and the effect was disconcerting if you had never met Lady Bethal before.

“Of course not! How silly of me. Here I was worked up about the issue, while my dear husband assured me you would never have anything to do with that!”

“Not for all the gold in Baleros.”

“Then let me say how wonderful it is to see you!”

The two traded light kisses on the cheek, Bethal exclaiming over Magnolia’s dress. The woman turned to the man standing beside her.

“And of course you know my husband.”

“[Chevalier] Thomast. Of course! How are you, Sir Thomast?”

“Very well, my lady Reinhart.”

The elegant man in the doublet bowed and kissed Magnolia’s proffered hand. She smiled at him and then turned back to Lady Bethal.

“Have you seen Patricia? I should welcome her before the arguing starts.”

Bethal shook her head, pursing her lips.

“I have not seen her. But her daughter is over there.”

She pointed. Magnolia turned and saw a young girl laughing demurely with some other girls her age while they eyed the dancers in the center of the room. Magnolia smiled as her eyes fell on one with flowing brown hair.

“Ah, young Eliasor. She must be eight now.”

“Nine.”

Ressa murmured as she and Thomast nodded to each other. Magnolia sighed.

“Ah, to be that young. I won’t go over and scare her, Ressa. Perhaps you can go and ask a servant where Patricia—”

She broke off. Someone was speaking. In fact, every head in the room turned and almost all of the conversations ended at once. Because the person who was speaking could be heard by everyone who wore a jeweled broach, as if they were standing right next to the speaker.

“The King of Destruction has returned. Are we supposed to simply pretend this isn’t an issue and chat idly? Let us discuss this crisis already!”

Magnolia looked for the man who’d spoken. She recognized one of the more aggressive [Lords], a proper war hawk, who’d grown impatient waiting. Many people were frowning at him, but his standing probably hadn’t been damaged by speaking the thoughts on everyone’s mind.

By custom, the absent hostess should have initiated the debate. But once it had begun, voices began speaking. Usually it was only one or two voices at once, but the conversation en masse could become an indecipherable hubbub as well. It was to this Magnolia listened, letting the first speakers make their points and reserving her words for when they mattered.

“If you must bring the subject up, Lord Relt, then begin with the facts. Has the King of Destruction returned?”

“Every report say so. Unless you have no spies in that region?”

“My informants claim he was awake months ago.”

“If it’s a game of guessing when he awoke, I won’t bother. But this is the first moment in which he’s taken action similar to the past.”

Someone spoke up sharply. Magnolia saw Lady Wuvren snap the handheld fan she carried. The crack made all the listeners wince.

“He destroyed a nation and beheaded its [Queen]! The Quarass of Germina is dead and the capital lies in ruins! And the King of Destruction is already marching on Hellios! What are we to think, if not that the King of Destruction is destroying nations again?”

Silence. Someone coughed and then spoke.

“It was a war of retaliation.”

Wuvren rounded on the speaker.

“A war? It was a massacre! He destroyed the enemy army in a pitched battle in a single day!”

“After six nations sent an army after him.”

“Yes. If that doesn’t confirm the King of Destruction has returned, I imagine few things will.”

“So then, your point?”

“The question was whether the King of Destruction has returned. I would say he most emphatically has, and he hasn’t changed.”

Relt spoke into his stone, overriding the next speaker. Magnolia winced and wished there were a way to lower the volume the enchantment produced.

“No, he has not. And he must be stopped now, or he will once again destroy nation after nation and threaten our shores.”

“Surely not!”

This speaker was another [Lord]. He was a minor one, but he held his ground as Relt glared at him.

“You don’t fear the King of Destruction, Lord Halast?”

“I don’t fear a man on another continent, surrounded by nations which have every reason to want him dead.”

“Those are the same thoughts that let him engulf all of Chandrar last time!”

Halast spoke curtly.

“Last time we didn’t know what he was capable of. Now everyone knows the danger posed by the King of Destruction. The nations will unite, and defeat him. He doesn’t have his armies any longer, and as far as I know, only a few of his vassals have rejoined him.”

“He has his Seven—”

“Five now. And I’m told that Amerys is still residing in Wistram.”

“She hasn’t joined him?”

“Or perhaps the [Mages] have convinced her to stay. Either way, the King of Destruction is not as dangerous as he was.”

“That was what was said last time. If you’re foolish enough to believe he won’t succeed—”

“He slew one ruler. Not a [Queen]! It was the Quarass of Germina, hardly royalty.”

“What’s a Quarass?”

Magnolia opened her mouth to respond, but Lady Bethal by her side spoke into her stone first.

“The Quarass is as important as a [Queen]! She is a tribal leader—”

“A [Chieftain] is hardly comparable to a [Queen].”

Bethal’s voice could have cut iron.

“The Quarass is a position revered and acknowledged across Chandrar, Lord Luden. She, along with five other leaders of the tribes are considered part of the Shelter Kingdoms, which hold sway over a great deal of eastern Chandrar, if only politically. Once upon a time, the Quarass and the other Shelter Kingdoms were each powerful empires, capable of challenging Dragons. Her death will cause ripples throughout the entire continent!”

“Well spoken.”

Magnolia murmured to Bethal as the conversation lulled for a bit and Lord Luden flushed red. Bethal smiled at Magnolia and whispered back. She didn’t have a finger on her stone so her words weren’t carried to the others

“I do pay attention to women I admire.”

At that Magnolia had to cough so her eye roll wouldn’t be noticed. As far as she understood, the Quarass was not a woman to be admired, at least, not by anyone who thought honor and decency were more than words.

The argument began heating up. It was always like this, and Magnolia listened with one ear as she watched the [Lords] and [Ladies] who’d come to the gathering argue about what was to be done about the King of Destruction.

“We could send gold to a nation—”

“Gold hardly buys arms and soldiers. A small nation can only do so much.”

“What about the Emperor of the Sands?”

“What about him?”

“He’s at war with the King of Destruction.”

“If he is, it will be a long time before they meet. And if he triumphs, I hardly imagine an [Emperor] would be an improvement over the King of Destruction.”

“I am saying we must act in some way.”

“Are you proposing to send an army across the sea?”

“Utter foolishness!”

“I am proposing we act in some measure, even if it is to condemn the King of Destruction—”

“A signed treatise? What use would that be?”

“A united front—”

“—won’t be part of any declaration—”

“—funding a mercenary company from Baleros—”

“—see what Wistram has to say—”

“May I offer a course of action?”

The voice that interrupted was  deep, low, and booming. He silenced every other speaker. And Magnolia’s head turned. She turned, searching the crowd and saw the speaker standing by a pillar, alone. She hadn’t seen him before, but upon hearing his slightly nasal, deep, deep voice she knew who—and what—had to be speaking.

Quite carefully she turned and hissed to her [Maid].

“Ressa, why didn’t you mention the Minotaur to me?”

The woman shrugged.

“I assumed you’d spotted him.”

“I would have eventually, but it helps when you point such important people out!”

The Minotaur was speaking now. He was dressed in a suit tailored for a Minotaur, emphasizing his physique and biceps. Magnolia eyed it—not in appreciation as Bethal was doing—but thoughtfully. Here was a Minotaur who had been financed to attend such events. Odd.

“I hesitate to interrupt, but I have been sent by my [King] to address this auspicious gathering. My role is as an emissary. The House of Minos is prepared to go to war against the King of Destruction, that he might never threaten the world as he did in the past.”

Gasps rang out across the room. Magnolia’s brows shot together as a low murmur sprang up throughout the room.

“If that’s the case—”

“The armies of Minos? Will they sail all the way to Chandrar?”

The Minotaur spoke, carefully touching the stone.

“My [King] is prepared to send an army capable of defeating the King of Destruction. However, he understands such an act would be considered a declaration of war by many kingdoms. He has tasked me and others to approach other assemblies and request formal support.”

“In what fashion?”

Magnolia spoke sharply into the stone. She sensed heads turning. The Minotaur bowed to her.

“We would ask for a written treaty allowing us to sail without hindrance, and a small contribution to our army. Arms or gold would allow us to ready ourselves for battle.”

“So you are approaching us as mercenaries, is that it?”

The Minotaur paused. It was a touchy word for them, but Magnolia was watching his face across the room for his reaction. She saw him give her and the others a polite smile which revealed nothing.

“We would like to consider it more a manner of honor than anything else. To defend peace, our people are willing to fight. It is an offer made in good faith.”

And that cast her into an unfavorable light for questioning him, didn’t it? Magnolia narrowed her eyes as people began to express relieved support.

“I’m sure we could offer some small token of thanks—”

“An open-ended agreement from our houses should not be an issue. What say we put it to the vote?”

Magnolia didn’t know if she wanted that. But she could sense the mood in the room and it was immediately swinging towards this unexpectedly convenient solution. Too convenient. She glanced at Tyrion. Magnolia knew if she voted against the resolution—and she didn’t have a solid reason to—she would be able to pull quite a few votes with her. But it would only work if another scion of the Five Families were present, and in this gathering there was only Tyrion.

He was watching the Minotaur warily. But when it came to a vote, Tyrion voted to support the Minotaurs, and so did Magnolia.

Ressa frowned at Magnolia as the discussion went on as to how much to give the Minotaurs and how to word a declaration that the humans of Izril were against the King of Destruction.

“A problem, milady?”

“How much do we know about the Minotaurs, Ressa? They’re always fighting their enemy down around their isles—but recently?”

Ressa thought.

“A few engagements at sea. Their failed war with Baleros around fifteen years back. A war with Terandria which Izril participated in twenty eight years ago. Numerous skirmishes…”

“They tried to take over the world once. But then, which race hasn’t?”

Magnolia studied the Minotaur, frowning. Ressa stared impassively at him. The Minotaur was giving nothing away. He was a trained [Courtier] or some similar class, Magnolia had no doubt. And that was odd. She’d never seen a Minotaur in a diplomatic function.

“You think this is a trick?”

“Possibly, but it’s probably a trick in the sense that they’ll honor their word and then demand something else when they’re in a good position. The lands that belonged to Flos, perhaps. That would give them quite a bit of territory, which is what the Minotaurs always wanted.”

“Do you believe we should not have voted for them?”

“I think we’ll have to wait and see. And I might have to see about finding some spies willing to visit the islands…although they would stick out like a sore thumb.”

Magnolia sighed as the conversation came to a close. The people in the room seemed generally relieved by the resolution, so she decided to stir up the pot. There was more than one reason she’d come here today.

“Before you leave, [Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, let me put another important matter forwards.”

Heads turned apprehensively towards Magnolia. She looked around the room, watching the Minotaur out of the corner of her eye.

“Have you all forgotten that there is a Goblin Lord raising an army just south of the High Passes?”

Silence. Then someone spoke.

“We are aware, but that is a Drake issue, isn’t it? With all respect Lady Reinhart, I had heard the Drakes were taking care of the issue.”

“Oh? Are you so certain they will defeat the Goblin Lord?”

Magnolia’s tone was icy. The Minotaur wasn’t changing his expression at all. She cursed inwardly.

“They’ve sent two armies to fight him. Together they should crush a Goblin Lord.”

“And if he escapes? A Goblin Lord is one step away from a Goblin King. And I have heard different rumors as well. Or has no one else heard of a troubling tale? That of a so-called Goblin  Great Chieftain? One who fought with the last Goblin King in the war?”

The Minotaur twitched ever so slightly at the mention of the Goblin Chieftain. Around the room Magnolia could hear some people gasping who hadn’t heard the rumor.

“A Great Chieftain? Is that a class?”

With the last Goblin King? Why would we have not heard of a Goblin like that?”

“To support the Goblin Lord? If that’s the case—”

“Are you suggesting we send an army ourselves to deal with the Goblin Lord, Lady Reinhart?”

That last question came at Magnolia. She broke away from eyeing the Minotaur who’d gone back to impassively watching to smile at the speaker.

“That is the question, isn’t it? Do we send an army? The Great Chieftain is on our lands. I believe he must be eradicated no matter what, and I am sure you are all in agreement. As for the Goblin Lord—”

“Let the Drakes deal with him.”

Someone cut in. Only one person would dare. Magnolia turned to Tyrion, but he returned her gaze without blinking. He spoke confidently as all eyes turned towards him.

“Even if the Goblin Lord destroys both Drake armies, let him go. Unless he comes north—and if he does, he will most likely destroy Liscor—we will benefit.”

Outraged voices rose.

“Destroy Liscor? If he heads north, our southernmost cities will all fall as well! Esthelm was already destroyed! Are you suggesting we let that happen to every city in the area?”

Tyrion’s voice was calm.

“Esthelm did fall, but the people have retaken the city. They fought off another of the Goblin Lord’s armies.”

What?

Shock echoed through the room at this. Magnolia ground her teeth together. Tyrion would know about Esthelm. She knew what he was doing but she couldn’t stop it. The man continued calmly.

“Our cities can defend themselves. They knew the risks of being closer to the border. If the Goblin Lord comes north, we will muster an army to defeat them. And if he does come north, he will have done more damage to the Drakes than we. And that is all to the better, once war comes.”

“We do not need war with the Drakes! We need allies, not more enemies!”

Magnolia snapped into her speaking stone, but the mood was against her. People were in favor of leaving the Goblin Lord alone, especially if it meant trouble for their southern neighbors. Tyrion abandoned the conversation, job done. Magnolia tore the gemstone off her dress and stormed towards him.

“You are an idiot, Tyrion Veltras.”

“And you don’t see the danger the Drakes pose, Reinhart.”

His voice was cold as he spoke to her. Tyrion eyed Ressa and the [Maid] gave him her coldest stare which didn’t faze him an inch. Magnolia took a deep breath and tried not to kick the man.

“Sending an army to pointlessly kill thousands of Drakes every few years does not help this continent, Tyrion. What do you expect will happen if you win this time?”

“If we beat them at the Blood Fields, we’ll take Liscor. We just need the upper hand and we will push past the High Passes. They’ve held it this long, but the Goblin Lord is the opportunity we need.”

Tyrion stared calmly at Magnolia. She opened her mouth to tell him Drakes were not the enemy, when someone screamed.

Her head whipped around. Someone was standing at the double doors. A man in black, with a sword in hand, dripping blood. His face was wrapped in a black shroud, and he was unmistakably an [Assassin]. He shoved the [Head Butler] aside, and the man fell, a wound in his chest. The [Assassin] lifted something with his left hand and threw it.

A head flew into the center of the room. It landed wetly on the ground. More people screamed. Magnolia stared at the head and then saw the blur.

Magnolia!

Ressa leapt, but it was Tyrion who caught the dagger. He swatted it out of the air with a gloved hand, interposing himself between Magnolia and the [Assassin]. She blinked at him.

“Did you just save my life, Tyrion Veltras?”

He turned to her as the [Assassin] began to flee.

“A [Lord] does not deal with underhanded murderers and plots. If I kill you, it will be out in the open.”

Magnolia nodded. Then she seized Ressa, who was guarding Magnolia’s back.

Find the others. There must have been more!”

Ressa hesitated.

“I should guard—”

“Tyrion is here. Go!”

The [Maid] hesitated, and then became a blur that leapt towards one of the windows. More people cried out as glass broke and Tyrion stared after Ressa with narrowed eyes.

“The [Assassin] will escape. Is that your plan?”

Magnolia was breathing a bit heavily. She saw people running after the [Assassin] now the shock had ended. The Minotaur was running, although he could hardly hope to catch the killer.

“No. He won’t get away.”

A voice rang out above the shouting. A man strode forwards, rapier in hand. Thomast, Lady Bethal’s husband.

[Affair of Honor]!

The man in black had reached the doors. But he paused, mid-step when Thomast used his skill. The Chevalier’s voice rang throughout the room.

Turn, murderer. There can be no retreat until this matter is settled by blade.”

Magnolia saw the [Assassin]’s shoulders slump. He turned, and the Chevalier Thomast strode towards the man in black, rapier in hand. The room parted for the two to meet.

Magnolia did not watch the assassin die. She strode over to the head on the floor pushing aside the people who’d formed a wide circle around it. Magnolia stared down at it as a [Lord] and a female adventurer inspected the head carefully, neither actually touching it. The [Lord] looked up, saw Lady Magnolia, and stood up to bare her path.

“Lady Reinhart, please stay back. The head may be warded or enchanted to do further harm upon being touched.”

“Then check. But I wish to see the deceased.”

“Stop wasting time.”

Someone pushed past her. Magnolia turned and saw Tyrion. He strode into the circle of onlookers and despite the adventurers’ protests, bent and picked up the head by the hair.

Something flashed on his hand. A ring blazed and then the light from within faded. Tyrion inspected the head and then turned it to face Magnolia. She felt a lurch in her stomach, but controlled the feeling. Instead of fainting, retching, or staggering away as some of the people behind her were doing, she simply sighed.

“Ah, Patricia.”

The dead woman’s head was white, drained of blood. Her features were contorted in horror, but it was her face. Magnolia would have known it anywhere. She had been a friend of Magnolia’s.

And now she was dead.

Tyrion stared at Magnolia.

“Is the [Assassin] another one of your plots, Reinhart?”

“No, some enemies of mine seem to want to kill me. And my friends too, it seems.”

Magnolia spoke automatically, while one phrase flashed through her mind again and again.

The Circle of Thorns.

Tyrion shrugged.

“This is no business of mine.”

He turned, and handed the head to a [Lord] who nearly dropped it. Tyrion strode out of the room as Thomast bent to wipe his blade on the dead assassin’s clothing. A capable killer he might have been, but Magnolia knew there were few who could match someone of the [Duelist] class in a one-on-one bout.

In the end, Ressa returned empty-handed. The head disappeared, and the room was filled with shock and fear. Magnolia ignored the eyes turned towards her and the whispers, and found Lady Bethal with her husband.

“Lady Bethal. Thomast. Thank you for disposing of the killer.”

The man’s eyes were shadowed as he bowed.

“It was my honor and duty. But I regret Lady Patricia’s death.”

“Yes. And she had no husband. So there is another matter which must be dealt with now.”

Magnolia turned and Ressa pointed her silently towards a group of girls, one of whom was weeping uncontrollably. Patricia’s sole daughter, Eliasor, tried to curtsy when Magnolia approached her, but the woman waved that away.

“No formalities now. Eliasor, I am sorry that your mother was killed in such a heinous way. But now that she is gone, there is something that must be done.”

She touched the gemstone Ressa handed her and spoke into it loudly, cutting above every other voice in the room.

“Ladies and lords! Lady Patricia’s life was cut untimely short! However, her daughter, Lady Eliasor still lives. She is now the head of the Melissar family. I bid you all welcome her as a peer!”

There was a pause, and then by her side, Lady Bethal cutsied to Eliasor. The girl stared at her, wide-eyed, and then at Lady Magnolia as she did the same. Around the room, the [Lords] and [Ladies] remembered their duty and bowed or curtsied, acknowledging Eliasor.

It was a painful sight, to see the girl try to respond as tears still ran down her face. Magnolia spoke to her more quietly.

“I know this is hardly the time to think of such things, but you are your family’s sole heir now, Eliasor. If you wish it, I will send my own guards and [Maids] to assist you in the weeks to come.”

The girl opened her mouth, choked, and kept crying. Magnolia paused.

“I fear your mother’s death was my fault. Lady Patricia was one of my confidants, a trusted friend. She had a place in my circle, and I hope that one day I may offer you the same. But I swear to you, Eliasor, I will find the people who ordered your mother’s death. And I will kill them all regardless of where they hide. You have my word on that.”

“Thank you—Lady Reinhart.”

Magnolia nodded down at Eliasor. She hesitated, and then walked away.

“Lady Bethal, Lady Pryde, Lady Wuvren, Lady Zanthia, to me.

They came out of the crowd, people parting to let them pass. Magnolia looked at some of the foremost [Ladies] of Izril, and nodded towards the doors.

“Let us leave Eliasor to her grief. We must talk.”

They strode out of the room, people parting to let them pass. Magnolia’s face was carefully blank, and she kept the emotions tightly held in her chest.

“It’s too harsh, leaving her to govern her entire house like that. Must she really become a [Lady] in the moments after her mother’s death, Magnolia? Couldn’t it have waited a week? Or a month? Or years?”

Bethal murmured as they walked down the corridor. Lady Zanthia, tall and old and willowy, but tough as a tree, nodded, looking sympathetic. Magnolia’s voice was a bit sharper than she had intended as she replied.

“What would you have me do, manage the girl’s affairs for her? Or let a distant relative or friend do it? How would she ever become a proper [Lady] then? No. No, she must either rise to the challenge or fail alone. Our help can only be that. Help.”

She walked on, speaking as the fire built in her chest. The gall of it. An [Assassin], sent to kill at a gathering of the nobility.

“This is Izril, ladies. Not Baleros or Chandrar, where war is a part of life. Not Rhir, where struggle is part of life. And not Terandria, where monarchs dictate who lives and who dies. Here we fight with words and thorns. We know peace, but peace with Drakes and Gnolls is bloody. We must struggle alone. Alone, even when we are together. To survive. And those who cannot survive, die.”

Heads rose. Four of Magnolia’s escort, her entourage that she seldom made use of, stared at her. Magnolia looked around.

“Summon your most trusted protectors, your own soldiers, my ladies. Bethal, your husband and your Knights of the Petal will be needed. The same goes for the rest of you. I had planned to tell you after the meeting, but there is a war going on. I am reforming my entourage. Prepare to move at once and together. No one else will die. No one.”

They nodded and began to stride towards their carriages as their servants ran to meet them, their guards armed and wary. Ressa walked to stand next to Magnolia. She looked at her mistress, and saw unshed tears in Magnolia’s eyes. But Magnolia’s voice was steady and she made no mention of them when she spoke to her [Maid].

“It seems my enemies are far bolder and resourceful than I would like, Ressa. I need an army, and not just one fielded by my entourage.”

“What are you intending?”

Magnolia took a breath. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t like it.

“It’s time to go back to the family estate. My grandfather has an army, and I will have it from him.”

“Didn’t you swear you’d never go back unless you were dragged kicking and screaming?”

“Broken promises. A friend is dead, Ressa. One of my people, one of my allies. I’ll have an army, if I have to beat that old man to death myself.”

“Well then, I shall begin sending [Messages].”

Magnolia nodded. She felt tired, distracted, and worried. She stared back towards the ballroom, and felt a tightness in her chest. She never knew what to say to children. She should have said something. But nothing had helped when her mother had died. Magnolia turned away and stared out into the fading sunset.

“I fear it’s going to be a very busy spring, Ressa.”

The maid just nodded in reply.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.07

She lived in Liscor, at least for the moment. It was a home away from home, of sorts. But in truth, her real home lay far away. Someday she wanted to go back to it, but for now she did her best. That was what she did. Her best.

It was a curious thing, but despite her presence in the city for a relatively short amount of time, many people knew her name. Of course, not all of those people liked her. But she was noted. She stood out, even among her prolific species.

She was unique. And famous, in her own small way. There were people across the continent who’d heard of her, or heard of things she’d done. Important people knew her name.

It was not that way for the world. Few cared about her, having their own struggles and battles to worry over. The news of the King of Destruction’s return eclipsed anything she might do now or in the immediate future.

And yet, one of the most powerful males in the world knew of her. He desperately wanted to meet her, though he’d never laid eyes on her before.

Because she could create wonders. If the people of this world believed in miracles, they would have called them that. But these were natural things to her. The incredible things she could do weren’t mere acts of magic, but something deeper.

She had only one real class. Only a few people knew her true nature. To the rest, she was part magic, part enigma. But she changed Izril, changed Liscor, changed people by her very presence.

Her class was [Thaumaturge]. She worked wonders. Her name was Xrn.

And she was sitting in a small dirt room in the Hive of the Free Antinium underneath Liscor. And she was not happy.

“It’s not that I’m angry, Klbkchhezeim. I’m just disappointed.”

She was talking to another Antinium, a slimmer version of the Workers who filled the Hive, and one with only two arms. Klbkch sat hunched over in his chair, avoiding looking at Xrn.

That was difficult for anyone not used to her. Xrn stood out from every other Antinium in Liscor’s Hive, possibly the world. Her carapace was azure, not brownish-black. And her eyes shone and swirled with countless colors, a magical storm whirling behind her faceted eyes.

The colors were tinged green and orange and pink now, the colors that reflected her irritation. The Prognugator of the Grand Queen of the Antinium, known by her enemies as the Small Queen, Xrn, stared pointedly at Klbkch, but he didn’t respond. She made a sound that sounded like a sigh crossed with a click.

“I understand you have your duties. It cannot be easy to manage a Hive while attempting to combat numerous threats from this dungeon, and maintain your position as this—what did you call it?—[Guardsman] in the city. Attending to the group sent by the other Hives must weigh heavily upon your time.”

No response. Xrn looked pointedly at Klbkch. The colors in her eyes deepened, growing darker. Klbkch knew that was a bad sign. She wasn’t just irritated.

“And yet, I note you apparently had quite a lot of time to spend eating and entertaining yourself at an inn. So much time in fact, that you were able to create your own presents and receive two yourself.”

Klbkch hunched his shoulders. His voice, when he spoke at last, was defensive.

“It was Christmas.”

“A Human tradition.”

“It was an important social event that fostered—”

“Klbkch. I am not questioning your use of time. I am simply asking why you haven’t included talking to me as part of your activities.”

An unpleasant silence followed her words. The Antinium didn’t usually beat around the bush, so after a moment Klbkch looked up and nodded slowly.

“We’re talking now. I had wished to delay our conversation, Xrn, because I anticipate the outcome and believe it will not be favorable.”

“Oh?”

Xrn shifted slightly. She had only two arms, like Klbkch, and she had been folding them in a fashion she’d picked up from Humans. Now she uncrossed her arms.

“What is your fear?”

Klbkch exhaled inaudibly. He stared at his old…friend? Was that the word for her? Perhaps. She was more than that, and yet not a friend. A sister, perhaps. But that was inadequate.

They were Centenium, he and she. He had been known as Klbkch the Slayer during the Antinium Wars, but his origin lay far before that time. Back then, he and Xrn had known each other. Fought together. But after all this time, he wasn’t sure he knew her anymore.

So Klbkch chose his words carefully.

“My conclusion upon learning you had arrived to personally oversee the achievements of Liscor’s Hive was that you were here to order me to return to the Grand Queen.”

If Xrn had eyebrows she would have raised them. Since she did not, her mandibles twitched, and a yellow element appeared in the miasma of lights in her eyes.

“An interesting thought. Why would you believe that?”

“The Grand Queen’s desire to have me act as her Prognugator is not unknown to me, Xrn.”

“And you believe I was sent for that purpose alone?”

He shook his head.

“Of course not. But she would not have sent you unless she had ulterior motives. I know her beliefs regarding my Queen’s work with Individuals.”

“She is not alone in that regard. But your work has achieved much.”

Klbkch nodded. Modesty was also a foreign concept to the Antinium.

“A start. It is something the Antinium have never created, these…Individuals. I trusted you would know their worth. But that does not detract from my point. Did the Grand Queen not send you with instructions regarding me, Xrn?”

Instead of answering his question, Xrn stared at one of the walls. There was nothing to stare at but dirt, yet that in itself was telling. Klbkch had visited the other Hives. He knew some were built of stone, others fortified, the walls hardened. The other Hives were grander, larger, and the Queens had their own elite soldiers, and had modified their Workers and Soldiers accordingly. Yet this Hive was where the hope of the Antinium lay, Klbkch was sure.

“Do you know what I have been doing these last two decades, Klbkch?”

He shook his head.

“I assume acting as an aide and advisor to the Grand Queen.”

“That is my duty, yes. Go on.”

“Fighting? Defensive duty? Negotiating with other Queens and Prognugators?”

Xrn sighed.

“You are unoriginal.”

“I prefer not to guess. Speculative statements are a time-consuming endeavor that I attempt to refrain from partaking in. You remind me of my partner in that regard.”

“The Drakes have some things to teach us.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. They are quite adept at wasting time.”

“True.”

Xrn fell silent again. She raised her hand, and Klbkch saw her perform a trick she’d often do when she was thinking. As Xrn stared at her hand, miniscule spires of ice appeared, freezing over parts of her carapace. Fire chased ice and the resultant water and steam swirled—not upwards, but around her hand and down her arm, gathering, turning into lightning which crackled and struck stone fragments which melted and gathered, turning into magma—

Klbkch looked away. He stared at Xrn. She truly hadn’t changed. Just as before, he couldn’t read her expression. Xrn tapped her fingers onto Klbkch’s simple wooden desk and the whirling elements spilled onto it, burning and freezing the sturdy wood. Klbkch watched calmly. A new desk would not be an issue. The Hive’s funds would allow him to buy a thousand desks in a moment if he needed to.

“I have been busy, Klbkch. Not always with tedious work. It has been a while, but I trust you recall the first war against the Crelers?”

Klbkch nodded. He clenched one hand unconsciously.

“I recall.”

“A truly costly series of encounters. Well, in the time since I have participated in several offensives. At one point we were forced to aid the Armored Antinium in combat against Giant Moles. I trust you are familiar with them?”

They were worse than Crelers, in some ways. Klbkch’s mind flashed back to the sight of a huge creature, seventeen times the size of the largest Soldier, tearing its way through a tunnel, devouring Workers and chewing through Soldiers in a single bite—

“I have encountered them. And I am familiar with the battles of which you spoke. My Queen debated sending a force to assist in the fighting.”

“There was no need. But such encounters certainly detracted from our war strength. If we had chanced upon them or unearthed the Caverns of Consumption during the last war, things would have gone far worse for us.”

“I am not familiar with the Caverns of Consumption, although I recall hearing a report on the subject. What manner of danger was this?”

“Parasites. They infected over forty percent of the Silent Antinium’s Hive before we could eradicate them.”

Klbkch nodded slowly. He didn’t shudder, but he felt as though something was crawling underneath his carapace at the thought.

“A terrible setback.”

“So it goes.”

Xrn shrugged again as if the termination of nearly a half of a Hive’s Workers and Soldiers was of no concern. She looked pointedly at Klbkch.

“We have gone through far worse battles. That the Hives struggle with each emerging threat—and ones in the future as the Hives continue to expand—is telling in itself.”

The Revelantor’s head bowed.

“Yes. It is regrettable.”

The Small Queen watched him carefully. She was observing Klbkch, just like he was analyzing her. Strangers sat together.

“It matters not. The Hives are growing despite these setbacks. But through these challenges, I have reclaimed almost all of my lost levels.”

Klbkch looked up in surprise. He hadn’t thought about it. It was only a dream for him to regain his former strength, as weak as he now was. But Xrn was different. She had only ever died once.

“If that is the case, the Grand Queen must surely be elated at the news. Having such an asset would also influence her opinion on declaring war a third time.”

“Possibly. But I have not informed her of my leveling for a long period of time.”

Klbkch froze.

“Why?”

Again Xrn ignored his question. She looked around Klbkch’s small room again. He had only a few objects in it. His chairs—chair; they’d had to get another one for Xrn to sit—his desk where he stored important files, and a new addition: a coatrack. It had no coats on it, but a black and red scarf had very carefully been wrapped around one of the arms.

“Klbkch, I came here against the Grand Queen’s wishes. She would have preferred to let one of the other two Prognugators to lead the group. Tersk, most likely. She is aware of Pivr’s…flaws. His numerous flaws, I should say. The Grand Queen dislikes that pestilential larvae as much as I do.”

Klbkch nodded, his tone souring. On this, he, Xrn, and the Grand Queen were in agreement.

“I cannot fathom why the Queen of the Flying Antinium deems his actions appropriate.”

“She is erratic. But no Prognugator created since coming to the continent has been anywhere close to adequate. You know this, Klbkch. You and I—and perhaps Wrymvr—are the only competent Prognugators. The Grand Queen would rather you return to the Hive, but she is aware of your commitment. With that said, she did not want me to leave either.”

“So why leave?”

“Because it was the only excuse that would allow me to visit you. In truth, I do not believe the Grand Queen cares whether your Hive has created Individuals or not.”

That was an unpleasant surprise to Klbkch, and one he knew would deeply upset his Queen. He put his hands on his table and scooted his chair further under his desk.

“…I was under the impression our efforts were being recognized, even if they were not completely accepted by the other Hives. We have worked for years for this purpose. Surely you see the merits?”

“Tersk does. Perhaps his Queen will. But the Queen of the Silent Antinium doesn’t care. She didn’t send an envoy. The Grand Queen makes the motion, but the other Queens follow her lead. Klbkch, they may recognize the use of Individuals, but they do not believe such beings are necessary for the Hives.”

“They are wrong.

Klbkch was surprised at the emotion in his voice. He stood up.

“If the Grand Queen does not believe, tell her about Anand and Belgrade. Tell her about Bird, and of Garry’s class! Individuals may be costly and irreplaceable, but they can contribute far more than a battalion of Soldiers if used the right way. The Antinium need leaders.”

“They would say that is what Prognugators are for.”

“You mean like Tersk and Pivr?”

Klbkch’s voice was cold. He nodded towards the open doorway. The other two Prognugators were still in the Hive. Tersk was no doubt observing, or aiding in battle against monsters from the dungeon. Pivr…was probably being a nuisance.

“They are not what the Hives need. Tersk is acceptable, but he is hardly high-level. And if he falls, an army is dependent on a distant Queen to control it. And they are not suited to war. The Soldiers need a real leader to take command. Multiple leaders, so they cannot be picked off like they were in the last two wars!”

He was emotional, he knew. But Klbkch had argued that very thing so long ago, and to hear the Queens had not changed—yet it was Xrn who was nodding.

“You are correct. But the Queens will not accept your statement, Klbkch. They did not in the past and their minds are difficult to change, with the exception of yours. The problem is, they did not know Galuc. Or rather, the version of him the Queens believed in was false. They do not think copies of him have morale. They treat the Soldiers and Workers as unbreakable, beings without the capacity for despair or fear.”

Klbkch nodded. He had known Galuc. The Queens had known of him as well, but not like Klbkch. Galuc the Builder had felt great emotion. But he had never broken, never given in, even at the end.

Xrn went on.

“However, their notion is largely correct. These…fragments have his strength of mind. Yet they are only flawed replicas of the original in body and personality. The Queens believed that there was no merit in imbuing fragments with individual identities, if that was even possible.”

“As did you.”

Klbkch leaned forwards in his chair, remembering. He stared hard at Xrn.

“You were of the same mindset and voted against the attempt. Have you changed your mind?”

Xrn shook her head.

“I did not vote against the measure for that reason.”

The Antinium never called each other liars. There was no point, no reason to. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together sharply, the equivalent of taking a deep breath.

“Explain.”

“I believed there was no reason to give the dead names. I thought we would conquer this continent in the first war, and then the second, and fulfill our duty years ago, without creating individuals. I was wrong.”

There it was. Klbkch sat down hard. Xrn had just justified all the work he’d done, conceded the argument that had torn them apart for over a decade.

“I was correct.”

She smiled at him, lifting her mandibles. The Antinium did not hide the truth when they were wrong.

“You were.”

But then she grew silent, pensive. She stared at Klbkch’s desk, which was engulfed in a war between the elements. Xrn waved her hand, and the fires, the ice, the water and lightning—all vanished in a moment, leaving behind a distinctly weathered wooden surface behind.

“You were right, Klbkch. These individuals are valuable. If we go to war a third time, they may well change the outcome of the conflict.”

Klbkch opened his mandibles, eagerly pressing the second part of his old argument.

If we need to go to war again. As I have said—”

“Yes, if. If we must take the continent, oust the Drakes and Gnolls and Humans to begin with. I am starting to come around to your thinking on that point as well.”

It was everything Klbkch had wanted to hear, what his Queen had wanted to hear. And yet—why was Xrn talking to him here and not telling his Queen this? He paused.

“Why? Why do you believe this now?”

Xrn paused a third and final time, and Klbkch knew they were coming to the heart of the matter. His blood raced a bit quicker throughout his body.

“…Do you know how long it has been since we came to this continent, Klbkch? No—do not answer. It is a pointless, Human way of asking. I know. Over two decades. And in that time, we have rebuilt our Hives. And yet, Klbkchhezeim. And yet. After all this time, no new Queens have been born.”

Klbkch’s heart paused. He looked carefully at Xrn.

“None?”

She shook her head.

“Not a one.”

Klbkch tried to come up with a response.

“The Queens have time. If they continue their efforts to discover—”

“That is not the problem, Klbkch. It is not that they are trying to create new Queens and failing. It is that they have given up trying altogether.

The words knocked Klbkch back like a blow. He sat back in his chair hard and nearly overbalanced.

“No.”

Xrn’s eyes were steady, darkness and hints of blue and gray the only colors.

“Yes. They have not tried.”

“But surely they know—”

“They do not want to try. Or they are afraid to. This entire time I believed the Grand Queen was prioritizing the issue, as you were. But I have learned she had given up attempting to recover that knowledge. There are no new Queens, Klbkch.”

“But there must be!”

Klbkch sat up, outraged, afraid. He stared at Xrn.

“We cannot expand if there are no new Queens! The Hives have a limit to expansion, especially with only one Queen and no sub-Queens attending her! And without a Unitasis Network our armies—”

“Are flawed. Slow. I know, Klbkch. I have argued with the Grand Queen on this point countless times. But she refuses to try. She is afraid.”

“Of what? Failure?”

“Success. Of being replaced, I think. Or perhaps—no, I cannot fathom all of her reasons. But it is enough that you know.”

It was. It changed everything Klbkch had assumed about the Hives. He lowered his head and spoke quietly.

“Let me talk to my Queen. She can try—”

“Against the other Queen’s directives? She has no resources. They were denied to her by the Hives. I am surprised she managed to alter your form, let alone resurrect you.”

Klbkch hesitated. This was a deep secret he was about to share, but Xrn was laying her secrets bare. He felt obligated to do the same.

“The necessary reagents can be…obtained. It is difficult, but possible. If I purchase from [Alchemists], perhaps—”

The Small Queen was shaking her head.

“That is an unlikely outcome, Klbkch.”

He felt a spark of anger. It was hot and fierce. But it was burning on despair.

“What then? Are we to give up on our future?”

“Not at all. Why do you think I am here? No, Klbkch, it is because of our future that I have come here, using the Individuals as an excuse. In fact, they are the reason I have come. If not, I would still be in the Grand Queen’s Hive, trying to create Queens on my own.”

You tried—”

“Repeatedly.”

Xrn’s voice was tired. She traced a finger on Klbkch’s desk, leaving a trail of fire behind.

“I burned what I created. I cannot do it. Perhaps your Queen can, perhaps not. You should tell her either way. But my idea is more direct. We must have more Queens, Klbkch. We must stop running, stop focusing on pointless battles here. We have been here for two decades and barely a handful of Hives. This was not the plan.”

“No, it was not.”

Klbkch felt tired. They had failed. But Xrn’s eyes lit up, and a spark of white, golden light filled them. Hope flashing in the darkness.

“We cannot stay here, with flawed Queens who remain fragmented. With no hope of rebuilding our people. We must return home, Klbkch. We must recover our lost knowledge.”

“You don’t mean—”

Xrn’s gaze nearly blinded Klbkch. The purest blue light of unwavering determination blazed in the depths, mixed with gold and the orange glow of fury.

“Yes. We must go back. To Rhir.”

In the minutes that followed, Klbkch thought over a thousand different responses, from denial to incredulity to acceptance. In the end he simply asked one word.

“How?”

Xrn smiled. She stood up, and placed hands on Klbkch’s desk. The wood began to change, and small figures of colored lights began to rise out of the wood, marching, assembling as she spoke.

“A strike force. A few thousand Soldiers and Workers—elites if they can be acquired as well. But most importantly, a group of Individuals that can lead and fight on their own. Remember the expeditionary units of the past?”

Klbkch nodded slowly. How could he not? He had led so many, as had Xrn…

“Yes.”

And then he put the pieces together. Klbkch’s mandibles clicked together sharply.

“So that is your reason for coming here. You want the Individuals my Hive has produced—”

“More if possible. And higher level, of course. I can secure the specialist elites of other Hives, perhaps persuade other Prognugators like Tersk. He may be persuaded to listen, despite not knowing the truth yet. But I still need those with levels. You would not be enough, Klbkch, weakened as you are. And Wrymvr—”

“You sent Zel after him. If he dies, or if Shivertail dies trying to avenge General Sserys it will be war—”

“Perhaps. But I think Shivertail would win, and it would not be war if I speak to the Grand Queen. I think a death might bring Wyrmvr back to his senses, which is why I told General Shivertail.”

Klbkch paused.

“Why? What is wrong with Wyrmvr?”

Xrn looked calmly at Klbkch.

“I think he has gone insane. So has his Queen. But that is not the issue, Klbkch. The Queens, the Hives—all the Antinium on Liscor are not the issue. Going to Rhir and coming back with a Queen or the knowledge of how to create one—only that will save us all.”

Klbkch looked at her. He put a hand on his sword’s hilt, gripping it tightly.

“You still think they’re alive, don’t you?”

“They swore to fight for a thousand years if that was what it took. I believe they have continued to do battle, believing in us. We failed them, Klbkch. Now we must go back.”

“Across the ocean. Where we lost everything.”

Xrn nodded. She and Klbkch paused, remembering. Remembering the disaster, the storms—her fingers twisted and water splashed down, but the shimmering figures were safe, protected by a bubble of air on the tabletop.

“We learned from our failures. This time we will learn to sail, and I have studied spells to guide us across the ocean. If we land on Rhir—”

“We will have to fight our way down there. Past the Blighted King and the Demon King.”

“If necessary.”

“And then—then if there are still survivors, we take a Queen?”

“A younger one with the necessary knowledge, yes. If we could escort her back—”

“The odds are terrible.”

Klbkch stared at the plan Xrn had outlined on his desk. She nodded.

“But it is possible, Klbkch. More so with your Individuals. The [Strategists] you have helped to create—Belgrade and Anand—they will be invaluable. I was intending to use the Prognugator copies the Grand Queen had created instead, but these Individuals are far more original, far more capable.

Klbkch stared at Xrn in shock. He’d met the Prognugators sent to guard her. They were created as Ksmvr had been, but like him they were incomplete, deeply flawed versions of what they should have been.

You encouraged her to repeat those experiments?”

“It was my only option at the time. This our only hope, Klbkch. I will pursue it with any means at my disposal.”

Xrn was not defensive. She simply explained. And she looked at Klbkch, hope shining in her eyes.

“It will take much preparation, Klbkch. Years—perhaps another decade if a war breaks out. But this is the only way I see to survive. I place my plan in your hands. Will you join me, or will you stay here?”

Klbkch paused. He stared at his desk, and then looked up at Xrn. He felt emotion building in his chest, and felt the two swords hanging at his sides. He shook his head slowly. Xrn stared at him, crestfallen. But that wasn’t what Klbkch meant.

“No. It will be sooner than that. We will make the journey, Xrn. In time. With more than just Antinium. Perhaps—yes, perhaps there is more we can add to your plan.”

Golden fire. Xrn’s eyes lit up like the first time Klbkch had seen the sun. She placed a hand on his shoulder as he stood and joined her. Klbkch stared at her, and realized he was more whole than he had been in a long, long time.

Two of the Centinium stood together. One had changed in body, and the other not at all. But they were different than they had been. Different, and yet not. Because they remembered. They hadn’t come to this continent to live and die here. The knowledge was a scream in Klbkch’s soul. The Queens knew they had not come here to simply dig Hives and create mockeries of what they had been! They had come here to go back! They had retreated to fight!

“We will return.”

It was a whisper, a promise. Xrn looked at him.

“You said more than Antinium? Do you actually have allies you would trust with our secret?”

“At least one.”

Klbkch thought of Ryoka as he turned to Xrn.

“But even if we do not have allies, we will have more Individuals.”

“How? I am still uncertain about how your Hives produces them. Your Queen did not give me a straight answer.”

“That is because she does not know. And I do not either.”

Incredulity, a greenish strip of color languidly weaving through the gold.

“How can you not?”

Klbkch smiled. He sat back down, motioning for Xrn to do the same.

“There is hope. Things have changed. These recent developments, the Individuals, all of it stems from one person. If your plan is to succeed—if we are to have hope, we must focus on one person.”

“Who?”

Xrn stared intently at Klbkch. He looked up, towards the ceiling, towards the sky.

“It all starts and ends with a young Human girl. You have met her. Her name is Erin Solstice and she comes from another world…”

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice sat in her inn and stared at the Antinium in front of her. She was a Level 30 [Magical Innkeeper], the sole proprietress of The Wandering Inn, her home, and currently, very confused.

“Let me get this straight. You like birds.”

Sitting across the table from her, Bird the Antinium nodded. He was sitting awkwardly on the edge of his chair, a short bow and a few homemade arrows sitting on the table. Erin eyed both. Apparently the Antinium didn’t use ranged weapons much, and so Bird had taken it upon himself to manufacture his own gear.

She looked back at him.

“But you kill birds. I mean, you hunt them.”

“Yes. I kill birds.”

“But you like birds.”

“Yes.”

Erin paused. She scratched her head and someone hurried over to the table.

“Mister Bird? Another glass of raw eggs?”

“Yes, please.”

Bird turned and his mandibles raised as Lyonette carefully handed him a mug filled with raw eggs. Five cracked eggs. Bird had requested it specially. Lyonette smiled at Bird, and then hurried away before Bird began to drink.

Erin watched, only slightly grossed out as Bird delicately let a glistening yolk drop into his mandibles. He clicked them together appreciatively.

“I am very grateful. Do I offer more coins now? I have many.”

“No, you can pay after. Just let me get this straight. You like birds, but you kill them.”

Bird nodded.

“Yes. Shooting birds is enjoyable.”

Erin stared at him. It wasn’t that she disliked Bird, one of the Individual Antinium who lived in the Hive under Liscor. In fact, she really liked him. He, along with four other Antinium—Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Pawn—had been the only survivors of a group of Antinium Workers who’d given their lives to protect her when a group of undead had attacked her inn.

It was just that Bird was weird. Even for an Antinium he was weird. Pawn thought he was weird, Anand and Belgrade agreed, and Garry—well, Erin hadn’t gotten a chance to chat much with Garry, but the Antinium had definitely mentioned Bird’s weirdness when he’d helped Erin out at the Christmas party.

She was just trying to figure him out. And it wasn’t working. Erin rubbed at her head.

“Okay, okay. You like birds. But you kill them. Uh, Bird, I don’t know how to say this, but generally, you don’t kill things you like.”

The Antinium looked confused. He lowered his mug.

“But what is the point of killing something you don’t like?”

Erin opened her mouth. She closed it. She put her hands in her hair.

“You know what? How about we go back to what you do every day.”

Bird nodded amicably.

“I shoot birds.”

“…That’s it? I mean, don’t you do anything else? Do you have duties in the Hive like Pawn, or Anand or Garry?”

He paused, thinking.

“I contribute resources to the Hive, mainly in the form of edible foodstuffs. On a daily average, I provide a value approximately 261% of the average Worker, thus justifying my existence. I am also considered to be a war asset of undetermined value, and have special qualities deemed important to the Hive at this moment due to my Individual nature and levels. Thus, I am permitted to act autonomously due to my unique class.”

Erin stared at him. Sitting underneath the table, Mrsha raised her head and smacked it on the bottom of Erin’s chair. Lyonette’s head turned as she scrubbed at a dirty table. Bird looked around and shrugged.

“That means I can go out and hunt birds. Revelantor Klbkch said so.”

Erin glanced around her inn. It was empty, aside from Mrsha and Lyonette and Bird. Her regular guests were all out. As adventurers (and one [General]), they didn’t hang around the inn much. She took a deep breath.

“Got it. You shoot birds. That’s cool.”

“I hunt all day. Sometimes all night.”

“Right. And do you do anything with the birds you shoot?”

“I bring them to the Hive.”

“Oh. That’s all?”

Bird hesitated. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. Erin leaned forwards at Bird’s insistence. He looked guilty as he confessed to Erin in a hushed tone.

“Sometimes…I eat the birds I shoot instead of bringing them to the Hive.”

Erin stared at him.

“Okay.”

“When I am hungry.”

Bird clarified. He looked guilty. Erin nodded slowly.

“So you cook them?”

“No.”

“Wait, you eat them raw?

“They are crunchy. And not crunchy in places.”

“But raw—

Erin looked down as Mrsha poked her head out from under the table. The Gnoll didn’t seem to have a problem with Bird’s eating habits. The Antinium nodded.

“Sometimes I throw them on a fire. The taste is different. So is the color.”

Erin had a feeling Bird’s method of cooking was literally throwing dead birds onto the fire. She took a breath.

“Okay, but you know you could cook them properly, right? You know, chop them up? Roast them? Bake them?”

“If I bring them to the Hive they are processed into paste. It does not taste good.”

“Processed—you mean that muck Pawn says all the Antinium eat?”

Bird nodded. Erin tried to imagine how a dead bird would be turned into that and shuddered.

“Okay, maybe you have the right idea. But if you cook things—”

“I do not have any Skills.”

“But you could learn—actually, wait. I have a better idea. Why don’t you bring your dead birds to me, and I’ll cook them for you? Free of charge!”

Bird stared at Erin as if she were a genius.

“You would cook birds for me?”

She grinned at him.

“Yeah! And I can make them very tasty, Bird. I can add a bit of lemon, some salt and pepper—make some gravy—you won’t ever go back to eating raw birds when you taste my cooking!”

The Antinium didn’t salivate as far as Erin could tell, but Bird’s body language told her he was extremely interested in this offer. But then he drooped and his antennae sagged.

“Ah. But I do not have many coins. Not enough to eat cooked birds all the time.”

“That’s not a problem!”

Erin hurried to reassure the downcast Bird. She thought and pointed to a bag which the Antinium had brought into the inn. It was tied tightly.

“You hunt a lot of birds each day, right Bird? Even in the winter?”

“I shoot many of them, yes.”

“Well then…if you give me a few birds, I’ll cook as many as you want to eat! That way, I get something and you get something! How’s that for a deal?”

Bird considered this.

“This is a good deal. I will accept. Thank you, Miss Erin.”

She beamed at him. Bird reached for his sack.

“I have birds now. Can I give you some?”

“Well of c—”

Erin paused as Bird untied the knot holding his sack open. Underneath the table Mrsha yelped and across the room Lyonette gagged. The [Princess] put a hand over her mouth and Erin nearly fell out of her chair as Bird pulled a dead bird out of his sack.

It was dead. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was how long it had been dead for. The smell was—Erin stared at the dead bird and saw things moving on the corpse.

“Here is one bird. Can you cook it?”

“Put it—put it—”

Erin was trying not to throw up, back away, and avoid Bird’s outstretched hand at the same time. Mrsha fled as something dropped onto the table and wriggled.

“Put it back!”

Bird did so, looking confused. Erin made him tie up the sack—and then throw it out into the snow before she tried to explain the difference between a freshly-caught bird and a rotting one that had been sitting in the sack for two weeks.

“So I must obtain fresh birds?”

“Yes! Doesn’t your Hive say that to you too?”

“Freshness does not matter. Those birds are acceptable for processing.”

“They—you’re joking.”

Bird stared at Erin. She stared back. She thought about the wriggling things and covered her mouth.

“Okay. Wow. No wonder Klbkch eats here instead of at his Hive. Bird? I need fresh…birds. You can preserve them in ice, and bring them to me. But if they’re old, you have to bring them to the Hive, okay? And you can’t…can’t mix old birds with new ones, alright? I’ll explain all of it to you, but you can’t bring really rotten birds into my inn, okay?”

Bird nodded, looking serious and clearly not comprehending Erin’s line of thought at all.

“This is an important issue?”

Yes!

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice stood at the table and scrubbed hard with soapy water after Bird had gone. She avoided the wriggling orange maggot until a paw reached onto the table and grabbed it.

“Mrsha!”

She whirled and the white-furred Gnoll fled, the squirming maggot held triumphantly in one paw. Erin went to run after her, but Lyonette got there first. Erin heard the two having a one-sided argument as she turned back to cleaning the table.

“No, Mrsha! You can’t have it. No, you can’t—don’t lick it! See how bad it tasted? Now, give it to me—no, no, you can’t put it with Apista. She’s in a shell and I don’t think she wants company. Just give it to—just throw it outside in the snow, far away, okay? There’s a good girl.”

Erin turned her head and saw Mrsha scampering out of the inn. She also saw Lyonette carefully arranging a large bowl set in the middle of a table in the far corner of the inn. She was tending to Apista, her pet, making sure the bowl was filled with royal jelly and warm enough.

Erin could appreciate Apista, although she hated wriggling things in general. Technically, the bee larvae that Lyonette had adopted as a pet was also a maggot, but at least this one was…bigger? Well, it was part of the inn now, and that meant it was as good as family. Even if it was butt ugly.

But Apista had grown on Erin—literally. After the few days since she’d returned to her inn, the larvae had begun metamorphosing into a hardened shell, at first just an indistinct blob, but which was taking on the appearance of a bee day by day. It would hatch soon, Erin felt, and then…

Well, Lyonette had the [Beast Tamer] class, and so she’d be able to control it. Or so Erin desperately hoped. But in truth, Erin had no idea what Apista the Ashfire Bee would be like when she finally emerged from her pupal state.

Apista. Now there was a good name. In truth, Erin had been holding out for Beeyonce, or Pudge, but Lyonette had settled on Apista, and Erin had to admit it made sense. Not that anyone besides Ryoka would recognize the Latin name, though.

Was it odd to own an inn and have a [Princess] working as your barmaid? Was it odd having a white Gnoll child—a furry hyena like species that lived in tribes—running around holding maggots? Was it a bit disconcerting to sit with an Antinium, one of the insect-like people who lived underground, and talk about hunting birds?

Maybe, but Erin had gotten used to it long ago. Now she squeezed the rag she’d been using into her bucket and looked at Lyonette.

“How’s Pudg—I mean, Apista doing, Lyonette?”

“Good, Erin. I think she’s healthy. I mean, I can sort of sense it, thanks to my Skills!”

Lyonette looked proud as she tilted the bowl to show Erin the hard carapace of the growing bee. Erin nodded.

“You really like classes, don’t you?”

“I’m a Level 3 [Beast Tamer] now! And a Level 4 [Carer]! I leveled up in both classes last night!”

The girl’s chest puffed up with pride, and Erin smiled at her.

“That’s really great. You’re leveling up in a different class every day, or so it seems.”

“I just want to learn it all. I know one class is best, but—”

Lyonette’s face fell. Erin studied her. Lyonette was a [Princess]. She’d told Erin as much herself. But she was a runaway princess, and a failure too, if what she hinted to Erin was right. Apparently, she was only Level 5 in the [Princess] class, despite having been one her entire life.

“You know what, Lyonette? I think you’re a great [Barmaid]. You’ve only been working here for a few weeks and you’re already Level 9! Once you get to Level 10—well, I’d better give you a pay raise.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I should! I totally forgot to pay you this entire time. And you do so much work—it’s no wonder you’re leveling like crazy.”

Erin grinned at Lyon as the girl’s face went red. It was remarkable how much she’d changed from the haughty, angry girl that Erin had first saved from freezing to death in the snow. Erin glanced at the windows as Lyonette busied herself with Apista’s bowl, still blushing furiously.

“Speaking of which…I think we’re all set until dinner, Lyonette. We’ve got firewood water, groceries…why don’t you and Mrsha have a break? You can take her into the city!”

Lyonette looked up with a grateful smile.

“Really? You’re sure? I could stay and mind the inn if you need me to—”

“We’re fine. No one’s coming back for a while, and if they do, they know I’m going to be out. Plus, I’ve got some soup sitting in the kitchen just in case. You two deserve a break!”

Erin waved an airy hand as Mrsha came bounding back into the inn. The Gnoll’s white fur was covered in snow and Lyonette went to chase Mrsha as she tracked it onto the newly cleaned floor. Meanwhile, Erin went into the kitchen to get some coins for Lyonette to spend.

Liscor. It was only ten minutes’ walk away from the inn, and the city was filled with Drakes, Gnolls, and a good deal of Humans. It was the place to be if you wanted to have fun, mainly because there wasn’t anywhere else to go to in the open, rolling landscape that surrounded the city.

Both Erin and Lyonette had a history with the city, although Erin’s relationship was a great deal more positive than Lyon’s. In truth, the girl had been kicked out of the city for stealing and burning down a shop.

It wasn’t that Lyonette’s exile had been lifted, but thanks to Zel Shivertail, one of Erin’s guests who also happened to be a hero among his people, the Drakes, in practice Lyonette could go into the city whenever she liked.

“Here’s some money for the week.”

Erin went over to Lyonette with a handful of coins. She counted them out into the girl’s hands, giving her mostly bronze and silver. But Erin’s fingers paused as she picked up a substantially larger, coin, which wasn’t silver but shone with brighter radiance in the light.

“Oh—sorry. Wrong coin.”

Lyonette blinked as Erin took the coin out and put it in her belt pouch.

“What’s that? It’s too big to be a silver coin.”

“It’s…a secret. I’m trying to figure it out myself.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette as she handed the girl the other coins. Lyonette blinked at a gold coin glinting at her and opened her mouth to protest. Erin shushed her.

“It’s for Mrsha! Buy her something nice and maybe get her another toy when you’re out shopping.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do business!”

“If it’s shopping, I can buy it. I think Krshia’s okay with me—”

“No, no. I have it! You have fun. That’s an order!”

Erin shooed Lyonette out the door, Mrsha joyfully bounding about in the snow. Then she went over to the counter under her bar and began pulling out large bottles filled with various colors of liquid. Erin found a sack, grabbed the rest of the smaller denominations of coin for change, and walked out of her inn.

“Time to get to my part-time job.”

 

—-

 

The city of Liscor was filled with people. Drakes and Gnolls, primarily, but Humans had come seeking wealth recently. They weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by the city’s natives, Drakes, who resembled giant lizard-people and hated being called lizards, and Gnolls, who, unlike Mrsha, had brown fur, black fur, grey fur, reddish-orange fur—but never white fur.

Erin walked down the streets, smiling at passersby, looking at the open architecture of the Drake’s buildings, and being tempted by food vendors frying grilled meat, steaming liberally spiced vegetable skewers, or making one of the city’s new favorite fast foods—hamburgers.

Soon enough, Erin reached a large building along the main street. It had a decent flow of foot traffic, Humans, Gnolls, and Drakes all entering the double doors. What set these individuals apart was that unlike the normal type of pedestrian, the people using this building were generally armed. They were adventurers, and wore everything from leather armor to polished plate to enchanted robes.

The Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor wasn’t used to so much business, and so Erin knew that if she went inside to see her friend Selys, she’d probably have to wait for a long time as the [Receptionists] tried to keep up with all the adventurers coming in and out. But Erin wasn’t here for a social visit. Instead, she put down the heavy bag she’d filled with jars in the snow and rubbed at her shoulder. Then Erin took a deep breath and raised one of the jars into the air. She was holding a spoon in the other hand.

Samples! Get your free samples! Magical soup! Anyone want a sample?”

Heads turned. People stared. Erin tried not to blush as she waved a jar of bright red-purple liquid at the crowd. She felt silly, but she was used to that feeling. The important thing was doing something, trying something.

“You there! Mister Gnoll? Sorry, Miss Gnoll…want a sample? It’s free! Try my defense soup! Anyone want a taste? It’s magical! It works!”

People passed by, but some began to stop. They approached, staring at the jar Erin was waving. She heard people asking questions and uncorked her jar and offered a spoonful around. People backed away, but they kept watching. Slowly, a crowd began to gather. And the commotion alerted the Adventurer’s Guild, because soon a trio of Drakes pushed out of the doors.

One of them had bright yellow scales, another light green scales, and a third had dark green scales with a white pattern that reached from her tail up her back, although her clothes made it so only her tail was visible.

The Drake with bright yellow scales was looking around.

“What’s the commotion?”

The one with dark green scales pointed at Erin, and all three [Receptionists] looked over. The one with yellow scales rolled her eyes and twitched her tail dismissively, but the one with light green scales smiled when she saw Erin’s face.

“It’s that Human.”

“The crazy one? I mean—the one with the hamburgers?”

“Shush, Drassi! That’s my friend. I told you two about her.”

Selys grinned toothily at Erin. She’d drawn a crowd in minutes. There were Drakes that Selys knew in the crowd, people who didn’t like Humans. But they stopped because it was Erin, that Human, the one they knew on sight even if they didn’t know her name.

The crowd had formed a circle and was staring at the colorful jars Erin was waving around, but no one had stepped forwards yet. Selys waited for a volunteer. Because as much as she liked Erin…

She wasn’t going to try the soups herself. At least, not until someone else had done it first.

A volunteer stepped out of the crowd after a few second. It was a Drake adventurer from the Guild. He looked hesitant, but his companions were egging him on. They were a group of five, and he had been chosen a scapegoat.

“Um, Miss?”

Erin turned to him with a big smile.

“Hi! Do you want to try a sample?”

“A…sample?”

The Drake looked uncertain. Samples were not a tradition in this world, but Erin gave him a big smile and explained.

“I’m showing people my cool new soup! It’s magic, and I’m selling it in my inn. Do you want to try it?”

The Drake gulped. He had black scales and he was actually a bit shorter than Erin.

“What—what does it do?”

Erin pointed proudly at the red-purple jar in her hands.

“This is defense soup! I’m calling it that. Or maybe thick skin soup? Naw, that sounds bad. Anyways, it makes your scales tough!”

The Drake eyed the jar with increasing skepticism as Erin dipped the huge spoon—ladle, really—into the jar and lifted it. He glanced at his friends and at the crowd, but it was too late to back out.

“I just drink it—”

“Yep! Don’t worry. It’s sweet!”

The Drake gingerly flicked his tongue out and tasted the liquid. His eyes widened.

“It is sweet!”

The crowd of onlookers watched as the Drake slowly gulped down the soup. It didn’t look that tasty, and the Drake made a face and muttered about mushrooms, but then he’d swallowed it all. They waited, but the Drake stood looking vaguely queasy, but not noticeably different.

The adventurer coughed and glanced at Erin.

“Do I have to wait or does something happen?”

“It should be taking effect right now! Okay, now hold on a second—”

Erin put down the jar and spoon. When she came up, she was holding a kitchen knife.

“Now I stab you.”

The circle of onlookers suddenly got a lot wider, very quickly. The black-scaled Drake backed away, claws raised.

“Whoa. Miss Human, I didn’t volunteer for that!”

“Don’t worry! It won’t hurt a bit! Thanks to my soup, I won’t be able to cut you.”

“I’d—really rather not risk it. I can’t feel a change.”

“Come on, just a poke—”

Erin advanced with the knife. The Drake backed away.

“No, no. I’m not going to be cut. Sorry, but find someone else.”

He turned, much to the crowd’s vocal disappointment. The Drake began walking back towards his friends, shaking his head as they motioned him to go back. Erin stared at his back for a moment. Then she sidled over to him. Erin raised the kitchen knife—

And she stabbed him in the back.

Aaargh!

He fell to the ground and rolled around. Selys’ friends put their claws over their mouths and Selys covered her eyes, but she could still hear the adventurer screaming.

She stabbed me! That crazy Human stabbed me!

He shouted at the crowd as he thrashed about.

“Quick! Call the Watch! Get a [Healer]! I’m going to die! I’m going—”

The adventurer was feeling at his back, for the spot where Erin had thrust into his back. He suddenly froze as his claws landed on the spot.

“Oh.”

Everyone stared at him. The adventurer looked around. Though his scales were black, Selys could see a slight red blush appear around his face. He got up very slowly and brushed the snow off of his gear. He sheepishly looked at Erin.

“I’m uh, okay.”

“Of course you are, silly!”

Erin laughed. She stabbed the adventurer in the stomach. Hard. He yelped and grabbed at his stomach, but now everyone could see there was not a speck of blood. There was a slight scratch on his scales, but that was all.

“And now, here’s my trick!”

Smiling, Erin showed the knife to the crowd, and then pulled a carrot out from the sack she’d brought. She tossed the carrot up and cut it in half with a cut slash of the knife. She caught the two pieces.

There was a brief pause, and then the crowd burst into applause. Beaming like a ringmaster, Erin bowed.

“Thank you! Anyone want to try? Free samples! I promise it doesn’t taste bad!”

“Ooh, me! Me!”

Someone shouted from the back of the crowd. A huge figure Selys recognized pushed his way forwards, shouting.

“Watch business! Clear aside! I’m a Senior Guardsman I’ll have you know—hey Erin!”

“Relc?”

Erin stared at the grinning Drake [Guardsman]. He stared down at the jar of red soup, licking his lips.

“Is it good?”

“Um, yeah! Want some?”

Erin hesitantly offered Relc a spoonful. He slurped it down.

“Sweet!”

Erin stared at Relc as he began flexing his muscles, poking at his biceps and trying to see if the potion had taken effect.

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘move along, nothing to see here’?”

He looked confused.

“Why would I do that? I want to watch! Hey, does your potion help if you get hit really hard?”

Erin hesitated. She hadn’t tried hitting herself over the head in her limited stress-testing of her defense soup.

“…Maybe?”

“Let’s find out!”

Relc walked over to the adventurer and punched him in the stomach. The black-scaled Drake doubled over, but it was a mark of the soups effects that he was able to stand back up and take a swing at Relc, which the Drake casually dodged.

Erin’s soup might have been an unknown quantity, but apparently Relc’s punching power was not. That opened the floodgates, and soon Erin had emptied one jar of her defense soup or as Relc wanted to call it—Scale Soup.

“Because it gives you another set of scales, get it? Look! I can barely cut this guy’s scales with the knife!”

“Ancestors! Stop!

Relc was chasing the black-scaled Drake around with the kitchen knife as Erin opened the jar filled with her blue, thick, warming soup.

A young human woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd to taste this first. She was apparently in the black-scaled Drake’s party, although she wasn’t helping him. She had a curved sword at her waist, which looked like a katana to Erin’s eyes. The girl stared at the young woman and smiled.

“Want a taste?”

“Sure.”

The young woman made a face as she downed the soup, but in a few seconds she was blinking and shedding clothes. She was actually giving off steam in the cold air, which made several children clamor to have a taste.

“So you’re selling this soup? It’s a potion for travelling, right?”

“And fighting Snow Golems! I bet you could give them a hug and they’d melt!”

Erin beamed. Some of the other adventurers were nodding. One, a Gnoll with several scars showing through his fur, eyed the soup appreciatively.

“I could go swimming in the coldest lake with this soup, yes? And the Scale Soup—it is like a Bark Potion, or something similar.”

The other adventurers were nodding. The young woman with the katana looked at Erin appraisingly.

“How much?”

Erin hesitated. She took a deep breath and tried to project confidence. This was it. Time to make the sale, Octavia style!

“Two gold coins. But if you buy in bulk I’ll throw in a fourth soup for every three you buy. And I’ll—”

Two gold coins?

The people around Erin exclaimed and she sagged. She couldn’t speak fast enough.

“Okay, okay, I could do one and a half—”

“You’re charging one and a half gold coins for this soup?”

The female adventurer stared at Erin. The girl wavered.

“I could do one coin…but I wouldn’t make much of a profit. Look, if you buy a lot of soups, then maybe I could—”

Selys couldn’t watch. She elbowed her way quickly to Erin.

“What they mean is, why are you selling it so cheaply, Erin? This is way too good to sell for so little!”

“Oh!”

The innkeeper brightened up. She scratched her head.

“Because…I can?”

The crowd looked at Erin suspiciously. She wavered, and cracked.

“Okay, if I sell a lot, I’ll earn a lot, right? If I charged like eight gold coins, I wouldn’t sell enough!”

“But the going rate for a Bark Potion is seventeen gold coins.”

Someone pointed that out. Erin’s eyes went wide.

“Whoa. Really? That’s…a lot.”

The adventurers were still staring at Erin. One of them, a far shorter Human who was rather squat, pointed at Erin.

“You said soup. Does that mean you aren’t an [Alchemist], Miss?”

“No, I’m uh, an [Innkeeper]. But wait! I’m actually a [Magical Innkeeper] so it makes sense! I have a Skill that lets me cook magical food!”

I’ve never heard of magical food.”

Erin waved her hand frantically as people began to grow increasingly skeptical.

“It’s true! I’ve got a Skill! I can cook food up and make it magical if I use the right ingredients! It’s like alchemy, I promise! But I can fry food, make it into a soup—it’s a lot faster, and a lot less messy than alchemy!”

“And you can make stuff like this?”

An experienced female Drake adventurer pointed to the half-empty jar of soup Erin was holding. It was still hot, still steaming despite having been on Erin’s shelf for six days. Erin nodded, smiling. The adventurer thought about that for a second.

“That’s not fair.”

Someone else nodded.

“You’ll run out every [Alchemist] in the city if you sell your products that cheap!”

Erin looked shocked and hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that! I can’t make healing soup—I mean, I’ve tried and haven’t figured it out yet. And my soups aren’t as good as really high-level potions. Octavia—she’s an [Alchemist]—said so.”

“Okay, but you’re still selling swords for salt. You’re telling us there are no disadvantages to your soups compared to potions?”

The adventurer with the katana pointed to Erin’s jar. The girl hesitated.

“Well…”

Every head stared fixedly at her, especially those who’d had her soup. Erin scuffed at the snow.

“…There is an expiry date on my soups. They don’t uh, last forever like potions.”

People exchanged glances. Erin looked guilty. Selys cleared her throat.

“That’s it?”

Erin nodded.

“My soups last the longest, but I can only make the best ones last about a week. And if I cook something else up, like a sauté, it goes bad in a few hours. Unless I keep it in my inn. It doesn’t go bad there because I have a Skill.”

The Gnoll adventurer peered at the jars.

“How does it go bad? Does it explode or turn into a fungi or turn acidic?”

“No! Nothing bad happens! Well, you throw up a lot.”

Again, more incredulous looks pinned Erin.

“That’s all?”

Erin wavered. This was getting into some personal and troubling territory she’d rather not remember.

“Not…exactly.”

The crowd tensed again, ready for the horrible details. Erin took a breath and turned red.

“You get…bad poops sometimes. Really bad poops.”

“Bad poops?”

Erin nodded.

Really bad. Like…you could pull down your pants and hit a target ten feet away with it.”

The crowd shuddered. Erin shuddered too. She hadn’t been the one with that reaction, thankfully. But Mrsha had drank half of one of the expired soups and—

“And then there’s throwing up. Sometimes it’s just bad, but I had one reaction where I threw up in all different colors.”

Relc stopped chasing the black-scaled Drake around.

“Ooh, like a rainbow?”

Erin thought about that. She shook her head.

“Exactly not like a rainbow. That definitely wasn’t what it looked like.”

“But that’s all? That’s the only side effect? Your potions—I mean, soups—go bad after a while and they make you sick?”

“Yup!”

Erin stared down at the ground. Octavia made lying about her products sound so easy. But Erin couldn’t do it. Maybe she could sell her potions for one gold coin after all?

In the crowd, the adventurers traded glances. The group with the black-scaled Drake nodded at each other, and the young woman with the katana cleared her throat. Erin looked hopefully at her. The adventurer felt at her belt pouch.

“…Do you do discounts for repeat customers?”

 

—-

 

A while later Erin walked back out of Liscor, a bag with two empty jars and a spoon carried over one shoulder. Her belt pouch was plump, and Erin was debating how to celebrate tonight. Maybe with a hotpot with a lot of meat? Mrsha would like that. Everyone would like that, but Mrsha would especially.

Erin already had orders for tomorrow, and she was going to have to talk with Octavia about ingredients for her cooking tonight. But for now she just enjoyed the sensation of profit. It made her feel…golden.

It was another normal day for Erin, filled with event and unevent in equal measures. It was a good day, and one she could smile about as she walked back to her inn. But she kept staring northwest, towards a road that was mostly abandoned. No one was travelling in the cold, partly due to the weather, partly for fear of Goblin attacks. But Erin kept looking, kept searching.

“Come on, Ryoka. What’s taking you so long?”

She murmured under her breath, her smile slipping just a bit. Because despite her doing so much, despite everything, what Erin was doing was waiting. She was waiting. Waiting for a friend.

And far away, a day’s journey from Liscor, closer to Celum in fact, a young woman was running down the road. She didn’t know about the magic door, and so she was running down side roads, through the snow, wary of monsters, bandits, and tree roots in the snow.

She was tired, cold, hungry. A Frost Faerie flew beside her. Ryoka Griffin ran towards Liscor. She was coming back, returning after such a long time. It felt like months had passed, but Ryoka was nearly there. There was only one day of hard running left.

In truth, Ryoka would have gotten to Liscor sooner, but Reynold had run over a group of bandits and broke an axle.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.08 T

In the depths of Liscor’s Dungeon, past rooms filled with deadly traps, magical ward spells and places where foul monsters made their homes, a skeleton sat on the ground. He held his head in his hands.

Literally in his hands. Toren’s skull stared blankly ahead. The skeleton sat with his back against a wall in a corridor without light. He wasn’t dead; he was undead. And he didn’t move.

Nothing approached him. Dark shadows slithered or walked or rolled or oozed or floated or teleported or crawled or moved in some other fashion past him, taking no notice of the skeleton. Nothing tried to kill Toren, which was an oddity in this dungeon. But the monsters and other things didn’t bother with Toren.

Not out of fear or lack of malice; there were things down here that felt no fear and relished the chance to hurt anything, even the undead. But they passed Toren by because he just sat and didn’t move. To most, he would simply be another skeleton, and there were more than a few in the dungeon. But Toren’s eyes burned dimly in their sockets.

He was still alive.

This is how it happened.

Toren had been approaching Liscor with the band of undead he had taken from Esthelm. He had been furious, plotting revenge against those stupid Goblins, the Knight and the Humans, and especially against Lyonette. She was a given in any revenge scenario. Toren just didn’t like her.

And then he had felt it. It wasn’t something snapping, and it wasn’t as if anything had been cut. Rather…it felt as though something had reached into the center of Toren’s being and yanked a part out.

The mana connection between him and Erin had vanished. It had vanished, and Toren realized in those next moments of panic and confusion that he was dying.

Because his supply of mana was gone, and Toren was running out. He had already run low on mana from fighting in Esthelm; now it seemed to be leaving his body faster with each passing second.

He had known he was going to die. And so Toren had reached out, feeling the spell in his body burning his life force away. He had searched for something, anything that could give him a few more seconds and found it.

Mana. Magic. In the bodies of the zombies and ghouls following him. So Toren had reached out and…taken it from them.

At the time he hadn’t understood it. Now, sitting in the darkness of Liscor’s dungeon, Toren did.  He had stolen the mana from the undead. They had it. It was what gave them the ability to move, to function. Without it they would become dead bodies, or bones. Like Toren.

But he had needed mana so Toren had reached out and taken it. It shouldn’t have been that easy, but these were the dead Toren controlled with his [Command Lesser Undead] Skill, and so in some way they were his. So he had taken their magic and felt it fill him. Not enough, but with more than he had had.

So he could steal magic. At least, from things he owned. That was a revelation to Toren, although again, he hadn’t been in a position to understand that at the time. Now the skeleton thought about this new ability distantly, without real interest.

He was like…a thing that sucked stuff…from things. Toren didn’t have an appropriate word in his head. A straw? That was it! A straw. He was like a Straw Skeleton, something that could feed on the mana of other things. Or maybe a sponge. A Sponge Skeleton.

Names didn’t matter. It was the learning that had saved Toren. He had taken the life of the undead, watched them fall to the ground, lifeless corpses once more. He had lived. But he had still been running out of mana.

So he had searched for more. Suddenly bereft of the thing that had kept him alive, Toren was now focused on it. As someone who had no oxygen would be focused on breathing. And there was magic all around him! It was in the earth, the air, the grass—

But far too little of it. Maybe a zombie could have existed on that ambient mana, but Toren was like a raging bonfire to their modest torches. Something in him was burning through magic at an incredible rate. Erin hadn’t provided Toren with as much mana as someone like Ceria or Pisces could have, but it had still been enough to sustain him.

Searching, Toren had felt something deep in the earth. Something strong. A source of power. He had searched for a way to get to that spot, and remembered the dungeon. He remembered where he had fallen in and desperately made his way to that spot.

There he had had met the small, white Gnoll that used to live at the inn. Mrsha? Mrsha. She had taken one look at Toren and fled. She had gone right to the very crevasse Toren was headed to, and actually tumbled in by herself!

She was clumsy. And she’d let go when Toren went to pull her out. He hadn’t been sure if he was going to stab her or let her go in any event; he just needed her out of the way so he could get into the dungeon. But she had fallen, and that was that.

It was Toren’s descent that mattered. He had carefully climbed down a few feet into the dungeon down the sheer drop, lost his grip, and tumbled to the bottom. He hadn’t broken—but he had fractured several bones.

But then he had been in the dungeon. And oh, blessedly, there had been magic.

It filled the dark hallways of the dungeon. It practically radiated from some rooms, and Toren knew the ambient energy could fuel any number of undead, or other monsters. It was enough to actually fill him with magical energy, enough so that he could reassemble himself a few times if he needed to.

That was a relief. But Toren hadn’t done any fighting then. Suddenly free of the need to survive, the skeleton had seen the small Gnoll running away into the darkness, and heard her howling. He had seen the adventurers and the big Drake kill a score of monsters with commendable skill and bravery. He had seen them climb out of the pit.

And he hadn’t felt a thing. Toren had sat down as the battle had raged, as killing—his favorite thing to do—had been occurring in spades. He had sat and been still. Because now Toren had realized the truth. The awful truth, which held him in place. That wouldn’t go away.

Erin Solstice was dead.

And it was his fault.

The link between Toren and Erin was gone. She was no longer providing him with mana. There could only be one reason for that, Toren knew.

She was gone. He had gotten her killed.

And he hadn’t meant it.

Okay, okay. He had deliberately pulled Erin countless miles away from her inn and left her deliberately near a cave with a sleeping bear in it. And maybe Toren had thrown some rocks at a pack of wolves as he’d walked off. But that had just been a playful attempt at murder, a casual homicide attempt! He hadn’t…hadn’t ever thought it would happen.

It was strange. Toren stirred. He lay down on his left side, turning his head to stare at the rest of his body. He had tried to get Erin killed back then, full of anger for being forced to pull her about, and those stupid bells, but he hadn’t thought she’d really get killed by the bear, deep down.

And that was strange. Toren was dead. He could tell when he was having odd thoughts. Why wouldn’t he have expected Erin to die? Everyone died. Even the undead.

Toren understood death, now. He knew intimately. And killing. He liked it. Toren had learned to kill animals, monsters, and people. It was all the same. All you had to do was stab things, preferably with something sharp, like a sword. Toren was good at it. He was a front-stabber, a backstabber, a side-stabber, and when he could get away with it, an eye-stabber.

Anything could die. Toren was sure he could kill anything with a sharp enough sword. But Erin? How could she die? She was…Erin. The person who’d given him purpose, the second (and more important) person he’d ever seen. His Master. Or Mistress. He hadn’t meant for her to die.

Toren paused.

Okay, he had meant for her to die. But part of him didn’t really expect it to happen. It just seemed impossible to Toren. Still seemed impossible, really.

He remembered Erin fighting Skinner, fighting off hundreds of undead, singing…and her immortal game with the Antinium. She was…had been…at the center of the world Toren knew. He could imagine killing anyone, imagine anyone’s dead body, but hers.

He couldn’t believe she would just die like that. But she had. And it was his fault. Because he had left her. And it was his duty to protect her.

He had abandoned that duty. Left it behind. And only now did Toren regret. Erin was dead. Dead and never coming back.

It was the first time he had ever thought of death as a bad thing. Dead things didn’t bother Toren. He was dead. So what if things never moved? It hadn’t mattered. But Erin—she wouldn’t move. Ever. She was dead. She would rot. She would never speak.

She was dead.

Forever.

There was nowhere to hide in his mind. Toren couldn’t lie to himself. He was dead, and there were no comforting illusions anymore. Only the painful reality.

She was dead.

And it was his fault.

After a while—after a bit of dust had gathered on his body, Toren moved. He stood up. Not because he felt better; Toren never forgot. Memory never faded for him; it was as fresh as the moment he had experienced things. But he felt like he had to do something. Sitting was not working.

Toren leaned against a wall, like he’d seen Erin do when she was upset. It didn’t make him feel better. Maybe it was the wrong wall?

He tried the same thing on the opposite wall. No luck. Toren thumped his skull against the stones. That didn’t help either. He looked around for his sword and remembered he’d dropped it, and everything else in his haste to get here.

So. He was weaponless, trapped in a dungeon full of horrible monsters, and Erin was dead. Toren stared at a wall. Aside from that last bit, things were fine.

Nothing was fine. Nothing would ever be fine. For a second, Toren debated walking out into the corridor and finding a monster to destroy his body a few times. Or maybe he should climb out of the dungeon and lie in the snow until he finally ran out of mana.

To Toren, the notion of oblivion held its own certain charm. But there was a part of him that was afraid of the blank look in the eyes of the dead. After all, they had a second chance, to come back as undead like Toren. But if he died, what then?

If Erin became a zombie, or a Ghoul, would there be anything of her in there? Toren paused. He didn’t want to see a dead Erin. And he didn’t want to die. There was a strong part of him that shouted that.

Yes. Death wasn’t an option for Toren. Despite it all, he wanted to live. And so Toren did. He dusted himself off, looked around, and began to think.

He was alive. Good. That was a good start. Now…what? He was in a dungeon, because he was on his own now. Because he had no mana—

No, scratch that. Because he used too much mana! In theory, he could live like an ordinary skeleton out on the surface. But it was rapidly becoming more apparent that Toren was no ordinary skeleton.

Obviously, because he could level. And think. And he had a name. But there was something else.

Toren felt at his body. His skeletal fingers encountered only yellow-white bone. Was there something off about him?

He carefully pulled a rib out and studied it. Nope. Just a normal rib. His rib. Toren threw it over his shoulder and waited.

After a second or two, the rib rose off the ground and flew back towards his body. It snapped back into place. Toren stared at his reattached rib.

Now that. That wasn’t normal. No other skeleton Toren had met—undead or otherwise—did that. But why did it happen?

Toren thought for a second, and then cast around. He didn’t look with any visual senses, but rather, with that strange ability he’d used out of desperation not long ago. He reached out and searched for the magic with his mind.

There. Toren regarded himself in his head. He could…sense the magic in him. There was a good bit of it, but it wasn’t uniform. There was a flow to it. It occupied his bones. In fact, his bones were the place where the mana was stored. Toren could see how it ran through the bones, absorbed by the spell that animated him from the dungeon. But there were also points where it concentrated, where his body used more mana.

Specific bones, in fact. Toren counted four of them.

Bone one? Second-lowest left rib. Bone two was his right shinbone. The tibia, not the fibula. Bone three was his clavicle. The left one. And the last bone…fourth rib from the top on the right side.

Why were they different? To Toren’s fingers, they were no different from—wait a second. He felt suspiciously at the ends of the rib. The two ‘special’ ones were slightly shorter than the others! And here—his tibia was shorter than the ones on his right side! He was unbalanced!

That indignation lasted only a second. Toren plucked at the bones, removing the ribs to look at them. Why were these bones different? Why did they use more mana, and why didn’t they match the rest of his body? Toren could only assume it was because he wasn’t one skeleton.

He was multiple skeletons.

The [Skeleton Knight] thought about this. Then he fainted.

 

—-

 

It wasn’t really fainting, honestly. Toren just swooned over and lay on the ground, like he’d seen Lyonette do once or twice when he’d dropped a bunch of Corusdeer intestines on her head. He got up after a while, but the shock was still there, making his hands tremble.

He was multiple skeletons. Toren felt betrayed by the knowledge. Why hadn’t anyone told him?

Then again…it made sense. Toren was far too intelligent and powerful to be a single skeleton. He nodded to himself, satisfied with that explanation. Then he frowned, or rather, thought about frowning.

He had the ability to sense mana. Not just ambient mana, but to look at something and tell where the mana was concentrated. It was useful, but also a mystery. Because Toren had never learned the [Mana Sense] Skill, if that even was a Skill. So that meant…Toren took several minutes to figure this one out. When he had it he slapped his head off his body in surprise.

You could have a skill which was not a Skill.

It was a mind-blowing revelation. And it immediately made Toren question everything he thought he had known. If you could be good at something without a Skill—like sword fighting, why not learn as much as you could instead of trying to level up and gain Skills?

Maybe…maybe because other people weren’t as good at learning as Toren? He was great at learning. He’d learned that you couldn’t bring dead fish into the inn (unless they were carefully dried off and not in pieces), how to light fires, how to carry plates without breaking them, how to bother Erin so she’d let him go outside…

But it occurred to Toren that there were things he could do that he didn’t know he could do. His mana sensing abilities, for one. That was odd. Could all skeletons do that? Could all living people?

No. Surely not. But if Toren could do that, what else could he make his body do?

He wasn’t sure. It was another thing to explore, but right now Toren was more concerned with survival. Because he would survive. He would live. He didn’t know how to die. He must have forgotten how.

Plus, it stood to reason that Toren was better at living than at dying. He lived all the time, and he’d only died once (as far as he knew). He must not have been very good at it, to have only died once.

So live. And part of living was exploring, finding his whereabouts. Toren looked around.

It was dark. That didn’t bother Toren. But in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. The corridor was long, wide, tall, and filled with other unhelpful adjectives. Toren had been here before and knew the corridor just led to other intersections and passageways of the same.

This place was a labyrinth. And unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, it was filled with monsters. Toren had seen them the first time he’d fallen down here and run away from an enchanted suit of armor.

He’d run around, found a huge staircase going up, run through several rooms, one filled with fire, another with some kind of spell trap he’d dashed through, and then found himself in a room with a bunch of statues and a hole in the wall. He’d dashed out of that and met a bunch of Goblins, who’d been very helpful and helped him kill that blasted suit of armor out on the surface.

So in short, Toren had no idea where he was. He only knew there were trapped rooms ‘above’, a labyrinth ‘here’ filled with monsters, and presumably a lot more dungeon he hadn’t explored. But there was a way out.

For now, Toren dismissed the idea of trying to find a way out of the dungeon. That, ironically, was the most dangerous option for him, lacking a mana source as he was. To go above he’d need a mana potion, or a way of generating more magic to survive off of. So he’d have to stay here.

With the monsters.

Toren patted his side and remembered he’d left his sword somewhere. He looked for it.

There. Toren picked up a somewhat dulled longsword and inspected it critically. It was iron, the cross guard cracked, and covered with dried blood on a few spots. Not ideal for cutting, but it would do.

Sword? Check. Toren needed armor, a shield, and maybe a safe place to run to if he found trouble. He went searching.

The first thing Toren found was a bloodstain. It was yellow. He stared at it, and then noticed the burst sack of flesh next to it. It looked squished. Toren inspected the remains for anything interesting.

Nope. Something had been killed, and by a particularly heavy blow. That was all.

The skeleton went on. The next thing he found was the killer. It was a huge, bear-like creature, all fur and claw, but it had been holding a maul. It was dead. It had one of its hands grasping a short stinger in its side; practically a scratch. But Toren stared at the creature’s bared teeth and twisted expression of pain and knew it had died from poison.

Odd. The bear-thing sort of resembled a Gnoll. Toren propped it up against a wall so he could investigate it better. It was fur-chested, and had no garments except for a loincloth which hid…Toren peeled it away…more of the beast. That was disappointing. Toren had always wondered what clothing hid, but it just turned out to be more of the same. He poked dismissively at a dangling bit of the creature and then inspected its face.

There were definitely Gnoll characteristics here, but this creature had a far broader back, and Gnolls were already pretty big. The teeth were bigger, the head was squatter and actually seemed a bit smaller, and this not-Gnoll had claws that were long and dangerous, not like a Gnoll’s paws at all.

Was it some kind of relative of the Gnolls? Toren shook his head. He eyed the maul and decided it wasn’t for him either. Too heavy.

It was a shame to just leave the dead not-Gnoll here, though. Toren thought it would have made an excellent zombie; practically impossible to kill. But he couldn’t raise the dead, just command them. So he left it there and went on.

Down the corridor, past glowing runes on the walls. Toren stared at a couple of them as they lit up, sensing his presence. He didn’t think much of them until he passed by a cluster of them. They turned bright green, flared up, and an explosion blew the skeleton to bits.

In the time it took for Toren to reassemble, he concluded that the labyrinth was probably full of such traps. He could sense the magic clustering around them. Toren got up, dropped his sword, went back for the maul next to the dead not-Gnoll and ran back. He began furiously smashing the heavy weapon into the runes on the wall, but didn’t make a dent, even when the maul’s head snapped off the sturdy wooden shaft.

Okay, the runes were there to stay. Toren just had to avoid them. He could do that. He stomped past the runes, skirting them by sticking to the other side of the corridor. He made it ten more steps, and then fell into a pit trap.

That hadn’t been his fault! True, after he’d angrily hauled himself out Toren could see the upraised plate of stone that had opened the ground soon after to send him falling into a short pit full of sharp, stone spikes and bones. But how was he supposed to know it had been there?

Toren walked off, looking closely at the ground and walls and ceiling. He spotted five more traps down this corridor, avoided them all, and then noticed the dead spider at the end of the corridor. It was quite dead; something had burnt it to a crisp. Quite recently too, because it was still a bit hot.

Another monster. Well, well. Toren found he was at a T-intersection and headed left. He frowned as he noticed bits of shell, or some other black fragments on the ground. Then he noticed the webbing and slowed down. When he got to the open doorway at the end, Toren cautiously poked his head through the entryway and looked up.

Oh my. That was the skeleton’s thought. Toren’s gaze showed him a huge circular column room, far taller vertically than it was horizontally. And stretching the entire height of the room, sitting in webs, tending to huge cocoons of their young hanging from the walls, the ceiling, bunched together like grapes, were skittering shadows, creeping shapes.

Shield Spiders.

Toren eyed them. None of the spiders had picked up he was here, so he carefully tiptoed backwards. He wasn’t afraid of spiders, but some of them were big. Was that how big Shield Spiders got? A few of the ones near the top were bigger than Rock Crabs.

The [Tactician] in Toren’s head told him that going into that room and fighting like he normally did was sheer suicide. The rest of Toren agreed. But looking wouldn’t hurt. He poked his head back around and saw something that made him go suddenly still.

Pawn. Toren’s keen not-eyes picked out a silent shape, struggling, being hauled by several Shield Spiders into the room from another entrance. It was Pawn! Toren watched with interest as the Antinium was dragged towards a cocoon. It ruptured, and countless tiny spiders swarmed out. They covered the Antinium as Pawn fought, but there were too many and he was covered in webs. In moments, the frantic thrashing slowed. The Shield Spiderlings continued to gnaw at their prey. Pawn was dead.

Toren wondered what Erin would have thought of that. He felt bad for Pawn. But Pawn was dead. And oh, look! Toren spotted another Pawn being dragged into the room. This Pawn was already dead.

Two Pawns? Wait a second. Toren’s eyes would have narrowed had he skin. There weren’t two Pawns. And then he saw more Antinium being dragged in, and more partially eaten, hung in the webbing.

Hold on a moment. More Antinium? Toren thought about that and concluded maybe these weren’t Pawn. They could have just been…the others that sometimes came to Erin’s inn. But they didn’t have names, so Toren didn’t remember them. He stared at all the other not-Pawns and shrugged. What were Antinium doing down here anyways? Didn’t they know it was dangerous?

Toren turned away from the nest of Shield Spiders and noticed something else interesting. Caught in the detritus around the spider’s lair, some other remnants of their victims had fallen. Toren saw a stinger, like the one he’d seen earlier, a crimson pincher, devoid of a body, a rotted arm that seemed far too thin and small to have belonged to a Human, and a head. It stared at Toren and he stared back. Well, there were apparently giant centipedes down here as well.

There were so many monsters about! Okay, perhaps they weren’t popping out every two feet, but the dungeon’s population was clearly actively growing and being cut back down to size as monsters fought with each other and guarded their lairs.

Toren poked his head around the corner again, and eyed the bulging cavern of Shield Spiders and the obscenely glistening eggs hanging from every web. He thought for a second about cause and effect, about actions and consequences, about the nature of causality in general. Then he got bored, threw a stone at the nearest cluster of eggs and ran for it.

Around two dozen angry Shield Spiders chased Toren down the corridor as he sprinted past all the traps he’d found. He stopped at the intersection and looked back. None of the Shield Spiders had made it to him. They’d all died at the first trap, which Toren had run right past since he could see the magical runes hidden in the grime.

The Shield Spiders, or what was left of them, were sprawled around the trap, mostly in pieces. Toren stared at the runes. They weren’t glowing now, but he was curious as to how it had killed the Shield Spiders.

Toren paused, looked about, and went back to find more Shield Spiders. When he eventually managed to lure a few towards the trap, Toren was treated to a horrific sight.

The Shield Spiders went pop as they crossed over the trapped bit of floor. There was no waiting about, no warning. They just exploded from the insides, as if something had blown a huge bubble of air right into their bellies and made them burst.

It was so entertaining that Toren made eight more spiders activate the trap, until the magic stopped working and he had to stomp the last spider to death with his foot. But though the energy of the spell had been exhausted, Toren could sense the latent magic in the dungeon slowly working to replenish it.

So, the traps were here to stay. The monsters either learned to avoid them, or died. And they tended to thrive, if only on a diet of Antinium and each other. Toren nodded to himself as he walked away from the corridor, making a mental note to come back and have fun exploding spiders at a later date. He took another left, then a right, flattened himself against a wall when he heard a sound, and then saw the corridor turn into stairs.

Not the same stairs that led up to the rooms with traps. The purple flames in Toren’s eye sockets narrowed to a pinpoint as he stared up the short staircase. What was this now? He could see more runes on an overhang where the wall went down to block off the corridor, leaving only a metal door in its place. They glowed above the simple door. Not a spell, but words. A message, etched in stone and enchanted to last forever.

Toren eyed the letters. They were all interconnected. It was a flowing, elegant script. And what was most curious to Toren—they weren’t the words Erin or any of the people around Liscor used. This language was different entirely.

It was a curious thing that everyone mostly spoke the same language to Toren, yet they wrote differently. But Toren could read dead languages and living ones with ease. They were just meaning, and his undead mind could translate any meaning.

Not that these words necessarily mattered. These said the usual things Toren was used to reading. He read things all the time in Erin’s inn. They were all the same.

Special on Fish! 2 sp. for all you can eat!

No taking dishes! That means you, Relc!

Horrible death awaits all those who enter this place. Your bodies shall be taken and made part of the Mother of Graves.

It was all the same, really. Toren dismissively walked past the etched warnings on the wall and went up the steps. He opened the door and disappeared through. Ten seconds later he walked quickly back out of the door, shut it, and decided to go somewhere else at speed. Things burst through the doorway, chasing him, but they didn’t follow him far.

 

—-

 

And then Toren found the dead adventurer.

She wasn’t any more special that the last ones Toren had met, or so he felt on first glance. There were dead adventurers, dead monsters, dead animals—a few birds, of all things, probably lost from above. But there was something this adventurer had that the other bodies Toren had come across did not.

A cloak.

It was wrapped around her. The adventurer’s flesh was rotted, although Toren could still see her bared teeth, snarling in defiance. She had an open hand, fingers twisted and broken. She had probably been holding a sword, but whomever—or whatever—had killed her had taken it, ripping it out of her death grip to do so.

Toren could also tell she was dead because most adventurers had a throat. Hers was missing.

The other dead people lying around her looked like they’d also gone down fighting. There were twelve bodies in all, fairly well preserved. Toren wasn’t sure if they were freshly dead, really dead, or just old. As skeleton, he didn’t particularly care about the effects of decomposition, since everyone eventually ended up looking like him.

But the cloak. It was wrapped around the adventuress. Toren gingerly bent and tugged it away from the dead woman. He had to undo the clasp at the neck, but then it was in his hands. He held it in front of him, appraising it.

It was…well, it was a ragged brown cloak, a bit holey, and certainly nothing to write home about. If Toren had a home. And if Erin was alive to write to. But it spoke to him.

There was something in the skeleton’s mind that told him the cloak was important. It wasn’t the [Tactician] bit of him, or the warrior, or the bit that said that he could wash the cloak so Erin wouldn’t complain that it smelled—no, this was something else. A new part of Toren, coming to life, speaking to the rest of him.

It was a vague sense of style. And Toren felt the cloak had style in spades, especially around his shoulders.

Carefully, he threw the cloak around him and put it on. The skeleton looked at himself. He couldn’t see the general impression he made with the cloak on, but he felt it looked good.

Clothing. Fashion. Style. These weren’t words that had ever interested Toren, but the cloak had awoken something in him. Erin had always been fussing about clothes, whether they were ripped, dirty, on or or—she had a big problem with Toren staring at her without clothing.

Maybe this was more important than Toren had thought? The skeleton pondered this as he looked for something to admire himself with. After all, clothing wasn’t like armor. It could barely stop a bad sneeze, let alone a sword thrust. So maybe the value of clothes was simply in…looking good.

Aha! Toren found what he wanted in the dead adventuress’ pack. He pulled out a broken fragment that shone in the darkness. A piece of a mirror, perhaps. Yes, Toren rifled around in the dead adventuress’ pack and found the other fragments, all smashed. He carefully reassembled them on the ground and studied himself.

A skeleton wearing a cloak stared up at Toren. He looked at it in shock. It was a skeleton. With a cloak. That was it.

Not that cool at all.

Toren drooped. He’d really thought the cloak would look amazing on him, but it didn’t. It just sort of sagged on his body. It didn’t blow in the wind! Mainly because there was no wind in the dungeon.

He tore the cloak off and hurled it on the ground. For good measure, Toren stamped on it. He didn’t look good. Erin looked good in some clothing. Toren distinctly remembered how she’d looked after the battle with Skinner, her shirt and pants torn, covered in blood and grime and guts. That was a look. Toren could admire that, and that annoying [Knight] he’d fought in Esthelm. If he, Toren, were fighting an opponent that shiny, he’d feel a bit impressed.

They had style. Toren did not. He kicked at the cloak, stared at it, and then picked it back up and lovingly stroked it. It was a good cloak. It spoke to him. Yes, it wasn’t the cloak’s fault; it was Toren’s! He just wasn’t wearing enough to make the cloak look good.

Toren looked around. There was a group of dead adventurers here. They all had clothes. Toren bent down and began claiming it. He didn’t know why he was doing it. It was just a thought.

Erin had worn clothing. So Toren would too. Just to see what it was like. Because anything that reminded Toren of Erin hurt—but it hurt more when he tried to forget.

So Toren dressed himself for the first time since he’d been created. It was hard. Not because he didn’t have a surplus of garments to wear, but because it was so hard getting it off the dead bodies without ripping anything! Toren had never learned what buttons or belts or clips were. He ruined a good deal of pants before he realized they were attached to the waist and that pulling too hard would just pull the pants and the legs straight off the corpse.

But he did have clothing. Toren claimed most of it from the dead adventuress, for the sheer reason that if she was fashionable enough to use a cloak, she probably had good taste. She had been wearing leather armor, pierced in some places, over her clothes. Toren ignored that at first, and began slipping on her clothes.

They hung on him. Toren stared at himself in the mirror and picked disconsolately at the very loose, very ill-fitting clothes. The adventuress hadn’t been that big, but she had skin. Toren didn’t.

But still, he persisted. Toren grabbed the shirt off of someone else and tore it up to pad out his body so the shirt would fit. He began assembling the garments, putting them on. Tattered cloak, pants, shirt…Toren had to put the stiff leather armor underneath the clothes to pad out the clothing on his thin frame. That made him sufficiently bulky.

Actually, Toren considered himself normal and everyone else obscenely fat and heavy. The depths of anorexia wouldn’t come close to Toren’s frame. At least, not until the end.

Now looking somewhat decently Human-shaped, Toren attempted to figure out where the rest of the clothing on the dead adventurer went. He’d seen Erin use a bra—and seen her naked for that matter, much to her displeasure—but he couldn’t see the point on his body.

Still, there wasn’t much point to clothes to begin with, so why quibble? Toren stuffed some rags into the bra and patted them to make everything look right. Then he realized he needed something for his head. Because if he was going to look like a Human, like Erin, he had to get rid of the grinning skull that stared back at him in the mirror as well. Toren thought about how to do this.

Hats were no good. He had a hood on the cloak, but from the front Toren’s features would be fairly obvious. Toren thought about this and eyed the dead adventuress’ face. He could cut it off, but faces probably weren’t that easy to fake. Plus, it was already rotting, which didn’t bother Toren, but the flies did.

A…mask. Yes, that was the thing. Toren looked for a mask, but none of the adventurers had one. Slightly put out, he wondered where he might make something to hide his face and had a brilliant idea.

The dead Shield Spiders had lovely carapaces. True, many of them were in pieces from the trap, but the wonderful thing about spiders was that they had webbing. A bit of work and Toren came up with a mask that covered his entire face. He gingerly stuck it to the front of his skull with some web and trooped back to the mirror to inspect his new look.

The skeleton held his breath as the skeleton on the ground stepped into vision. Only, in the mirror, there was no skeleton at all.

A slim, female figure stared up at Toren. She was female because she had bulges in the right place, and because she had some curves that Toren had worked really hard to get right. She was wearing dirty clothing, ragged and tattered, wrapped and held in place with cloth fragments. The look actually wasn’t that bad and the bindings added to the ‘warrior’ look in Toren’s head.

But what really drew the mysterious figure together were the mask and the cloak. The dark brown cloak swirled around the female warrior as she lifted one gloved hand to adjust the mask on her face. The mask was dark black, the surface shiny and rough. It covered her face, leaving only two narrow slits for eyes—

Toren’s admiration halted as he realized the eyes on the figure in the mirror were glowing. Dismayed, he bent and saw two purple flames flickering in the eyeholes of his mask. Toren cursed. Those gave him away! He thought hard. Could he get away with closing the gaps in the mask off? No, but then he wouldn’t be able to see. What about making the flames dimmer? Could he do that?

In the mirror, Toren saw the flames in the figure’s eyes slowly dim. They grew smaller and smaller and then, quite suddenly, went out.

Toren jerked back. He felt at his eyes, looked around. He could still see! But when he looked in the mirror, only dark slits on the mask were visible. You couldn’t tell who was looking out. Anyone could have been underneath. A Human, or a Drake—no, Drakes had tails. Or a Gnoll—but Gnolls were bigger…

Okay, there could be any kind of Human underneath. Or a half-Elf! The figure straightened up. She admired her ragged look, her masked face, her thin but not undead-thin frame. She struck a pose and felt the innards of her ‘body’ shift, held in place by sticky Shield Spider webbing and the clothing she wore.

And she smiled. She traced a finger over her mask in a smile.

Toren grinned. She had style.

 

—-

 

An hour later, Toren had to concede that style had its disadvantages. When she’d gotten bored of running about the dungeon, posing and admiring herself in the mirror, she’d begun testing out the limits of her new form.

Because it was a new body, or as a good as one. Toren felt as though this new shape was person unto itself. Herself. This new Toren was more Erin-like, more Human. She had more weaknesses like this, but Toren felt as though she understood more of Erin this way.

And one of the things she understood was how annoying clothes were. Toren had the opportunity to skirmish with a few creatures in the time after she’d dressed. The first opponents she’d found were some rather unpleasantly large maggots, as high as Toren’s midriff and wider than she was, coming to feast on the bodies.

Toren had killed them, if only because she felt she owed the dead group of adventurers that. But it had been considerably harder than she’d expected. She’d tried to roll and dive as the maggots leapt blindly at her, trying to bring her down, and found she was slower, less nimble.

Fighting with clothes on made Toren feel like she was moving in slow-motion. She couldn’t roll and dive out of the way, and she wasn’t able to bend at crazy angles to slash her foes like normal. She still killed the maggots of course; they were slow blobs and once you punctured their admittedly thick hides they spewed their guts.

But that led to the second problem, which was that Toren’s wonderful clothes were now dirty! She brushed at the slime covering her arms, quite upset about the sudden change in her appearance. So this was why Erin kept telling him not to bring dirty things into her inn! She could only imagine how hard she’d have to scrub to get the stains out.

But Toren was happy, in a way she couldn’t describe. She ran through the dungeon, happily hacking at things, running away, and in general enjoying herself. This was something new, something exciting! It was a challenge to fight without damaging her clothes, and it was amusing to think that no one had any clue that there was a skeleton stabbing them to death, rather than a regular living being.

Only, there was no one to share that knowledge with! Until Toren met the group of adventurers, that was.

It was some time after Toren had dressed herself. She couldn’t have said when, only that she’d acquired a good splattering of blood on top of her clothes, and leveled up. Time was hard to tell in the dungeon. But as Toren was walking down the halls, reflecting that she would need a new blade soon—hers was quite dull from use—she heard a sound.

Immediately she stiffened and got ready to fight. Or run. It was impossible to play dead, dressed as she was. But these sounds weren’t the noises a monster would make. Toren turned her head in disbelief as she heard voices.

“—Freezing my beard off here, Insill! Why in the name of forge fire are we down here without backup?”

“You don’t have a beard, Dasha. And the magical food that [Innkeeper] fed us only lets us use one enchantment at a time, remember?”

“Huh. She didn’t know that.”

“But she gave us back our coin, and we’re set for the next eight hours. Deal with the cold. Only a few groups know about her magical cooking, and so we have a chance.”

Toren listened with fascination to the two voices arguing. People? Down here? Then a growling voice, soft and commanding, interrupted.

“A single enchantment won’t do us any good if we’re attacked by something truly dangerous. We should be quiet. We are scouting. Information about this new part of the dungeon is worth its weight in gold, but only if we get back alive.”

The voices cut off at once. Toren paused. They were just up ahead. She had a rough map of this part of the dungeon in her head, and she knew they were right next to the hole she’d fallen through. Had these adventurers come down the same way? And if they had, what was Toren going to do about them?

Part of Toren knew exactly what to do. Kill them. That was what he’d always done. Kill anything that moved, because he might level! But she wavered. She wondered—

And then soft yellow light flooded the hallway. It stunned Toren, because she’d been in the darkness so long she’d forgotten what light was like. It illuminated the dark corridor, threw her form into relief. She spotted the group of five adventurers at the same time they saw her.

They were five. Two were clearly warriors; a short woman with an axe in front wearing armor, standing next to a young woman with a curved sword. A Gnoll and a hooded figure were looking over their shoulders as they walked behind the warriors, guarding the rear. The Gnoll held a shortbow, and the hooded figure held something thick and flat in one furred hand. They were all following a Drake with black scales, who was dressed in leather armor. He had a dagger out. They all froze when they saw Toren.

“Watch out!”

The Gnoll snapped the words first. He lifted the bow up, but the hooded [Mage] grabbed his arm.

“Don’t shoot! It’s an adventurer!”

Toren had been charging forwards, ready to cut into the group and slay the [Mage] with her Skill before escaping. But she halted when she heard those words.

An adventurer. They thought she was like them! For a second, Toren’s head was filled with clouds, and she felt bliss permeate every inch of her being.

They thought she looked like one of them. Her clothing had worked! For that reason alone, Toren didn’t immediately try to kill them all.

Still, there was tension in the air as the adventurers backed away from Toren. The Gnoll thrust the [Mage]’s hand away and nocked his bow. He didn’t aim at Toren, but the threat was there. The two warriors conferred with the Drake with the dagger and he called out cautiously towards Toren.

“Hallo? We’re friendly! Are you an adventurer? Are you lost? Look—we’re not threats!”

He sheathed the dagger at his waist, and the other adventurers lowered their weapons. After a moment’s hesitation, Toren lowered her sword. She wanted to see what would happen if she did.

“Great! Uh—are you okay?”

Now this…was a problem. Toren hesitated, because she couldn’t speak. When he’d been running around and Erin had been alive, he’d often wished he could open his mouth and say something. But unlike the spell that had given him vision, it hadn’t seen fit to give him intangible vocal chords as well. And now she was facing a situation where not speaking might get tricky.

Toren improvised. She raised her hand hesitantly and waved it back and forth. The adventurers watched her carefully, and she saw them turn to whisper to each other. The black-scaled Drake who seemed to be acting as their spokesperson called out.

“Are you…mute? Can you talk?”

Toren nodded to the first question and then shook her head. The Drake turned to his companions. He whispered, but Toren didn’t have ears and so his magical hearing far eclipsed that of anyone but a Gnoll’s.

“I think it might be safe. Come on, let’s go over!”

“You go up. I will stay back with Anith. Best just in case, no?”

The Gnoll whispered back. The Drake nodded and he and the two females walked forwards to meet Toren. She stared at the three of them. They stared back.

“Dead gods, is that a mask?”

The shorter woman, who had arms like a [Blacksmith] exclaimed the instant she got close to Toren. She was holding a metal lantern up and she shone it at Toren’s face. The skeleton held her breath. This was the moment of truth.

“Stop that! You’re blinding her!”

The young woman swatted the lantern down. She was Human, and holding a curved blade Toren couldn’t help but admire. He had never seen a katana before, so unlike Erin, he couldn’t make the mistake of assuming it was one. The sword the woman held was no katana—it was too wide, and the tip was double-edged. It was a long blade, and the young woman held it casually at her side as she spoke to the short woman with the axe. But she was watching Toren warily out of the corner of her eye as she spoke.

The Drake was the next person to speak. Toren looked down at him. He was thinner and shorter than any other male Drake she’d seen, but friendly enough. He grinned up at her, looking slightly nervous.

“Sorry about that. It’s just that we didn’t expect to find anyone down here. What are you doing alone?”

Toren had no good answer, so she shrugged. She was quite entertained by the notion that they thought she was like them, and wondered if she should disabuse them by stabbing them in the face. But she thought it would be more entertaining to see how long she could keep up the ruse.

“You can’t speak, right! Sorry. Uh—what should I say?”

The Drake turned to the two warriors. The young woman with the curved sword frowned.

“Are you hurt?”

Toren shook her head.

“Are you lost?”

Again, a shake of the head. The adventuress paused.

“So you’re a solo adventurer, exploring alone?”

Toren hesitated, and then nodded her head. The Drake’s jaw fell open.

“No way. You mean you’re down here—but we thought—how long have you been here?”

The skeleton masquerading as an adventurer shrugged. She was really enjoying this. She held up her sword to show them the bloodstains, and the short woman exclaimed when she lifted her lantern to see.

“Burn my beard, that’s one battered sword! What have you been doing, smashing rocks with it? That thing deserves to be melted down for scrap, not used as a weapon!”

Toren glared at the short woman as the young woman with the curved blade rolled her eyes. She rounded on her companion, sounding irate.

“For the last time, you don’t have a beard, Dasha! Why do you keep saying that?”

“It’s what my people say! Don’t judge me, long legs!”

“You’re only part-Dwarf! And I’m only a head and a half taller than you are!”

“I was raised by Dwarves, not Humans, alright?”

The two began to argue, completely forgetting Toren was there. She scratched at the back of her hooded head. The Drake sidled closer to her.

“Sorry about that. We’re uh, a newer team. That’s your weapon?”

Toren nodded again. She could understand the part-Dwarf warrior’s point. She didn’t like having the sword either. She wondered if she could take the one the young woman had…

“Insill!”

A voice rang out from behind the Drake, cutting the argument between the two female adventurers short. Insill turned and waved.

“Come on over! I think there’s no danger!”

He turned sheepishly to Toren.

“Sorry about that. You know how it is with dungeons.”

Toren nodded understandingly. They were being quite smart. The foolish thing was trusting her. She eyed the other two adventurers as they came over. One was a Gnoll and the other—

There were five adventurers. Two Humans, a Drake, a Gnoll and a…Toren squinted at the fifth member of the group. The last person was just weird. He had fur and looked sort of like a Gnoll, but very not at the same time. Where Gnolls had a distinct, thickset build and a certain scruffiness to their fur, this person was different. His fur was black, sleek, and he had a more elongated head, closer to a dog than the mixed appearance of a Gnoll.

If Toren had known about cultures from Erin’s world, she would have said the fifth person looked like one of the Egyptian gods, like Anubis, perhaps. He was slightly taller and thinner than the average Human male, and he was carrying a book which glowed faintly in one of his paws.

“Who is this, Insill?”

“I think she’s a solo adventurer, Anith.”

“In a new dungeon?”

Shock ran through the [Mage]’s voice. The other adventurers looked at Toren, who silently preened in their stares. At last, the Gnoll spoke.

“Well, we shall not bother you, yes? We are exploring this dungeon as you are, Miss Adventurer. Unless there is something you wish to warn us of?”

Toren thought about all the horrible ways to die she’d discovered and thought about how much she cared for this group’s wellbeing. She shook her head lightly.

“In that case, we shall be on our way.”

The Gnoll nodded, but the Drake stopped him.

“Hold on Larr! We should ask if we can team up!”

“Team up?”

The others stared at Insill in surprise, but the Drake nodded.

“She clearly knows the area if she’s been down here. And there’s safety in numbers. What about a team up? We’ll split the loot evenly amongst us all.”

The idea threw Toren far more than the other adventurers. Her? Team up with them? For what purpose? But then the idea tickled her. Why not? She felt good after being taken for an adventurer, and she could always betray them after they killed some things. She nodded, the adventurers conferred, their leader, the [Mage] agreed, and so it was done.

A few minutes later, Toren found the group introducing themselves to her, which was another unique experience. Erin had never introduced anyone to Toren. But now the black-scaled Drake, Insill, was doing so for Toren.

“This is Dasha and Pekona, our [Warriors]. Well, I say [Warriors], but Dasha’s an [Axe Fighter] and Pekona’s a [Blade Dancer].”

The short, part-Dwarf woman and the young woman with the curved sword nodded to Toren, Pekona warily, Dasha still grumbling about the quality of Toren’s sword and arguing with Pekona. Insill whispered to Toren as he gestured to Dasha’s notable lack of height.

“She’s got a bit of Dwarf blood in her family. She’s part Terandrian, you see.”

Toren nodded as if she understood any of that. Insill pointed to the Gnoll next.

“This is Larr from the Hawkarrow Tribe.”

“Pleased.”

The Gnoll nodded, and Insill turned to the hooded, dog-like [Mage].

“And I am Anith. The [Mage] and party leader. I hope to work well with you, Miss Adventurer.”

He reached out and Toren gingerly mimicked his handshake. She must have done it alright, because Anith said nothing about it. He nodded to her mask.

“I wish that I could know your name, or identity. But I suppose your nature is a secret by choice, so I shall respect it.”

Toren bowed her head. And Anith nodded.

“He’s from the Duskclaw Tribe—Jackals.”

Insill explained as Anith walked forwards to break up the argument again. He grinned up at Toren.

“Oh, and I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Insill. I’m the group’s [Rogue]. Notice the black scales? I can hide in the dark like a shadow, and I’ll be making sure we don’t run into any traps.”

Toren stared at him. Insill’s bravado faded a bit. He coughed and twitched his tail.

“So…shall we go?”

 

—-

 

Toren walked with a group of adventurers in the middle of the dungeon. It was a novel experience, mainly because they weren’t trying to kill her, and she was only contemplating doing that to them.

The reason the adventurers were down in the dungeon was a mystery to Toren. She assumed they were here to…well, he didn’t actually know much about what adventurers did. That was a hole in her understanding of the world. They killed things, but for what reason Toren had no idea. She thought they might just do it because they were bored, and approved of the idea.

And none of them were about to tell her, even if Toren asked, which she couldn’t. The group of adventurers, known collectively as Vuliel Drae—which meant something to Anith and no one else—moved in silence. They let their [Rogue], Insill, take the lead and he carefully moved down the corridor, checking for traps and keeping an eye out for monsters as they slowly went from corridor to corridor, Anith mapping their route in his book.

It was boring, and not boring at the same time. Toren was bored by the slow progress, and the way that the adventurers let Insill check every tile and wall before moving on. She was bored by the way the Drake meticulously made Dasha shine her lantern down each corridor, and the way Larr kept glancing behind in case of an ambush while Pekona scanned in every direction as if she was afraid of an attack out of one of the walls.

But she was delighted by the company, all the same. Real people, in the dungeon. Soon to be dead people, perhaps, but real people. And they thought Toren was one of them.

There was something…wonderful about that thought. Toren would have loved to explore the feeling, but then they came to a corridor and Toren saw the trap.

It glowed in her magical vision. The runes were shining across the entire hallway, some angled towards the group. There were runes on the ground ahead of Insill as the Drake cautiously advanced, and presumably they’d all fire if he touched them.

And the Drake didn’t notice. Maybe it was because they were magical, and covered by the grime, or he’d just slipped up. Either way, Toren saw the danger and realized he was about to trigger them.

The skeleton thought fast. It was let the adventurers walk into the trap and risk getting damaged herself or stop them. So Toren moved. She dashed forwards as Insill was about to cross the first room. She reached out and punched Insill in the back of the head.

Gah!

He staggered, but Toren’s hand pulled him back. The adventurers cried out as Toren whirled to face them. She threw her arms out as Pekona turned her blade towards Toren and Larr raised his bow.

“What the—”

“Hold, hold!”

Anith shouted to stop the others. He helped Insill up as the other adventurers stared hostilely at Toren.

“What was that for?”

Insill looked hurt and confused, the others suspicious. Toren hesitated, and then pointed down at the runes only she could see.

“What? What are—”

Insill came forwards, the others watching Toren. He pushed gingerly at the dirt on the ground with the tip of his dagger and then swore and leapt backwards as he saw the shining runes underneath.

“It’s a trap! I nearly walked into it!”

What? How come you didn’t see it?”

Pekona stared at Insill. His tail wrapped around his leg as he hunched his shoulders.

“I don’t know! My Skill didn’t go off—”

“It might have been hidden by magic that nullified your Skill.”

Anith knelt by the runes, staring at them grimly. He looked up at Toren, and to the skeleton’s amazement, bowed his head towards her!

“You saved us. Thank you.”

The other adventurers reacted immediately. They lowered their weapons, looking ashamed. Dasha stroked at her chin, as if she had a beard. She was sweating a bit as she eyed the glowing runes.

“Dead gods, you did save us. Insill didn’t spot a thing.”

“Yeah, but—you didn’t have to hit me!”

Insill looked hurt. Instantly, Pekona whirled on him, looking irate.

“How else was she supposed to do it? She doesn’t talk!”

The Drake paused.

“Oh, right. But couldn’t she have tapped me on the shoulder or something?”

The other adventurers began venting their shock and relief on him. Dasha growled at Insill.

“You idiot! You’re our [Rogue]! Miss Swordswoman here had to stop you from getting us all killed! If you can’t detect a trap, then what good are you? I’ll kick your lights out myself!”

She smacked Insill on the arm, hard, stroking her bare chin furiously. Insill yelped and protested, until Anith told everyone to quiet down. Toren watched all of this with private glee.

Not only did she get to give other people the Lyonette treatment, but she got praised and other people helped him hit his victims? She was beginning to like these adventurers after all!

They went on. And it was now with Toren walking in the front, next to Insill. Her spotting that one trap had raised the adventurer’s estimation of her, and so they both combed the corridor together before proceeding.

The last trap had shaken Insill’s nerves. He would nervously stop to ask if she’d seen any traps every minute as they moved slowly down the corridors, and she would shake her head. The sheer act of checking the corridor and shaking her head filled Toren with a bit of happiness the skeleton couldn’t explain. She was helping. But it wasn’t her doing something alone. This was a team effort, and Toren had never been part of one of those before.

They ran into their first monster sixteen minutes after the trap. They’d just passed down a corridor when Insill raised his hand nervously.

“Wait a second. Something’s not r—”

Ahead of them, a section of the wall opened up and a wall of white wriggling things poured out. Toren hadn’t noticed the trap. Maybe it had been triggered from inside, but out the monsters came.

Hundreds of them. Thousands. A white mass of long, wriggling things. Toren hacked at them as the adventurers fell back, shouting.

They were leeches. They wriggled across the ground, searching for bodies. They ignored Toren, but she stomped on them and cut with her sword because she didn’t want them messing up her clothes. The other adventurers were doing the same, cursing, tearing the things off as they tried to latch onto any skin.

“[Repulsion Barrier]!”

Anith shouted, and Toren saw a wave of leeches go flying away from him and Larr. But Pekona, Dasha, Toren and Insill were in the middle of it. They hacked and stomped until Toren heard Larr shout a warning.

“Watch out! There’s the mother!”

Toren turned and saw the bigger leeches. They were far larger than the hand-sized ones that had come out in a wave. Some were as long as her leg, others as long as she was. And one was half the width of the corridor and the sharp opening on the underside of its body was gaping as it lunged towards the adventurers.

Toren was in the way. She dove, but the mother leech must have identified the skeleton as a threat, for all Toren had no blood to suck. Grimly, the skeleton waited for the big leech to leap on her—it would be messy, but Toren would kill the leech if it tried to smash her into bits. But she heard a shout as someone leapt at the leech.

“Watch out!”

Pekona dashed forwards and cut into the giant leech’s side. Greenish-yellow blood spurted out from the slight wound. The leech turned, twisting towards the swordswoman but Pekona pirouetted and spun.

That was it. Toren watched, jaw agape as Pekona leapt and twirled, sword slashing down as the leech dove at where she had been. The [Blade Dancer] landed, twisted, and cut out, slashing another worm creature as it leapt towards her face. She spun, leapt again, and once more avoided the mother as it charged her like a bull.

Toren watched, entranced. She had never seen sword fighting like that before! But Pekona moved unlike any other warrior she’d seen. She didn’t hold her ground, but directed her opponent, attacking from odd angles, avoiding, rolling—

Like a dancer. Only Toren had never seen someone dance before. She stood up and charged the mother leech, hacking into her back, dodging back. Enraged, the giant leech turned to Toren. It gathered itself and leapt—

And he copied Pekona. Toren twisted, sprang. One hand touched the ground, and she cartwheeled through the air—

And into a wall. Toren’s momentum halted abruptly, and she fell back down.

“Watch out!”

Dasha charged into the mother from the side, hacking and cursing as more blood spurted. The other threw the part-Dwarf woman away with one shake of its body and turned to Toren. The skeleton got up.

Well, that wasn’t it. She’d have to try again. But the mother was coming towards her. Toren didn’t have time for fighting, not when she had something else to do. The skeleton stared at the mother in annoyance. Her body blurred—

And she flashed past the mother, a tear opening along the giant leech’s side. It keened in silent agony as Toren stabbed it a few more times for good measure.

[Mirage Cut]. It had done the job. The mother died as Dasha got up and hacked it to bits from the other side. Insill, Larr, and Anith were finishing off the larger ones, and Pekona was still dancing among the leeches. None of them had touched her yet.

Toren watched her fight. Pekona twirled, and rolled, spun and cut. She didn’t treat her sword as a thing that moved separately from her body; it and she were one. She moved to get around her opponent’s flank, to strike at them from behind. Okay, that wasn’t ideal for leeches, but Toren saw the way it could apply to almost any situation. It wasn’t a single Skill or sword move; it was a way of fighting.

She admired that.

When it was over, Toren looked around and saw the adventurers staggering back, out of range of the remaining leeches who still wriggled determinedly at them through the guts and blood. Dasha was swearing, trying to unhook her armor so Insill could help her get the leeches that had crawled into the gaps out, and Anith and Larr were helping find the ones hidden in their fur.

“Dead gods. What kind of trap was that?”

“It was like a nest! Some kind of home for those things!”

They triggered it. I’ll swear it!”

The adventurers were babbling, upset. Toren was calm. It was just leeches. She could have killed them all herself, mainly because there wasn’t much they could do to harm her, except for maybe crush her in the case of the mother. But she was surprised when they turned to her.

“Miss Swordswoman, that was pretty incredible! That Skill you used—was it [Mirage Cut]? That’s a good one! You were fighting through all those bloodsuckers as if you didn’t fear a thing!”

Insill beamed at Toren, and the skeleton didn’t know what to do. She turned away, adjusting her mask unnecessarily. Was it hot? No—why would that matter? Toren was dead! Then why did it feel hot?

“Not bad. I guess you are experienced enough to survive down here alone, huh? But what was with that crazy move where you ran into the wall?”

Dasha looked curiously at Toren. The skeleton hesitated, and then pointed at Pekona. Everyone looked at her. The young woman frowned.

“Wait, were you trying to do what I did?”

Toren nodded. Pekona shook her head, looking amused.

“I’m a [Blade Dancer]. It’s not like a normal [Warrior] class, or like the [Blademaster] class. It’s—well, it’s a class from where I’m from. I don’t think you can get the class just by copying the moves—there’s an entire set of footwork and sword techniques unique to that way of fighting.”

That was probably true. But Toren watched Pekona as she helped the others clean up. She didn’t want the class. She already had a class like that. But why couldn’t she copy Pekona? After all, she didn’t have to have a Skill to have a skill. So could she learn to fight…without a class?

It was an intriguing thought. Toren waited until all of Vuliel Drae was ready, and they set off once more. The adventurers looked like a mess, covered in slime and blood as they were. Dasha was speaking as she poured a tiny bit of healing potion over a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“I don’t have it in me for another battle like that, Anith. That wasn’t hard, but it was disgusting. I need an hour’s bath, and I think there are still more of the things on me in places I haven’t checked.”

The Jackal Beastkin nodded.

“Nor I. But we should at least explore a few more corridors before we return. We haven’t found much and we’ve only been here for an hour—”

Anith broke off sharply. Toren turned her head. Larr had heard it as well.

“Seems like our fight attracted something. There’s a group coming.”

The adventurers backed up, the warriors and Toren in front, Larr, Anith, and Insill in the back. They saw vaguely humanoid shapes, moving as Dasha swung her lantern out.

“Who’s there!? Are you friends or—”

Howls, deep and roaring, answered her. Toren saw the hulking bear-like not-Gnolls appear out of the darkness. And running ahead and around them were—

Goblins!

Yes, Goblins. Only these ones weren’t like Rags’ people. Toren stared at first. He stared at very pale green skin, glowing red eyes, and hunched forms.  These Goblins were different. Smaller, more ragged, and far paler than their cousins.

Cave Goblins? Inhabitants of the dungeon? Then Larr spotted the not-Gnolls and shouted.

“By the tribes! What are those?

It was a pity. Toren had hoped the Gnoll would know. She eyed the warriors. They were eight in total, and adding the group of Goblins there was over twenty monsters coming their way. Not all were armed; some Goblins had only their hands and rocks, but one of the not-Gnolls had a huge stone mace, carved so that the head looked like a screaming skull.

“Get ready! [Seeking Arrows]!”

Anith raised his hand and shining magical arrows shot from his open spellbook and finger. They struck the Goblins and bear-things, and Toren heard bestial screams. Three Goblins fell; none of the not-Gnolls did. They came on.

“[Triple Shot]!”

Larr felled one of the not-Gnolls with his Skill. Dasha ran forwards.

“Let’s go! [Impact Charge]!”

She smashed two Goblins aside as Pekona leapt forwards. Toren used her own skill [Daring Charge] and rushed into the group of monsters. Unlike Dasha, her Skill didn’t give her physical momentum, but rather strength and speed. She cut a Goblin down and then slashed at the first bear-creature who struck at her with a crude mallet of stone and wood.

It was a battle, as the adventurers fought to push back the monsters. Insill was cutting at the Goblins, circling around and stabbing unguarded flanks as Anith used his barrier spell to keep others away from Larr and himself. Pekona spun and fought four enemies at once as Dasha fought with her back to a wall.

They were outnumbered, and perhaps, outmatched. If Toren hadn’t been there, perhaps the adventurers would have died. But Toren was there, and so she killed.

A Goblin ran up and stabbed Toren in the back. She turned, beheaded the Goblin, and felt someone smash her in the back of the head. She staggered, turned, felt at her mask, and stabbed with her sword with the other hand. The not-Gnoll gurgled as Toren’s sword found its throat.

The thing about clothes was—one of the not-Gnolls knifed Toren again and twisted the blade. Toren laughed silently and stabbed the creature through the chest. The thing about clothes was—a Cave Goblin slashed at Toren’s arm but hit only cloth and bone.

The thing about clothes was, it made people think you could be hurt by mere cuts. Toren beheaded the Goblin and turned. The largest not-Gnoll was advancing on Dasha, despite Larr’s arrows striking it from behind. It had that strange mace in its hands and as it raised it, Dasha grimly raised her axe to block.

The mace fell, and Toren heard a strange sound. It was a faint shriek, and it came from the mace. Then it struck Dasha, breaking her guard, battering her to the ground, and Toren heard the scream. It came from the mouth of the stone club, a wave of sound.

It was deafening, horrible shriek that sent every adventurer—and the Goblins and other not-Gnolls—to their knees, clutching at their ears. The bear-thing with the club raised it triumphantly as Dasha lay on the ground, her plate armor bent. He aimed at her head to finish her off and Toren stabbed him in the back.

The not-Gnoll turned, small eyes widening in shock as it found Toren was still upright. It swung the club—but slowly. Toren heard the warning shriek from the club and leaned back. The club passed over her head, and she cut at the leader’s side. It snarled and swung with its own hand. But now Toren dove and rolled.

She came up, stabbed a kneeling Goblin in the back of the head, twisted, and spun away from the not-Gnoll’s mace. It struck the ground and again the ear-splitting shriek filled the air. But Toren was unaffected. She leapt, and slashed, and the not-Gnoll holding the club howled in pain and fear as Toren landed and danced away.

 

—-

 

“Get up! Get—”

Insill felt someone shaking him as he rolled on the ground, his head splitting open. He twisted, and saw Pekona, face white, ears bleeding. She pulled him up and he grabbed for his dagger.

“Behind you!”

Pekona turned. Insill threw, and the not-Gnoll staggered, the dagger in his chest. Pekona slashed twice quickly, and it fell back.

“We have to help her!”

“No—Dasha!”

Pekona pointed, and Insill saw their friend slumped on the ground. He ran towards her, tearing at his pouch. Pekona guarded his back as Insill frantically dumped the healing potion over Dasha’s chest.

“Dasha! Speak to me!”

He lifted her up and felt one hand grab at him. Dasha gasped at him, face pale and bloodless.

“I’m fine! Get that monster before he uses the mace!”

“She’s handling him! Pekona—”

Insill turned, about to suggest Pekona help, and saw the [Blade Dancer] standing with her sword lowered. She was staring at the mysterious adventurer, at Toren.

“Pekona?”

“Is she copying me?”

The young woman breathed the words in incredulity. Insill turned, and his mouth dropped open. In the middle of the corridor, a masked swordswoman dove and leapt, kicking off a wall to vault over the beast with the enchanted mace. Her sword flashed down, and she cut. The creature howled and stumbled.

“How?”

The other monsters were stirring. Insill grabbed Pekona.

“Ask later! Come on!”

 

—-

 

It ended when Toren grew bored of the battle. She knew she could do it. She bent and dove and twirled, just like Pekona. It was a good way of fighting, and Toren felt she could do it again. But she was getting tired of having to avoid the not-Gnoll’s wild swings, so she positioned herself so her back was away from the other adventurers and used one of her secret weapons.

For just a second, the skeleton’s eyes blazed purple. They shone brightly in her mask, as the not-Gnoll raised its mace for a swing. The beast froze as the [Fear] spell struck it and Toren leapt forwards. She rammed her blade into the creature’s chest, and it choked. It fell, grabbing at the blade and Toren pulled her sword out. She turned, and saw the battle was over.

The last two Goblins were fleeing; the other not-Gnolls were dead. The adventurers stared at her, and Toren saw Pekona staring at her with wide eyes. Only Insill spoke.

“Wow.”

In the minutes that followed, several things happened. Larr and Anith bent over Dasha, making sure the healing potion had cured the worst of her injuries. That done, they went over to the not-Gnolls to confer.

I’ve never heard of a species like this. They almost look like you, L—”

“They do not.

The Gnoll snarled at Insill, making the Drake back away with hands up. Anith stared grimly at the dead bodies.

“We should take one of their heads. I know Liscor isn’t offering a bounty on any monsters killed in the dungeon yet, but this is important.”

“I’ll do it.”

Larr bent and began sawing at a head with a dagger. Dasha, now on her feet, turned and spat weakly as she saw the grisly sight.

“Can’t believe you lot do that.”

“It’s not like Terandria, Dasha.”

Insill turned to her, looking defensive.

“We don’t have truth crystals, so adventurers can’t prove what we kill. We need to take proof, and in this case—”

“Yeah. Got it. Don’t mean I have to like it.”

Dasha turned away. She blinked as she saw Pekona slashing with her sword, twisting her body and slashing at the air.

“What’s she doing?”

“Teaching Miss Swordswoman her style.”

Insill pointed. Dasha murmured quietly.

“By my beard.”

Pekona leapt and spun, moving from position to position, assailing an imaginary foe. She went through basic strikes, moving into advanced rolling slashes and ways to leap from walls, or vault through the air after a handspring. And Toren copied her.

It wasn’t effortless. The skeleton had to think hard to figure out how to move. But Toren’s body moved exactly as she willed it, and what was better, she didn’t forget.

Toren was a good watcher, because she didn’t blink. Within a few minutes she had memorized every move the [Blade Dancer] had made, and was trying it out herself. The other adventures stopped and stared as Toren and the young woman turned, pivoted and slashed with their swords in a curved, graceful arc with the exact same timing.

By the time Larr straightened with the not-Gnoll’s head, Pekona had stopped, panting heavily. She stared at Toren with a mixture of admiration and fear.

“You’re no normal [Warrior], are you. Are you Gold-rank…? Some kind of prodigy?”

Toren just shrugged. Pekona stared at her and shook her head.

“You saved us back there, so this is the least I could do. I don’t know if you’ll get the class—but if you do, please don’t tell me. I couldn’t bear to be passed up by someone who can copy everything I do just by watching.”

She turned, sheathing her sword. Toren watched as Larr went to confer with Anith, and as the adventurers hesitantly approached her. The Jackal nodded to the bodies.

“We didn’t recover much. But that mace—it’s good loot. And we’ve taken enough damage as it is. We only came down here to survey the area, and we’re in agreement that it’s far too dangerous to continue.  We’re heading back.”

Toren nodded. She followed the group, still thinking about all the sword techniques Pekona had shown her. When the group stopped in front of the hole in the ceiling, Toren was surprised to see the ropes hanging down. But then—how else would they have gotten down? She stared curiously at them as the adventurers argued at the base of the hole. Dasha seemed to be in a heated argument with Anith and the rest, but then she reluctantly bowed her head. They approached Toren again, and this time she saw the mace they had taken from the dead leader of the not-Gnolls in Larr’s hands.

“We think you should have this. You saved us not once but twice. If you’re willing to sell it, we’d gladly split the costs, but if not…we’ll earn something for the information from us exploring the dungeon anyways.”

Dasha looked bitterly disappointed, and Toren saw Insill’s eyes on the mace. She eyed it, took it from Larr, and lifted it up. Toren could manage to lift it thanks to her [Lesser Strength]. She swung it once, and the adventurers winced as the mace shrieked as it cut through the air. Toren shrugged and handed it back to the adventurers.

Larr looked flabbergasted.

“What? You do not want it? But it is worth much coin, yes?”

What was coin to Toren? She couldn’t use it. She shrugged and waved a hand at the mace. If she couldn’t swing it fast, it wasn’t worth anything to her.

“Thank you.”

Anith turned towards Toren and bowed his head. She stared at him as he went back towards Dasha, asking whether she would need help ascending or if she could manage it on her own. And Toren felt…conflicted.

She could have stabbed him in the back. She could have plucked out Anith’s eyes. She could have—

But she wasn’t going to. For some reason, Toren was reassured by that knowledge. She didn’t need to kill these adventurers. They were an asset. Like his undead.

What a strange thought. But the [Blade Dancer], no, Pekona had taught her new things. And they had offered her a share of the treasure.

It wasn’t as though Toren had to kill them. She could make an exception. And so, for the first time, Toren did. She turned away, and walked back into the darkness. And she felt good. Something was in her head, a curious thought.

They thought she was Human. They thought she was alive. They thought she was someone who would help them, be their friend. And Toren had been.

Just like Erin.

Just like Erin, how about that? Toren had done it. For a few seconds…

She’d been just like Erin. The skeleton walked back into the darkness, that tantalizing thought in her head.

 

—-

 

Insill was the one who saw the mysterious adventurer leaving.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He cried out as she began to walk away. The other members of his group turned in alarm. But the masked swordswoman who’d saved their party didn’t come back. She turned to face Insill, and lifted one hand.

She waved at them and pointed back into the dungeon. Insill cried out.

“You can’t be serious! Come back! It’s too dangerous—”

But she strode away. In moments, she was gone. Insill turned back to his group. The [Rogue] was in shock.

“I can’t believe it. She just fought two battles and she wants to go back? She’s insane!

“She’s got the Skills. I didn’t see her use a healing potion after either fight. And she noticed the traps—”

“Even so! Any normal adventurer would go back and rest, right?”

“Maybe she knows she can keep fighting.”

Anith spoke quietly. He nodded at the place where the mysterious adventuress had been.

“When we first met her—in the moment before you called out, Insill, I was afraid. My [Dangersense] went off when she still thought we were foes. If she had attacked…she is clearly of a higher level than we are.”

“No doubt. But I can’t believe she could find that trap when Insill couldn’t!”

“Maybe she knew where it was already?”

“Yeah, but if she did—how did she find it to begin with? It still doesn’t make sense! Does she have two classes that are both high level?”

“Surely not!”

“How’d she make it past all the traps, then? You were as surprised as me to see her! If she didn’t come down by rope—and there weren’t any signs anyone was here before us—then how?”

Struck by the thought, the team of Vuliel Drae looked at each other in silence. Either the mysterious female warrior had made her way down the hole into the dungeon by herself—and they hadn’t seen any traces of someone entering before them—or she’d gotten past the trapped rooms already by herself.

“Beard blight, you don’t think she actually passed through those trapped rooms and got down here…alone?”

Dasha’s face was pale as she stroked at her smooth chin. Larr shook his head.

“She’s already gone. We can ask once we reach the city, but we are still in danger here, no?”

That was true. The adventurers began to prepare to ascend the ropes, tying themselves in so they wouldn’t fall all the way to the ground if their hands slipped. Insill mechanically grasped his own rope as he looked into the darkness of the dungeon. He thought about the female swordswoman, how mysterious she was, and wished he could have looked under her mask. Was she injured? Had some accident damaged her throat, and that was why she didn’t speak? Or was there another reason?

He wondered if he’d ever meet her again.

—-

The adventurers left the dungeon. They were the first to come exploring for treasure, through this shortcut. But they would not be the last. And they brought an artifact, and hope of more rewards to kindle the hearts of those seeking fame and fortune.

And so above, the rumor spread of a mysterious swordswoman, someone who had braved the dungeon of Liscor by herself. A Named Adventurer? Unlikely, but possibly a solo Gold-rank adventurer, a rival to Griffon Hunt and the other Gold-rank teams converging on Liscor.

The tale was simple. Down in the dungeon, there was a [Swordswoman], no, some kind of genius [Blademaster], solo adventurer with a mask, who fought alone for fame and glory. If you met her, she would fight by your side and guard your back. It was a beguiling thought for those who feared the monsters below. Somewhere, down there, there was a friend in the darkness.

A friend who would see you home.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.09

Zel Shivertail sat in the Tailless Thief, the most famous and well-reputed inn in Liscor and felt out of place. Partly because he really didn’t care for the inn, and partly because of the stares.

Inns were a subjective experience no matter where you went, Zel found. They were ostensibly just places to eat and sleep, but any real inn managed by a proper [Innkeeper] quickly developed…personality. It grew a community of clientele, and generally reflected the owner’s attitudes.

One way in which that was apparent here was in the clientele of the Tailless Thief. They were all Drakes. There was not a single Gnoll or Human to be seen, much less the rarer species that lived on Izril. No matter where Zel looked, he only saw scales.

That wasn’t a bad thing in general, but it was in a city where the population wasn’t solely Drake. And it wasn’t as if non-Drakes were barred from entering either. It was simply that they weren’t welcome. And people felt that and stayed away.

Zel could have used a non-Drake crowd about now. He moodily sipped at his mug, filled with the spicy Fireshot drink. Non-Drakes were pleasant to be around because most didn’t know who he was. They didn’t stare. But what Drake child hadn’t heard of Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker, hero of both Antinium Wars? And in Liscor of course, Zel’s name was spoken just as often. This was where General Sserys had come from, and Drakes did not forget their heroes.

The [General]’s hand tightened around his mug. Yes, this had been Sserys’ home. Now Antinium lived here, among the citizens. What would Sserys have thought of that? Zel wondered. At the very least, he thought Sserys would have hated the attention as much as Zel did. The [General] usually tried to keep a low profile when he visited other cities for this very reason.

Not that the person sitting across from them was helping Zel remain inconspicuous. Wall Lord Ilvriss, one of the sworn protectors of the famed Walled Cities—in his case the city of Salazsar—sat expansively in his chair, sipping from some elegant drink or other and delicately spearing morsels from his plate with the long-handled fork the Drake aristocracy loved to use.

“And you’re sure the Human said Ryoka Griffin, Shivertail?”

“Positive.”

Zel stared in dismay at the delicate, glistening fried eel on his plate. He pushed it away and sighed. Where did you get eels in the winter? But of course the [Innkeeper] would have the finest food for the Wall Lord and a Drake [General]. It had probably been run here overnight by Courier.

“Interesting.”

Ilvriss nibbled at his fork, carefully consuming a morsel of meat—seasoned Corusdeer, the local specialty—simmered in a ragù for added flavor. Zel knew this because the innkeeper had told him what he was eating in detail. And at length.

Ilvriss finished his bite and patted at his mouth with a napkin. He frowned, thinking.

“I have instructed my contacts to inform me the instant this Ryoka Griffin is spotted. If she does return to the city, I will know of it within minutes. But I am not content to wait. I would go north to seek her out if it were not for the situation with the Antinium, but I cannot find any information about this blasted Human. She is not a Courier—or if she is, no one has compiled any records of her and they are meticulously updated. And no one I have spoken to has heard of her!”

Zel grunted. He took another swig of his drink and glared at Ilvriss.

“That’s because you only asked Drakes, you idiot. If you want to find a Human, you talk to Humans.”

Ilvriss flicked out his tongue in displeasure.

“Humans lie.”

“And you think Drakes don’t?”

“I have more faith in my own kind than I do in others, Shivertail.”

“You’re a fool, then. We didn’t lose half of the continent to Humans a few thousand years ago because we get along well.”

Ilvriss’ tail twitched, but he didn’t reply to that. Instead, he flicked his fork at a map that lay on the table between the two.

“From what I have heard, the Goblin Lord has been spotted around the Blood Fields. He is retreating from the two suppression armies sent after him. They have advanced with nothing but victories over the disorganized Goblins.”

“Is that good news?”

Zel stared at the map. One of the few reasons why he travelled with Ilvriss was the Wall Lord’s access to a network of informants Zel couldn’t be bothered to maintain. Ilvriss raised one nonexistent eyebrow.

“You really think this Goblin Lord is a threat? There are two armies heading towards him, Shivertail. Each one led by a [General], each one nearly ten thousand strong.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me? This Goblin Lord…is a Goblin Lord, Ilvriss. He beat back the army you and I were leading together with ease. Now, I might have had a lot less than ten thousand soldiers at that point, but that’s still two [Generals] by my count—and a lot higher level than the ones heading towards him now.”

Ilvriss shrugged, his tail flicking dismissal.

“Your army was exhausted from battling mine, Shivertail. It was smaller, and I might add, less well-equipped.”

“So you keep saying. But I think it’s dangerous. If those idiots ruling from their safe cities listened to me, we’d be sending a force twice that large, and I’d be leading it.”

The Wall Lord sat up a bit, nettled by Zel’s tone.

“You place too much faith in a Goblin’s ability to fight, Shivertail! The real threat on this continent are not Goblins. They’re a nuisance. The Antinium and those blasted Humans are our enemies.”

“And each other.”

Zel glared at Ilvriss. He could see a [Barmaid] with a refill out of the corner of his eye. She was afraid to get close, and for good reason. Both Ilvriss and Zel were using intimidation Skills unconsciously, and their argument was emptying the inn around them.

“Goblins are as dangerous, Ilvriss. Or have you forgotten the second Antinium War already? We were having a great time trying to kill each other. Us, the Antinium, the Humans—and the damn Necromancer—when the Goblin King appeared and started kicking everyone’s collective tail.”

“We killed him.”

“Only by uniting! If there hadn’t been so many armies fighting him at the same time—Ancestors, Ilvriss, don’t you realize what a threat a single Goblin Lord could be? They’re the equivalents of high-level [Generals] and a King…”

Ilvriss shifted. He looked uncomfortable, perhaps because he realized he was wrong.

“No matter the danger, a Goblin King is a single threat. Once he is slain, the threat dissolves.”

“It’s not that easy. We got lucky last time.”

Zel was blunt. His tail was wrapped around his chair leg, squeezing tightly in vexation. He jabbed a claw at Ilvriss.

“Go read some history, Wall Lord. Read about what happened when the Goblin King before the last one appeared on Terandria. He brought down eight kingdoms and ended at least two bloodlines that stretched back thousands of years!”

Ilvriss was silent. He stabbed at his plate and bit into another piece of meat.

“We shall see what occurs. This Goblin Lord is still the lesser threat. I want to know what the Antinium are doing here, and why the Slayer and the Small Queen are meeting.”

“You and me both.”

Zel clenched his fist. Ilvriss nodded.

“Focus your attention on that, Shivertail.”

“I’d have an easier time if you’d at least visit the inn I keep telling you about.”

“Bah. A Human inn. I’d rather bathe in filth. I can’t imagine why you stay there. I keep telling you, I will pay for you to stay here, where you can at least reside in relative comfort.”

Ilvriss’ tail curled up in disgust. Zel shook his head as the innkeeper, Peslas, hurried forwards with a refill for him.

“I actually prefer it over there, to be honest.”

Peslas, and Ilvriss both gaped at him. Zel eyed the eel and wished he’d insisted they eat at The Wandering Inn for lunch. The Drake [Innkeeper] looked as if he were about to faint. Ilvriss looked outraged.

“You cannot be serious. You’d prefer Human cuisine over this? This is the finest Drake cooking outside of a Walled City, Shivertail!”

“I like pancakes.”

Zel also liked the little Gnoll furball who would beg for scraps and sit on his lap like Selys used to. But he didn’t say that out loud. Ilvriss stared at him, and then turned towards Peslas.

“[Innkeeper]. Bring me your finest cut of Corusdeer steak, seasoned, cooked medium-raw. And a plate of Ssarish for appetizers.”

Peslas bobbed and hurried into the kitchen, shouting for his [Cook]. Ilvriss pointed his fork at Zel like a sword.

“You have lost your mind, Shivertail. I’ll at least get you to acknowledge proper Drake cooking.”

Zel raised his claw.

“That’s not necessary. I’m not hungry for this, really—”

I insist.”

Zel groaned internally as Ilvriss clapped his hands and a [Barmaid] hurried over with another glass for him. Why did he travel with Ilvriss again? He put his head in his hands and wished he were somewhere else.

And a few miles away, running through the snow, Ryoka Griffin finally spotted her destination.

 

—-

 

“There it is. See it, Ivolethe?”

The young woman running through the snow exclaimed as she crested a hill and spotted the inn in the distance. She was tired, footsore, and foot cramped, since she was wearing boots. She would have preferred to run barefoot, but the snow was far too deep and cold for that. She was very cold, tired, and she’d had to sleep outside last night.

But she was close. Oh, so close. Ryoka Griffin grinned as she spotted The Wandering Inn in the distance. She was nearly back.

Something swooped down and alighted on her shoulder. Ivolethe glanced towards the inn in the distance and nodded.

 

“I see it. And I have seen it for the last five hours as I flew. What is so special about you, seeing it?”

 

“Oh shut up. We’re almost there.”

Ryoka swatted at Ivolethe and caught only air. The Frost Faerie back flipped off of Ryoka’s shoulder. She flew slowly by Ryoka’s head, talking with the girl as Ryoka ran on.

 

“We could have been to the city far faster had the clumsy driver not run over the brigands. ‘Twas entertaining, but costly, was it not?”

 

“You’re telling me. But Reynold says Magnolia has orders to turn every [Bandit] he spots into road kill. Jeez, she doesn’t play softball, huh?”

 

“She does not play games of throwing at all, unless they are edged things.”

 

Ivolethe agreed absently. She looked up and flew high, chasing after something. After a few minutes she returned, a bird’s feather, freshly plucked, in her hands. Ryoka glanced at her.

“I’m going to have a lot to do when I get there, Ivolethe.”

 

“So ye have said. I shall entertain myself.”

 

The Frost Faerie shrugged. Ryoka stared at her.

“So you’re going to be okay by yourself? And you’re not going to harass Ceria or make trouble for Erin? You’re going to be cool?”

 

“I am always cool. I am cooler than ye shall ever be.”

 

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe and nearly face planted as her foot slipped going down a hill. The faerie laughed at her and sighed when Ryoka glared.

 

“I promise not to bother the wh—your friends. But you must make good on your promise too!”

 

“I’ll leave you with a stack of gold coins so Erin feeds you until you turn into a balloon.”

It was a good thing faeries were so easy to bribe. Ryoka smiled to herself as she ran on, the faerie chattering about what she’d have Erin make her to eat. She was nearly back. It had been long—so very long! It felt like forever since she’d been at Erin’s inn. The last time she’d seen Erin, the girl had been in Celum. But now Ryoka was coming back. And she could tell Erin everything that had happened. She could—

Could…

What would she say to Erin? Ryoka frowned. She’d tell her everything, of course. But how would Erin react to the news about Magnolia, the [Assassins], the discovery that there was someone else from their world nearby. Laken the [Emperor], and BlackMage in Wistram! How would she react if Ryoka told her about that night with the three strangers at the campfire?

How much did Ryoka really know Erin, anyways? She knew a bit about Erin’s past, she’d done a lot with Erin of course—she’d gone to find her when Erin had disappeared, and they’d had some laughs together. But now, coming back, Ryoka was suddenly struck by a bit of uncertainty. Because she felt like a stranger again. She knew Erin.

But she didn’t feel like she knew Erin. Not after all the crazy things that had happened recently.

Ryoka felt a bit of fear worm its way into her stomach as she reached the foot of the hill that led to the Wandering Inn. It was silly. She’d run away from horrible nightmares in the darkness, things Ivolethe refused to talk about. She’d braved a blizzard, survived an [Assassin] attack, and talked down a hostile half-Troll girl who could have squished her with one hand. So why was she afraid of meeting an old friend?

Maybe it was because Ryoka didn’t really know how to meet old friends. That word was a foreign concept to her.  What should she do? Should she—

Caught up in her thoughts, Ryoka didn’t hear the crunching in the snow until a blur appeared on her left. She turned, alarmed, and saw something coming at her from the direction of Liscor. Some strange blur that was kicking up snow. It was too low to the ground to be visible as it raced through the deep snow at Ryoka. She backed up. And then it leapt at her.

“Holy—!”

A patch of the snow seemed to launch itself off of the ground and smashed into Ryoka’s midriff. The girl shouted as the impact knocked her down the side of the hill, tumbling, rolling, struggling with the creature—person—child—

Mrsha?

The Gnoll licked at her face, slapping Ryoka lightly with her paws as the cub tried to climb all over Ryoka. Ryoka laughed and yelped at once, trying to grab Mrsha. But the Gnoll was a blur. She grabbed at Ryoka, hugging her tightly, making small sounds that weren’t words.

“Mrsha! Relax! I’m glad to see you. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m glad to see you too!”

Ryoka finally found a bit of fur and grabbed it. Mrsha latched onto Ryoka, hugging the girl so tightly her paws dug into Ryoka’s skin through her coat. Ryoka hugged her back, whispering to the trembling Gnoll child.

“I’m sorry. I was gone for a long time. But I’m back, see? I’m back.”

She didn’t try to prise Mrsha away, and the Gnoll wouldn’t have let go for anything. Ryoka sat up awkwardly in the snow. Only then did she realize she had company.

Four tall Gnolls stood watching her and Mrsha in the snow. They might have been male, or female. It was hard to tell. But they were tall, adult, and watching her. Ryoka’s stomach lurched a tiny bit.

“Uh, hi.”

Thought and fear raced ahead of everything else. Why were they here? Were they worried she was trying to attack Mrsha? Or was it because Mrsha had white fur? Were they after Mrsha? Where was Erin? But then one of the Gnolls spoke and put Ryoka’s fears to rest.

“The Mrsha child smelled you and ran to find you. We came to ensure she was not in danger.”

“Oh. She came from the city? Wait, what was she doing there?”

One of the Gnolls, the tallest, nodded. He had red-brown fur and had a sheathed axe at one hip.

“She was with Krshia for lessons when she scented you. She knew you were coming long before we smelled you.”

“Oh. I get it.”

Mrsha had a stronger nose than any Gnoll adult due to her youth. Ryoka felt Mrsha shift her grip as she clung to the young woman. She was licking Ryoka and nuzzling her head against her. It was intimate, but Ryoka felt awkward in the presence of the other Gnolls.

“Well…she found me. Do you all need anything?”

The Gnolls stared at her. They had a strange intensity about them. The lead Gnoll pointed at Ryoka, eyes searching her face.

“You have returned with what honored Krshia needs, yes?”

Ryoka stared up at the reddish-brown Gnoll as Mrsha tried to coat her face with saliva. What they—oh! The book! It had been so long since she’d made that promise that Ryoka had nearly forgotten. But she’d carried it with her in the bag of holding all this time. She nodded.

“I—yes. I’ve got it with me. I can give it to her—”

“Good.”

So saying, the Gnoll reached down and grabbed Ryoka’s legs. She froze.

“What are—”

Another one seized Ryoka from behind. She yelped and began to twist, but it was hard to with Mrsha clinging to her.

“Wait, what are you—”

The Gnoll lifted her up into the air as if Ryoka were a feather. She yelped and twisted, but suddenly found herself gripped from below. One Gnoll had her legs and buttocks, another her back. They began running with her over her head, helpless, as Mrsha hopped up and down on Ryoka’s stomach, making noises of excitement.

“Hold on! Hold on—put me down! I have to—I’ll give it to Krshia in a bit, okay? Put me down—Mrsha! Stop moving!”

The Gnolls didn’t listen. They had a tremendously strong grip and try as she might, Ryoka was in no position to get free. They began to run with her held above them like a log. Ryoka yelped, but suddenly she was moving fast down the hill, straight towards Liscor!

“Put me down! Put me down!

No one listened. Ryoka hollered, but Mrsha was delightedly climbing on Ryoka’s front, and the girl had to grab her to make sure she didn’t fall off. Liscor came into sight, and then Ryoka was headed straight for the gates.

The [Guardsmen] on duty stared at Ryoka as she passed by, born aloft by the small crowd of Gnolls. She shouted at them to help, but they were too busy laughing to do anything.

 

—-

 

Zel Shivertail stared at the proffered plate of Ssarish. It was a traditional Drake dish; sliced meat, very thinly cut and served raw or cooked depending on the area. It wasn’t a bad food and Zel enjoyed it at times. He knew the Gnolls did something similar, although in their case they chopped their meat incredibly finely and mixed it with a light mustard sauce.

This dish of Ssarish was lightly sprinkled with olive oil, garnished with a bit of white, crumbly cheese, and delicately brushed with a mixture of lemon, salt, pepper, and some spicy greens Zel didn’t recognize. It wasn’t that it had been made poorly either. In fact, the problem was that it had been overdone. Zel would have liked a plainer Ssarish, if he was even hungry for the stuff.

Which he wasn’t.

“I’m not hungry, Ilvriss.”

“Have some of the steak, then. This is Drake cooking—and I will have you enjoy it!”

“Drakes don’t have a monopoly on steaks, Ilvriss.”

“We invented them.”

“We invented a way to chop meat.

“You are neglecting to include the art of seasoning food. This is properly spicy, nuanced flavor—”

“Just because some of our kind can breathe fire, it doesn’t mean I want to do it myself!”

Zel snarled at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall glared at him across the table as the innkeeper, Peslas, hovered in the wings, ready to dash into the kitchen and bring more food out for Zel to try. The [General] sat at the table, arms crossed, tail lashing the floorboards.

“I told you, I’m sure the cooking is fine. But I don’t want any right now.”

“I insist you try a cut of the steak.”

Ilvriss sliced into the rich meat, still steaming with heat. Zel sighed, but the Drake lord’s sense of pride meant he had to try some. Or run. Zel weighed the odds of Ilvriss chasing him down and reluctantly picked up a fork. He speared a juicy chunk of the steak and chewed it down. Peslas, Ilvriss, and a number of Drake patrons in the inn waited with bated breath.

“It’s good.”

Zel had to admit, the hot spices and rich meat was a good mouthful. Peslas exhaled loudly and Ilvriss treated himself to a smug smile. Zel raised one claw.

“But. I’ve had better lunches. And I could be eating one right now if you’d let me go.”

“Nonsense!”

A fist pounded the table as Ilvriss raised his voice in outrage. He speared a piece of the steak and waved it at Zel.

“This is prime dining here. You will have your lunch with me—”

“I don’t want steak, Ilvriss. It’s not as if this is the greatest steak in the world and I’m not a fan of your company.”

“This is the finest dish you could order in Liscor—”

In it. But the inn I go to is a bit out of the city’s limits. And I bet the innkeeper there could make me a steak as good as this one.”

Ilvriss furiously chewed the steak, as if mastication could prove Zel wrong. He gulped it down and pointed at it triumphantly.

“Aha! There you are wrong. I can detect the quality of the dish, and this is excellent fare for one of the lesser cities on the continent. The owner of this inn, Peslas here, is to be commended for it.”

He nodded graciously at Peslas, who beamed and bowed his head towards Ilvriss. The Wall Lord pointed at the dish as he addressed Zel as if speaking to an infant.

“This was made by a cook with [Advanced Cooking]! No Human [Innkeeper] could—”

“She’s got [Advanced Cooking] too, Ilvriss. And her food is new. She makes this thing called a ‘pizza’, which is quite—”

“I will not hear of it! Peslas! Another dish! Bring me—yes, bring me some sautéed shrimp! The same dish you served me last night! As you will see Shivertail, no Human innkeeper could provide you with quality seafood in the winter.”

“I don’t want seafood! I want to go!”

Zel stood up. Ilvriss tried to hold him down, but Zel was quite a bit larger than the Wall Lord. Still, Ilvriss was tenacious. The two Drakes were struggling at their table when they heard the shouting.

“—down now! I am not happy! I’ll walk—hell, I’ll run! Just stop carrying me like this! Do you hear me? Stop grabbing—Mrsha! Don’t jump on my stomach! Hey! Hey!

Both Drakes turned. Someone was shouting quite loudly. Ilvriss scowled.

“Humans! They’re noisy even when they aren’t in the room!”

He let go of Zel and strode to the open entrance of the inn, probably to yell at whomever was making the noise. Zel went too, intending to make his own break for it when he saw the Gnolls.

There was a crowd of them, running through the street. But that wasn’t what made both Drake’s jaws drop. It was the young Human woman they were carrying over their heads. She was struggling, yelling, as the Gnolls held her over their head and ran with her. Everyone in the street was watching, some laughing, others pointing or scratching their heads in confusion. But that wasn’t what made Zel’s blood run cold. It was recognition. He knew that Human. He knew her name.

Ryoka Griffin.

She was being carried by a group of Gnolls as they ran down the street. Zel stared. He saw someone else perched on Ryoka’s stomach, happily staring around as if this were an exciting new experience.

“Is that—Mrsha?”

He turned to Ilvriss. The Drake’s scales had gone pale. He had recognized Ryoka too. And the Lord of the Wall’s reaction was immediate. His hand went to his sword, and he unsheathed the shining blade. Zel took a step back.

“Ilvriss. Hold on—”

Ilvriss’ normal look of bored contempt had vanished. He stared after the group of Gnolls as they rounded a corner. Then he turned and shouted at the room full of Drakes. At his adjutants, the group he’d brought with him.

“After that Human!”

The Wall Lord charged out of the room. Zel cursed as a number of Drakes who’d been silently waiting against the walls charged after their lord. He ran after Ilvriss, shouting for the Wall Lord to stop.

A few minutes after they’d gone, Peslas hurried out of the kitchen with a plate of sautéed shrimp. It was good stuff, but as even Ilvriss would have conceded, the [Chef] had let the shrimp go just a tad bit undercooked.

 

—-

 

Krshia was waiting in her apartment when Ryoka was shepherded into the room. A crowd of Gnolls came after her, spreading out around the apartment which grew significantly more occupied. Some stared or sniffed and wrinkled their noses at the smell of rot in the air—but it was better than it had been. Brunkr stared at Ryoka as he kept a bandage slathered with honey over his arm. He glanced at Mrsha, but the Gnoll was too busy sitting on Ryoka’s shoulders and nuzzling her head to pay attention to anything else.

Ryoka halted as she saw Krshia look up. The [Shopkeeper] looked like Ryoka had last seen her, if a bit more tired. She smiled when she saw Ryoka, though. With expectation—and fear.

“Ryoka Griffin. You have returned, yes? At last. And you have brought what was promised, I hope?”

She stared into Ryoka’s eyes. The young woman nodded slowly. She was aware of the Gnolls in the room who weren’t Krshia or Brunkr, and how they stared at her. Her, and Krshia.

Ryoka’s mind flashed back to the past, to what she’d learned before she’d left Liscor, weeks ago. It was Krshia’s clan who lived in Liscor. They had come to earn money, to prove something. And to gain something valuable to offer to the tribes when they met.

They had stockpiled spellbooks, tens of thousands of gold coins’ worth. And it had all been lost when Lyonette used a powerful artifact to destroy Krshia’s shop by accident. Ryoka had promised to give them something of equal value in return for Lyonette’s life.

And Krshia was afraid she hadn’t got it. Or she hadn’t got something her people would consider good enough.

“You have it with you now?”

Krshia was watching Ryoka very carefully. The girl nodded. She reached for her side, for the small bag of holding she kept tied securely there.

“I went to a…friend. A powerful [Mage], rather. I convinced them to give me something, a spellbook that would make up for what you lost.”

Behind his aunt, Brunkr stirred.

One spellbook?”

Around the room the Gnolls muttered. Their voices were too quiet for Ryoka to hear, but Mrsha’s ears perked up and Krshia shook her head.

“One may do. If it is the right one.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince the others. Ryoka nodded, trying to appear confident.

“This isn’t just any spellbook. Look.”

She put the bag of holding on the table in front of Krshia, and then bent to reach into it with both hands. She had to use both hands, not because the spellbook was heavy, but because it was too big.

Enchanted to be as light as a feather. Big as…big as Mrsha. The Gnolls gasped as one as Ryoka lifted the spellbook Teriarch had given her out of her bag of holding. Krshia’s eyes widened into round circles. Ryoka grinned like a madwoman.

It had been too long. But now here it was. Some days she’d almost forgotten about it, but now Ryoka remembered vividly. A spellbook. Not just any spellbook, but one given to her by Teriarch.

Taken from a Dragon’s hoard. A book of teaching from another age, filled with magical knowledge.

A gift from a Dragon.

“By the tribes. What is this?

Krshia bent over the huge spellbook as the other Gnolls gasped and crowded around the table. Ryoka opened her mouth to reply and got a paw in her face as Mrsha climbed over her head to see. She gently took Mrsha off her head and cradled the Gnoll in her arms. Ryoka thought of how to explain and said one word.

“Worth.”

All the Gnolls looked at Ryoka sharply. She smiled.

“This will settle the debt.”

“Alone? It is a magnificent work, but by itself…”

Krshia hesitantly placed her hands on the tome, opening it, staring at the gilded letters—and illustrations!—in the book. The Gnolls around her were murmuring quietly, perhaps debating that very thing. But Ryoka shook her head.

“This is equivalent, Krshia Silverfang. Equivalent to fifty or a hundred lost spellbooks. For you see, this isn’t a spellbook.”

“It isn’t?”

Krshia looked up sharply. Ryoka smiled. She stood taller and pointed down to the tome, speaking with a voice that carried around the rooms. You had to sell what you had, even if it was worth more than diamonds.

“I didn’t bring you a simple spellbook with a handful of spells! No, this is a proper instructional tome, something that actually explains how spells work. You’d be lucky to find this in Wistram, let alone a normal [Mage]’s library! It’s a first-edition tome of Rihal, and it contains every spell they knew from Tier 1 to…I think Tier 4. It might be the most valuable thing you will ever see in your life.”

Every Gnollish eye stared at Ryoka. There was a pregnant pause, and then the room exploded into excited babble. Gnolls crowded around the book, fighting to see, but afraid to touch. They sniffed at it like Mrsha. But Krshia only had eyes for Ryoka, as did some of the older Gnolls. One spoke to her.

“If what you say is true…”

“It is. Every word. I swear it.”

Ryoka met his eye—or her eye—squarely. She knew some Gnolls like Krshia could detect a lie. The Gnoll hesitated.

“You would be willing to swear upon a truth spell?”

“Any time.”

The Gnoll blinked. She looked back at the tome, and her ears shook.

“Incredible. It is a dream. And it is true.

Krshia spoke sharply.

“The knowledge of this will not leave this room, no? No one will speak of it! And it will be guarded, yes, guarded this time by [Warriors].”

All the Gnolls looked at her. Some bowed their heads, others nodded. Ryoka sensed it. Whatever power struggle Krshia had been fighting through, it was over in a flash. This was worth, pure and simple. More worth than the Gnolls of Liscor had possessed before, and they all knew it.

Krshia turned to Ryoka. There was jubilation in her eyes, but also wariness.

“This is a gift worthy of a [King], Ryoka Griffin. We owe you a debt for it. But you say it came to you from another? Do we owe a greater debt that must one day be paid?”

Ryoka hesitated. Here it was. The Gnolls were watching her again. So she thought back to her conversation and decided on the truth. You couldn’t lie so easily in this world. But half-truths were easy.

“It is a debt, but the one who is owed will never call on it. You owe a debt of gratitude to an incredibly powerful magic user, the equivalent of an [Archmage]. His name is…uh…well, it’s Teriarch.”

She hoped using his name wouldn’t be a problem. But no one knew it, right? And if it was spread, well…Teriarch was vain. She heard other Gnolls murmuring the name.

“I convinced him to be a patron of your tribe. And I gave him something of equal value to the book.”

“You gave him something? How?”

“I cannot say. But it was worth it to him. It was a fair trade, I swear it.”

The young woman met Krshia’s eyes, praying Krshia did not ask more. Because Ryoka couldn’t explain iPhones and Teriarch’s magic and the simple generosity of a Dragon in front of the others. The Gnoll stared for a while at Ryoka and nodded.

“Then I will believe you. But this gift…it is too much.”

What now? Ryoka almost groaned to hear it, but the other Gnolls were nodding. Krshia looked at Ryoka as she ran a paw over the tome regretfully.

“It is too much for a gift, even one to repay a debt. You must ask something of us in return, or it will not be fair. And this debt is too great for us to carry now.”

She wanted Ryoka to ask, but she didn’t have anything to pay with. Ryoka’s mind raced. She stared at Krshia, imaginging all kinds of things, good and evil and petty and grand to ask of her. But then she thought of who she’d come to Liscor to meet. She looked at Mrsha, and realized some questions were trick questions, even if the only person doing the tricking was yourself.

She smiled at Krshia. The Gnoll watched her warily. Ryoka took a breath and spoke her price.

“Friendship, Krshia Silverfang. That is what I desire.”

The Gnoll blinked at her. All the Gnolls did. Ryoka turned to them, looking them in the eye. She finished last on Mrsha, who was touching the tome excitedly as Brunkr tried to push her paw away.

“This is a gift of friends, and the cost is paid in intangible things. I offer it in the name of friendship, with you and your tribe, if you will accept it.”

Krshia stared at her. Ryoka thought she saw the Gnoll smile slightly, and then she took Ryoka’s hand. She squeezed it tightly, and then let go.

“So it is said! We are friends, Ryoka Griffin. And we will remember this gift for as long as our tribe endures. No—Gnolls will remember this. I promise you. Your name and that of Teriarch will be spoken as long as we endure. We do not forget.”

Ryoka felt a chill as Krshia said that. It was more than an honor. It was terrifying, what the Gnoll said. But it was also heartfelt, and it made Ryoka feel as though she had touched immortality. To never be forgotten.

And then it was business again. Krshia bent over the tome, and beckoned Ryoka over. The other Gnolls respectfully gave her room. One of them lifted Mrsha off the table, and Krshia was bombarding Ryoka with questions about the book.

“You say it teaches, yes? So that a novice may learn? I have never heard of such a thing, but perhaps it is a lost way of making such books.  Where and when was this nation—Rihal? It must be important, but I have never heard of it. You said the book comes from here, yes?”

Ryoka scratched her head. The conversation with Teriarch was an age ago. Had he ever…? No.

“I have no idea, but I’ll swear the book is genuinely from that place.”

Krshia nodded. She paused on a page and traced the writing.

“Ah. See. On this side, there is magical writing. On this—not. It is a written language.”

Surprised, Ryoka bent over the book.

“You can tell?”

“Yes. One is rooted in magic and looks different from other angles. The other…no. It does not change. And it is not magical. It is something [Shopkeepers] learn, to tell the difference to identify fraud.”

Fascinated, Ryoka stared at the writing. There was a tiny illustration, of some kind of flower blooming. Was this a spell to grow plants? She stared at the magical writing, but she was in too much of a hurry to start decoding it.

“It must be. This is an instructional guide, so it might be describing the spell’s effects, or how to use it best.”

“Worth.”

Krshia echoed the word, and then growled softly.

“But I cannot read it! And no one living knows the language, or so I am thinking. But a spell—yes, I need an artifact.”

She turned and snapped.

“A pair of lenses, enchanted with a translation spell. Someone find one and bring it to me!”

At once several Gnolls rushed out the door. Ryoka glanced at Krshia.

“Do you think it will work?”

“The spell does not need meaning, only time. It…how do you say? It decodes the language. Identifies it over time to attain mastery. Now, Rihal. Perhaps there are books with the name—”

Krshia was turning to some other Gnolls when Ryoka heard a brief howl from outside. It was short, upset, and cut off abruptly. Instantly, every Gnoll in the room, including Mrsha, went still. Someone ran back up the stair and thrust open the door.

“Honored Krshia, there is trouble below!”

One of the Gnolls who’d left spoke to Krshia as the Gnoll turned towards the door. Krshia glanced towards Ryoka, and the girl wondered if someone had followed her. Or the Gnolls?

“What is it?”

“There is a group of Drakes below. They are armed. And they want Ryoka Griffin.”

Everyone stared at Ryoka. Krshia looked at the young woman.

“Have you enemies among the Drakes, Ryoka?”

“I don’t know! I don’t think so—I have a long list, but I’m fairly certain Drakes aren’t on there!”

Ryoka went to a window, but Brunkr pulled her back. She blinked at him. He growled softly.

“Be wary. They might shoot into the windows and Aunt has neither glass nor spelled wards.”

Ryoka nodded and backed away. Krshia looked around. The Gnolls in the room were tense, and Mrsha was staring around wide-eyed.

“They would not be openly bearing arms if they were a threat. This must be handled without bloodshed. We go out together. Ryoka in the middle. Move.”

The group exited the room, Gnolls streaming out, to the audible dismay of the Drakes below. Then Ryoka came out, Krshia and Brunkr at her side. The wounded Gnoll had taken off his bandage of honey and was holding a sword in his good hand.

Ryoka stopped when she saw the group of fourteen or so Drakes. They were all armed, all dressed in fancy clothing—hardly as if they were ready for a fight. She didn’t recognize any of them, but they looked well-armed. Then her eyes fell on the two standing at the front of the group. One was large, a bear of a Drake as big as Relc. He was arguing with another Drake who was shorter, slimmer, and dressed in regalia fit for a [King]. He turned to Ryoka and his eyes fixed on her.

You.

The face didn’t give anything away. But the instant he spoke, Ryoka’s mind went back in time. She remembered the tone, and now the haughty posture. She remembered a battlefield, a tent—her stomach lurched as she recognized Ilvriss now.

“Uh oh.”

Ilvriss strode towards her as the Gnolls formed a wall in the way. Zel Shivertail walked next to him. But Ryoka’s eyes were on Ilvriss. She knew why he was here. Because she remembered.

She remembered how his lieutenant had died.

 

—-

 

Memory.

The undead are approaching, terrible giants clawing out of the ground. A monster—some kind of armored Gnoll in front, a massive battleaxe in one hand. A creature of rot walks beside him. She called herself  Bea.

They are coming. My eyes want to bleed at the sight of them. They are horrors far more terrible than a zombie or lesser undead. The servants of Az’kerash approach.

But she does not run. The Drake commander holds her ground, and the elite warriors who have come with her ready themselves. They’ll die here. I know it. She knows it too.

I look to Periss.

“You’ll die. Run.”

She looks at me, just once, and shakes her head.

“Drakes do not run. Go!”

My feet take me away as the soldiers charge. Sixteen against a horde. Kerash raises his battleaxe with one hand and Bea spreads her arms wide. I turn and pump my legs, running past zombies and horrors that reach for me.

The screaming begins in only seconds. I hear the sounds of death, of flesh being torn and bones breaking. But I hear the living shouting in defiance as they charge the dead, fighting to the last. But falling.

One by one.

 

—-

 

Ryoka felt her knees go weak. The smell, the feeling of terror and panic, all of it struck her at once. One second she was there, the next she was in the past. She stared at Ilvriss as he advanced, bare sword in hand. He barely seemed to notice the Gnolls, although the other Drakes with him were eying the Gnolls nervously. Ilvriss stopped a few feet away from the group surrounding Ryoka. He stared coldly at the Gnolls.

“Move aside, civilians.”

No one budged. A mocking voice came from the group of Gnolls.

“We are simply standing here, Drake. Is that a crime?”

Ilvriss gritted his teeth as he stared at Ryoka. Her mind was racing. Run? No. It was safer here. What did he want to do with her? What could she say?

“I wish to speak with that Human. Move.”

“On whose authority? You could be anyone. Fancy clothes do not make rank among Gnolls, although they do among Drakes, yes?”

There was laughter among the Gnolls. The laughter died in an instant when he turned his head to look at them. Ryoka felt a sudden surge of fear. For a second Ilvriss was taller, and his eyes burned—she had to fight off whatever Skill he’d used. By her side, Mrsha was whimpering.

Ilvriss’ voice was cold as he spoke. It rang out across the street.

“I am Wall Lord Ilvriss, and I will speak to that Human on a matter of war. If you will not move, I will consider you all my enemies.”

There was a visible shift in the ranks of Gnolls when they heard his title. But Krshia spoke up, sounding unafraid.

“Wall Lord or not, she is a free visitor to Liscor. It would not be good for Drakes to detain an innocent person against their will, no?”

The Drake stared at her. Krshia grinned. Only the people close to her could see how her paws were shaking a bit by her side.

“We are citizens of Liscor. If you would harm us, you would make an enemy of the city, yes? And Ryoka is my friend.”

I do not have time for games.

Ilvriss shifted. He might have been raising his sword, or turning to order his people, Ryoka didn’t know. She took a step forwards and raised her voice.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss. I’m right here. If you’ve got something to ask me, why not do it now?”

He looked at her. It was just one look, but Ryoka felt it shoot right through her like an arrow. There was fury and other emotions in the Drake’s gaze. She felt pinned. Ilvriss stared at her and opened his mouth.

“I have only one thing to ask you, Human. What happened to Periss? What happened to my lieutenant? How did she die?”

The street went still. Everyone was staring at Ryoka, even the Gnolls, even Mrsha. Ryoka felt her mouth dry up. A thousand answers floated through her mind, but only one found her tongue.

“I can’t tell you.”

Ilvriss blinked. He stared at her, filled with fury.

What?

Ryoka’s mouth was on autopilot. She recited automatically from the Runner’s handbook, remembering a passage she’d read long ago when she’d first started running.

“Runner’s confidentiality. I cannot reveal who I deliver to, or what was delivered to any other party without permission from my client.”

She waited for the Wall Lord’s response as her mind scrambled to keep up with what she’d said. Ryoka saw Ilvriss eyes flash, and he made a garbled, hissing sound of incoherent rage. He seemed to be unable to process her response on a physical level.

“You dare—a technicality! Answer me! How did she die! Tell me or I will—”

He tried to stride forwards but the Drake standing next to him, Zel, grabbed him. The Gnolls backed up as the two Drakes struggled and swore and the other Drakes rushed forwards. Ryoka’s mind was whirling. Her thought process went something like this:

If I tell him, he dies. If I tell him, I’ll die. If Az’kerash finds out—could he? What could he do to me from here?

I can’t risk it. Not until I think about consequence. But that’s the last thing Ilvriss wants to hear. So how do I get out—

Relief came when she heard shouting. Actually, crippling fear came first, but it was relief when she saw Watch Captain Zevara striding forwards with a group of [Guardsmen]. She put herself between Ilvriss and the group of Gnolls, although she didn’t look happy to do it.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, please withdraw! You cannot bear arms in the city or threaten civilians!”

“Move aside, Watch Captain!”

Ilvriss threw off Zel’s hands and snarled at Zevara. She hadn’t drawn her sword, and she backed up a step as Ilvriss advanced on her. He pointed at Ryoka.

“That Human is hiding information! Information about my lieutenant and my soldiers and how they died! I will have it from her!”

Zevara turned and looked at Ryoka. The Human girl was sure the Watch Captain had no idea who she was, but Zevara turned to Ilvriss and put a hand on her sword.

“Whatever the issue, I cannot let you abduct a Human by force. Not in the city. The laws are clear—there would be an incident with the Human cities if we were found—”

“I do not care.

Ilvriss raised his sword and the [Guardsmen] drew their weapons. Zevara braced herself and opened her mouth wide for some reason. Ilvriss snarled as he looked at Ryoka and she braced. Then everyone heard a shout.

Pan attack!

Ilvriss’ head turned. Ryoka’s head turned. She saw a black blurring object, flying towards the Wall Lord’s head. Ilvriss twisted. His hand shot out and he grabbed the spinning object before it could strike him.

It was a frying pan. In the silence, everyone stared at it. A black, cast-iron frying pan. Ilvriss stared at the frying pan in his hand, a confused look on his face.

“What the—”

The second frying pan clocked him on the head. Ilvriss staggered but didn’t go down. He turned, snarling, and then saw the adventurers.

They assembled in the street, some holding weapons, others just standing there for visual effect. Three groups of adventurers, although Ryoka couldn’t know that. She only recognized Halrac, Ceria, Pisces, Ksmvr and Yvlon. The rest of the adventurers were a mystery to her. But once she saw who was leading them, it all made sense.

Three teams of adventurers stood behind a girl who held a third frying pan in her hand. Griffin Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad. The Drakes might not have recognized any of the groups on sight, but they could identify seasoned warriors at a glance.

“Someone call for trouble?”

Jelaqua Ivirith grinned as she held her two-handed flail. Revi grimaced as she stood yawning next to Typhenous.

“We’re not bodyguards! Why are we here?”

Typhenous chuckled as he posed with the staff in his hand.

“We weren’t doing anything, and this is entertaining, isn’t it Revi?”

Ryoka didn’t hear Ilvriss cursing, or Zevara shouting for the adventurers to back off. She walked out of the group of Gnolls as hands seized the Wall Lord before he could leap at her. She looked at the young woman who was walking towards her, a huge grin on her face.

They met in the center of the street. Ryoka saw the young woman’s smile, and heard her voice.

“Hi Ryoka. What’s up?”

A thousand things to say. A thousand ways to reply. Ryoka cleared her throat awkwardly. She tried to smile, and found it was actually very easy. She looked into Erin Solstice’s eyes and weakly returned the girl’s grin.

“Hi Erin. I’m back.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.10

This is what Pisces saw. He stood in the snowy street, facing down one of the Drake Lords of the Wall and his personal retinue. By his side stood Zel Shivertail, one of the most famous [Generals] in the world. To Pisces’ right and left, two Gold-rank teams, the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt were facing them.

Perhaps it was only he who was slightly incredulous that this scene could take place. Pisces had grown up reading tales of heroes fighting in armies, facing down Dragons and slaying monsters. But he had never believed he’d see a scene similar to that.

And oh, for what a petty reason they’d gathered! Pisces glanced at the tall young woman, the Runner who had attracted Wall Lord Ilvirss’ wrath. Ryoka Griffin. She was hardly important in the grand scheme of things. What reason, what right did she have to change the world in this way?

But perhaps it was her. Pisces turned his head and stared at a girl who truly did defy explanation. Erin Solstice. There was something she had that made her unique. Perhaps not something she had. Somewhere. Perhaps it was the where of her origins that did the trick.

Pisces didn’t know. He understood everything else in the world, but Erin he didn’t. That irked the young man, because he prided himself on his knowledge. It was a type of magic in itself, knowing things, knowing secrets.

That was why among all the tense and glaring warriors present, some gripping their weapons with steady grips or wearing expression of bravado, Pisces was the one truly calm head. Or so he believed. He was busy glancing around, noting each of the groups gathered here. Krshia Silverfang and a good deal of Gnolls had gathered in this spot around Ryoka. Now, why would they do th—

Someone poked him. Pisces jumped. He turned and saw two pale yellow eyes glaring at him. Ceria hissed at Pisces in a low voice that only he and the other Horns of Hammerad could hear.

“Don’t get distracted! Stay ready!”

She was tense, and Pisces could see particles of frost and snow swirling around her skeletal hand. Ceria clearly thought they might have to fight. Pisces disagreed.

“Calm yourself, Springwalker. I don’t believe it will come to violence.”

“Don’t believe—she hit him with a pan!

“Yes, well…”

Pisces could only shrug in reply. The problem with Ceria was that she never educated herself, and there was never time to explain things properly in situations like these. She went around acting the same way, not taking into account local laws and customs. If she had, then she might be more relaxed.

Calmly, Pisces turned and watched the Watch Captain, Zevara, start shouting at Erin while Zel Shivertail forcibly restrained Wall Lord Ilvriss. It looked bad, but it wasn’t going to erupt into violence unless something went truly wrong. And Pisces knew that because he actually read Drake law. He was probably one of the foremost non-Drake experts in the world on the subject.

The Wall Lord was in the wrong in every way here, and he knew it. If he turned things into a conflict, it would be the Watch Captain’s duty to stop him. The adventurers Erin had brought were simply a reminder of that fact.

And while Erin had definitely attacked him, Pisces also knew how Zevara would react. Which is why he smiled triumphantly as the altercation in the street came to a swift close. Zel Shivertail forcibly dragged Ilvriss back until his retainers could calm him down, the Gnolls left the street after escorting Ryoka to Erin. And the innkeeper?

“A fine? Aw, come on…”

“You struck him, Human! Don’t argue! Four gold coins. Give them to Relc—give them to Klbkch and don’t argue or I’ll double your fine!”

Zevara was practically breathing fire; wisps of smoke were leaking from the corners of her mouth. Erin grumbled, but the Watch Captain didn’t wait for a response. She stomped away and then the [Guardsmen] left too.

The [Necromancer] nodded to himself in satisfaction. A predictable result. Really, it was just about knowing how people would react based on a certain set of variables. The Watch Captain was predictable…at least, where it came to Erin. She knew that Erin had the Antinium on her side, and so she was disinclined to start another incident.

Still, four gold coins was vindictive. A single gold coin would have been harsh for starting a brawl. The Watch Captain must have been extremely angry, which spoke to the aberrancy of this situation.

Soon, Erin was hurrying back to the inn with Ryoka. Mrsha was in the Runner’s arms, and the three adventuring groups broke up. Revi was still grumbling.

“We have things to do. How much do we have to do for this [Innkeeper]? Honestly, that obnoxious Drake innkeeper might have been rude and charged a lot, but at least he didn’t bother us.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at Christmas.”

“That was fun. This is work, and we’re doing it for free.”

“Revi, don’t start.”

“I didn’t join this group to do work for free, Ulrien! If we’re going to keep helping Erin, we should at least be paid for…”

Pisces listened with half an ear as Revi, the Stitch-girl [Summoner] argued with the rest of her party. Her response was predictable too. But he had better things to do in this crucial moment where everyone’s guard was down. Pisces stared hard across the street. He could still see Ilvriss arguing—screaming, really—at Zel. They were too far away of course, but happily they were both standing across from each other, so Pisces could see their mouths moving. And that was important to Pisces for one particular reason:

He could read lips.

It would hardly be a great surprise to anyone who knew Pisces that he had that talent. Not a Skill in fact; Pisces had mastered the art of lip reading to avoid wasting a Skill on such a mundane ability. And it had been oh so useful in Wistram, especially when his ability to eavesdrop with his undead creations had been discovered.

Everyone always thought that he, the [Necromancer], had only one particular skill. But Pisces was a [Mage] as well. He had specialized his class in one field of magic—and then gone back to study every other field as well. Pisces sneered at the idea that a truly great mage had to be limited to one class. A true [Mage], or so he felt, specialized in as many classes as possible.

Yes, a great [Mage] was a [Pyromancer], a [Seer], an [Alchemist], a [Sword Mage], a [Warlock], a [Druid]—although Pisces was leery about getting tattooed. And any true mage, any true purveyor of knowledge and secrets had to have other skills as well.

Secrets were worth much even outside of Wistram. And a secret shared between a Wall Lord and a [General]? Oh, so very precious. Pisces’ eyes narrowed as he deciphered part of the Drakes’ conversation.

“I’ll take care of it. You cool your…”

“Ask her! So help me Shivertail, if you…if I have to go to war…”

“I know. I know.”

The two broke away from each other. One of the Drakes accompanying Ilvriss handed something small to Zel and he nodded at the Wall Lord. Pisces casually glanced away as Ilvriss began storming down the street, the other Drakes following him. Only Zel hung back. He slowly began to walk in the direction of the Wandering Inn.

Curious. Pisces stroked his chin as the adventurers began heading back to the inn as well. What did ‘I’ll take care of it’ mean? Clearly, Ryoka was important to the two Drakes, but the Wall Lord was particularly interested in her, it seemed. He’d threatened her with steel, against Watch Captain Zevara’s explicit orders. He would never normally do that, Wall Lord or not.

Pisces was aware of Drake politics, and a Watch Captain was second to none in her own city when it came to matters of law and order. She could only ever be overruled in military matters by a soldier of equivalent or equal rank to a [Colonel], and certainly not by a foreign lord.

“Ryoka’s back. Do you think she got the magical items appraised?”

Pisces focused back on reality as he heard Ceria speaking anxiously. Ah, yes. The magical artifacts. Pisces cleared his throat. He didn’t know whether Ryoka had them either, but his observations could only improve the general understanding of his group.

“I surmise that if she had the items, they are stored in the bag of holding at her belt. Given the limited opportunity she had to visit Invrisil, I would imagine it is unlikely she would have returned without some knowledge of the magical artifacts.”

“I know that.”

Ceria nodded, but she seemed relieved to have been reassured.

“She said she appraised them. But she also said she might have to sell some. I wonder…”

“Captain Ceria, I am unsure of the protocol regarding adventuring in groups. Should I express my dissatisfaction with Ryoka or general avarice at this point?”

Pisces’ lips quirked and he turned his head to avoid smiling at Ksmvr. The Antinium was far too amusing to belong in his Hive, which was probably why he’d been kicked out. Ceria paused and Pisces saw a peculiar expression on the face of the woman who was walking as far away from Pisces as politely possible.

Yvlon coughed and scratched absently at her bare forearms. At first glance, they looked like they were covered with some metallic liquid. Then it became clear that the metal was fused into her arms, melded with both flesh and bone. Yvlon’s affliction intrigued Pisces every time he looked at her. He had no little amount of sympathy for her either; she had received those injuries defending all of them from a fire construct. It was a shame he couldn’t use his skill with bones to fix her, but there wasn’t enough of her bone left unscathed for him to work with.

Perhaps if she’d let him experiment with adding someone else’s bone to hers. But Yvlon would never hear of it, so Pisces hadn’t bothered to suggest. She hated necromancy, and thus barely tolerated him.

“Ksmvr, you don’t have to do anything. Magical items are important it’s true, but in my experience, the best adventurers don’t fixate on them. I’ve seen too many teams torn apart fighting over the loot from an expedition to count.”

The Antinium with three arms absorbed this information slowly, nodding his head.

“I see. I will commit this information to memory. However, I assume we will wish to speak with Ryoka Griffin in the near future?”

“If we can. Looks like everyone wants a piece of her.”

Ceria groaned. And that was certainly true. When Pisces got to the inn, the first thing he heard was Erin’s voice.

“Okay everyone, form a line! Anyone who wants to speak with Ryoka can wait in line. Uh, send just one person if you’re a group. Krshia wants to talk first, and then Klbkch—hey Klbkch, your mean Captain says I have to give you money. And Zel said he wants to talk too. And then—oh, Ksmvr?”

Ksmvr strode into place right behind Zel and Klbkch. He flinched as the Revalantor of the Free Antinium stared at him, but Klbkch said nothing. Zel looked unhappy to be surrounded by Antinium, but his desire to speak to Ryoka clearly outweighed his emotions. He stood stiffly with both arms folded. Klbkch looked equally unhappy to have the Drake [General] behind him. Pisces nearly burst out laughing when he saw Klbkch and Zel fidgeting. How could no one see the humor in that situation?

But he refrained from laughing and just nodded towards Ksmvr as the Antinium waved to Pisces and the other Horns of Hammerad from his place at the back of the line.

“Commendable, I must say.”

Pisces said that appreciatively as he took a comfortable seat at one of the tables. He waved at Lyonette for a drink and something hot to eat while he waited. Pisces smiled to himself until he noticed Ceria and Yvlon glaring at him.

What? What? Oh, did they think he was being sarcastic? Pisces rolled his eyes. He had merely been expressing his gratitude that Ksmvr would stand in line for them, despite his stated issues with Klbkch. Why were people so fixated on believing the worst of him?

In any case, the break gave Ceria and Yvlon time as well, and they spent that time worrying about what Ryoka had discovered in Invrisil. Pisces spent his time far more frugally. He devoted a pleasurable few seconds ordering what was on tap from Lyonette and receiving a small bowl of fried potato strips he quite liked. And all the time he watched Ryoka talking with the people in line.

He couldn’t see Krshia speaking with Ryoka, but he got a good view of Ryoka’s lips as Klbkch approached. Pisces paused, watching the young woman’s lips carefully as he bit into a french fry.

“I told Magnolia.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed as he watched Klbkch nod, reply, and walk swiftly out of the inn. He couldn’t read the Antinium’s lips—since he didn’t have any, only mandibles. But this was curious too. What had Ryoka told Magnolia and why would it involve Klbkch the Slayer of all people?

After Klbkch came Zel Shivertail. Now Pisces was really interested. He tried to focus on Ryoka’s lips, but the Drake was blocking the way. Pisces hissed under his breath and reached into his robes. Time to try another tack.

Something crawled out of a hidden pocket Pisces had sewn into his new robes and onto his hand. He didn’t react, but carefully lowered it to the underside of the table. Pisces felt it crawl off and casually reached for another fry, not looking down at the ground. He didn’t have to; he could sense what was happening.

Quickly, a small spider began to scuttle down the table leg, onto the floor, and towards where Ryoka was seated across the inn. It was a Shield Spider, or rather, a Shield Spiderling. A baby spider, newly hatched.

And it was dead. In fact, it was undead. Pisces had found the spider a long time ago and figured out a way to reanimate it using his magic. It was an extraordinary achievement in the field of [Necromancy] for him—he hadn’t thought he could animate non-mammalian species until now. No one had appreciated that of course, but that was all to the better now. Because Pisces could see and hear what his creation did.

The undead Shield Spider scuttled quickly across the floorboards. Pisces tried to shield it from anyone’s view, keeping it in the shadows, running along the wall. Fortunately, all the adventurers were busy having a late lunch. Pisces had been worried Halrac, the keen-eyed [Scout] might see, but the man was too busy arguing with Revi. Thank goodness for loudmouthed [Mages]. Pisces detested them the most.

Nearly there…Pisces sat up in anticipation as his Shield Spider moved two tables away from Ryoka and Zel. He could hear them talking, faintly.

“…I am simply asking how…benefactor?…won’t give up…”

That was Zel’s voice. The spider scuttled closer. Pisces could see through its multiple eyes Ryoka and Zel’s feet. He heard Ryoka reply after a pause.

“I can’t tell you.”

“May I ask w—”

Something suddenly smacked the spider sideways, sending its view tumbling around in chaos. Pisces nearly leapt out of his chair. He looked over and saw a white ball of fur, crouched in the exact place where his spider was.

Mrsha! Pisces saw her tail wagging. He nearly stood up before he caught himself. Instead, he sent quick signals to his undead creation. The spider fled towards a table, but Mrsha leapt after it.

Drat the child! Pisces watched in horror as Mrsha chased after the fleeing undead spider. He desperately tried to get the young Gnoll’s attention, but Mrsha was oblivious as she cornered the Shield Spider’s corpse. With all the inquisitiveness, thoughtfulness, and brutality of an innocent child, she smashed the tiny spider into the ground and then sniffed at the remains.

The spider was gone. Pisces couldn’t control it, or hear anything else. He slumped in his chair, wanting to bury his face in his hands. All that work. No one knew how hard it was to animate a spider compared to a Human corpse, let alone put listening and vision spells on it! But she hadn’t known. Yet he’d been so close to hearing something worthwhile!

“Too bad about that.”

Pisces glanced up. Ceria was staring at him across the table. He frowned.

“Excuse me?”

The half-Elf nodded her head very slowly. She stole one of Pisces’ fries and licked at the salt on top before chewing it thoughtfully. She kept her voice very low as she spoke directly to Pisces.

“Next time, you should enchant it with something to make it faster, more durable, or smell bad. Otherwise Mrsha will just destroy it. She likes small moving things, unluckily for you.”

He stiffened and opened his mouth to deny the truth or to lie, but Ceria just looked at him. She pointed to where Ksmvr was patiently waiting at the head of the line. Zel was standing up, looking dissatisfied.

“We’re up.”

Pisces stared at Ceria, and then got to his feet. He reflected that while he saw much more than most, he had to be careful himself. Because other people were watching him. He wondered whether Ceria thought she was on his side, or if she was warning him. It didn’t matter. Pisces had no side.

He was, and always had been alone. Friendships were fleeting, and alliances were simply the prelude to betrayal. Pisces knew he should expect less than nothing from his new party, this reckless endeavor known as the Horns of Hammerad.

And yet, he did like them, even Yvlon. Imagine that.

 

—-

 

Ryoka sat in Erin’s inn, a drink of hot, lemon-flavored sugar water in front of her and a bowl of salty fries by her right hand. It was easier to eat fries with her right hand while she used her left hand to lift the cup. Her two missing fingers on her right hand made Ryoka’s grip feel uneasy and lopsided whenever she lifted something remotely heavy.

That wasn’t what she should be focusing on. There was so much to do, so much to think about! Now that Ryoka was back in Liscor, it seemed like everything was happening at once.

First Krshia, then Ilvriss. Now Klbkch. Ryoka watched as the Antinium strode out of the door. She couldn’t say much to him in the inn, not with everyone around. But he got the message. Magnolia knew of his intentions. What would Klbkch do now? Ryoka would have loved to talk it over with him, but now came another problem.

Zel Shivertail sat down across from Ryoka and gave her a brief smile.

“We meet again, Miss Runner. My apologies, it’s Miss Griffin, isn’t it?”

“Ryoka is fine.”

Ryoka stared at him warily. She barely recognized the huge Drake. But she remembered his voice. She remembered the second-to-last last time she’d seen him, in a dark and misty forest and soldiers fought and died around them. He’d been lost, until Ilvriss had arrived and everything had gone to hell.

She’d seen him two other times as well. Both times Zel had been leading a charge. First, on Ilvriss’ camp as Ryoka had run away in the chaos. The second time, against the Goblin Lord as the Stone Spears tribe and Ryoka had been fighting for their lives.

The young woman’s throat constricted as she remembered the thousands of Goblins killing the Gnolls, overrunning Zel’s army. She glanced away from Zel, towards Mrsha. The Gnoll was happily following something on the floor.

Zel followed Ryoka’s gaze.

“I remembered you and that Gnoll cub. Funny—I could have sworn she had brown fur before, but then I only got a short look at you while I was trying to kill that damn Goblin Lord.”

Ryoka paused. She looked at Zel. He’d been courteous to her before, more so than Ilvriss. But she didn’t know the first thing about him. But at least on this subject, being honest might help.

“She did have brown fur. It turned white after the battle.”

After she lost her tribe. Zel looked at Mrsha and shook his head. He looked melancholy. Was there affection in his eyes as he stared at Mrsha? Why?

“So some of the rumors about white fur among Gnolls is true. I had no idea their fur could change color, though. Mrsha certainly gets into enough trouble without needing bad luck.”

“Uh yeah. I heard you helped save her once. Thank you.”

It felt odd. Ryoka was caught between the impulse to profusely thank Zel and the incongruity of it. She wasn’t Mrsha’s parents. But she was her guardian, the only one the Gnoll had left. She should have been there.

More guilt. Zel shook his head casually.

“Anyone would have done the same. But perhaps you can return the favor? I’m sorry about earlier, but you might have guessed that Ilvriss came to Liscor looking for you.”

Ryoka’s heart began to beat a bit faster. She kept her tone casual as she watched Erin buzz about the room, serving food, talking with people. How had her inn gotten so busy? The last time Ryoka had been here, it was practically deserted except for a few visitors. But now she had two Gold-rank adventurer teams staying here? And Zel?

“I did notice. Mind telling me what he wants?”

“He wants to know what happened to his lieutenant. Periss. She ran after you in the battle in the forest and never returned. Ilvriss thinks you had something to do with her going missing.”

Cold spikes of fear ran through Ryoka’s stomach. Here was something else she hadn’t had time to think about. The same argument ran through her head. Az’kerash, the legendary Necromancer was ranked about equal to Teriarch on Ryoka’s list of people she didn’t want to piss off. And if she told people where he was hiding…

Zel spread his claws out on the table.

“Let me tell you what I saw, back when we first met, Ryoka. I met you during a battlefield. Well, I saw you earlier after you’d sent Ilvriss’ camp into chaos. I still have to thank you for that. Without that advantage my side might have lost the battle.”

“Was it an important battle?”

Ryoka stared at Zel. The [General] shrugged, looking slightly bitter.

“Important for some. It was a squabble between one of the Walled Cities and a coalition of city-states. If I’d have lost, there would have been trouble, the cities might have had to become vassals or pay tribute or some other nonsense…but nothing tremendously terrible would have occurred.”

“And that’s why you’re with Ilvriss now? Because you’re all buddies after the war?”

Zel bared his pointed teeth in a grin.

“I hate his scales. But he wanted to know what happened to his lieutenant and I thought it was curious too. Because—and I’ve gone off track—I saw you during the battle. Aside from the fact that you managed to either defeat Periss and a dozen elite [Soldiers] or lose them—which some Couriers would have trouble doing—there was the battle with the Goblin Lord.”

“Yeah. That.”

The [General] stared at Ryoka.

“I’m sorry about that Gnoll tribe. I did all I could to save them, but that Goblin Lord—did you know he was in the area?”

Ryoka’s hand clenched on the edge of the table.

“I had no idea.”

“I thought so. But you saved Mrsha.”

“One of them. Just one.”

“More than I could with an army. The rest of the tribe went down fighting. Every last one of them.”

Zel sighed. Ryoka felt as if she’d dropped through the floor. She reached for the hot drink Erin had given her and took a sip. It felt like she was drinking death.

All of them. An entire tribe. That was Ivolethe’s price.

Ivolethe. Ryoka turned her head. The faerie had vanished after the Gnolls had grabbed her. She might not have wanted to interfere, or known Ryoka wouldn’t be in trouble. Where was she…?

There. She was riding on Mrsha’s head, laughing as the white Gnoll cub snuck up on something on the floor. Ryoka felt worried until she remembered that Erin’s inn was built with copper nails. Ivolethe was free to enter and exit here without danger.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Ryoka started. She glanced at Zel and saw him looking at Mrsha. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to burden you. It’s just that I saw you using that potion—or was it an artifact—after the battle. You ran faster than I’ve ever seen anyone go. And then during the battle—I saw you freeze your way through part of the Goblin Lord’s army to get away. You were running like a Courier then, too.”

The Frost Faeries. Ryoka opened her mouth and then closed it. Zel eyed her calmly.

“Please understand, I’m not accusing you of anything. I am simply asking how you did all that. Do you have some kind of benefactor who supplies you with magical items? Did you have to defend yourself? Is that how Periss died? Ilvriss won’t give up until he knows the truth behind her disappearance.”

Hesitation. Ryoka looked down at her hands. Her two missing fingers. She took a deep breath.

“I can’t tell you.”

“May I ask why not?”

How could she answer that? What was the safest way? Ryoka grabbed a fry and bit into it. Zel did the same as he waited patiently.

“It’s…complicated. If I told you, you might be in danger.”

“Me?”

Zel looked amused by the notion.

“Miss Ryoka, I’ve been in danger since the first Antinium War. You might not know who I am—”

“Zel Shivertail. The Tidebreaker. I know.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed by the title. Zel reached for a handful of fries, chewing them down as he spoke.

“I’m not the best [General]. My reputation’s overinflated by stories, but I am a seasoned warrior. I’ve had [Assassins] and angry idiots after my head for over a decade. I think the Assassin’s Guild has given up trying to claim the price on my head. Even if an army were after me—or Ilvriss—”

“You’d still be in danger. I know who you are. And I’m still telling you that.”

Ryoka stared at Zel. He stopped chewing and looked at her.

“Really now?”

“Really really.”

“Huh.”

Zel’s tail flicked in interest. Behind him, Ryoka saw Ivolethe flying about, dragging something through the air as Mrsha chased and leapt after it. Both Frost Faerie and Gnoll were loving the game of tag.

“So it’s dangerous to us, hm? What about you? If you need protection—”

“Telling you would make things worse, believe me. I—look, I can’t tell you much. At all. But I call tell you this. I didn’t kill Periss. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t lure her into a trap on purpose or tell someone to kill her—she followed me and she died. I’m sorry it happened, but it was an accident on all sides.”

“In the forest. There was some kind of enchantment there that made me lose my way.”

Zel looked thoughtfully at Ryoka. She bit her lip.

“Don’t ask me anymore. And don’t go looking, please. For your sake. Just let it go.”

“I can let some things go. But my, uh, friend won’t. Ilvriss…that idiot won’t admit it, but I think he and Periss were a couple.”

Ryoka’s heart hurt as it sank.

“He—was?”

Zel nodded. He drummed his claws on the table, which made them cut into the wood until he noticed it and stopped.

“Damn. Sorry. Yes, well, it would be a scandal for a Wall Lord and a lowly officer in his army to be together, but I think that’s why he’s so obsessed. He loved her.”

“I’m sorry. But I still can’t tell you anything.”

Ryoka whispered the words. Zel looked at her. He stared at Ryoka in a way that made her think he was looking into her hidden heart. Then it was done and he nodded.

“I guess that’s all you can tell me for now. I’ll tell Ilvriss what you said, although I can’t promise he’ll stop coming after you. I can stop him, but perhaps…well, we’ll leave it at that for today. I know you’re busy, Ryoka. It was a pleasure to meet you again, regardless.”

He stood up, and pulled something out from a pocket. Ryoka blinked as she saw a dangling piece of metal shaped to look like a slow spiral. There was a large gem in the center, and evenly spaced smaller gems—diamonds perhaps—set along the curving bit of metal. Like a progression. Each one of the gems was glowing a different shade of green—some bright green, one a very pale green, almost yellow. But the biggest gem shone bright and green.

Zel inspected the gems critically for a second and then shook his head.

“Hm. You were telling the truth about all of that. Ilvriss might not be happy, but at least he won’t try to cut my tail off.”

“What—is that—”

“Oh, this is a truth detector. It’s a bit fancier than the truth gems—it records a number of statements so I don’t have to keep looking at it. It’s not very useful, considering you can do the same with a single gem, but Ilvriss insisted.”

“You—”

He put her through a lie detector test! Ryoka gaped at the [General]. He smiled wryly.

“Sorry, but I had to be certain.”

He pocketed the artifact and walked towards the entrance of the inn, smiling and speaking to Lyonette briefly while Ryoka sat in shock.

Truth gems. Ryoka closed her eyes briefly. This was why lying and keeping secrets was so much harder in this world! She really needed to buy something that would negate the effects of such spells. Was there such a thing?

“Hey Ryoka, are you okay? What did Zel want?”

The young woman opened her eyes. Erin hovered next to the table, looking concerned. She had a pair of full mugs in her hand and Ryoka eyed the alcohol with no little degree of temptation.

“What did he want? Uh—well, he was asking about a time when I met him, Erin.”

“You met Zel before? Really?”

“Yep. On my run. I met him and Ilvriss. It’s uh, complicated.”

“Wow.”

Erin looked impressed. She glanced towards the door, but Zel had already left. Still, she leaned down and whispered conspiratorially to Ryoka.

“He’s a pretty big deal among the Drakes. He’s some kind of war hero, and he’s really scary, in a grandfather-type way, you know?”

“I…guess?”

Ryoka couldn’t exactly see that. Then again, she’d met Zel when he was slicing people apart with his claws. Erin nodded.

“He’s cool, though. I uh, think he doesn’t like me as much, but he’s really nice to Lyonette and Mrsha!”

“Oh. Right. He stays here.”

“That’s right!”

So she’d be seeing him around. Ryoka’s heart sank. Erin eyed her friend, and put the mugs on the table.

“Is everything okay? Are you in a big trouble with that Ilvriss guy? Because if you are, I can talk to Zel—”

“No, I can sort it out. I think.”

Ryoka didn’t want to get Erin involved. She knew a bit about the Necromancer—Ryoka had told her in a moment of idiocy. But she couldn’t get Erin involved any more. Ryoka wasn’t sure how dangerous telling people about Az’kerash was, yet. So she wouldn’t tell Erin.

There was a pang in Ryoka’s chest as she thought that. Wasn’t the key problem in every stupid B-grade film keeping secrets? Only, there were some secrets that needed to be kept.

Even from friends? Ryoka cleared her throat and looked at Erin. Her friend. But how long had it been since they’d had a chance to talk? So much had happened…

“Hey Erin, I know we haven’t gotten a chance to talk. I just wanted to say thanks…”

Erin waved a hand at her, looking awkward.

“Aw, don’t mention it. I heard an angry Drake was chasing you around the city with a sword, so I called in a few favors. We should talk—”

“We should!”

Ryoka wanted to say more, but someone—an angry Stitch-girl waving a mug—called Erin’s name and she had to rush off. Ryoka sank back into her seat. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned coming back. All she wanted to do was talk to Erin for a bit, but now here came…

“Ksmvr?”

It was still hard for Ryoka to tell the Antinium apart, but Ksmvr’s lack of a fourth arm helped in identifying him.

“Good evening Miss Ryoka Griffin. I am here to politely inquire about the magical items my party loaned you for the purposes of identification. I am not seeking this knowledge in an avaricious way; merely in order to assist and participate in my adventuring group’s success.”

Ryoka stared at him. She put her head in her hands. Ksmvr stared at her and then at her french fries.

“Are you eating that?”

 

—-

 

“Dead gods.”

“Tree rot.”

“Silver and steel.”

“I lack an appropriate expression for this moment. Comrade Pisces, assist me with determining one.”

“I think, wow is probably all you need, Ksmvr.”

Jelaqua Ivirith spoke drily as she peered over the shoulder of Ceria. The other Horns of Hammerad were frozen as they stared at the pile of weapons, armor, and other magical artifacts Ryoka had taken from her bag of holding and piled on the table. The other Gold-rank adventurers in the room were watching from a respectable distance, pretending to eat. But they couldn’t take their eyes off the sparkling treasure any more than Erin could.

“Look at it all. There’s a pair of vambraces, swords—”

“A magical robe, a wand—no, two wands, and a spellbook—

Ceria was gingerly touching the artifacts as if they might explode. She held up a spellbook, the color bright yellow and inscribed the dark outline of some kind of bird in flight. Pisces picked up one of the rings and stared at a second sword with a frown.

“That wasn’t one of the items we recovered. Was it in the bag of holding?”

“Was all of this in the bag of holding?”

Ceria turned to Ryoka, wide-eyed. The Runner girl stood with her hands in her pockets, smiling awkwardly at the other’s dumbfounded expressions. Mrsha reached for the dagger and Lyonette grabbed her. Ivolethe did the same until Erin lured her away with a bowl full of raw meat and honey.

“There’s no way. Look at all these items! There’s equipment for me, Pisces, Yvlon—there’s equipment for everyone!”

“Amazing.”

Yvlon picked up the buckler and stared at the faint scar, the seam of metal almost invisibly merged together. She tapped the buckler and nearly dropped it when a transparent, shimmering field extended from the sides of the buckler, creating a second shield that overlapped the first, creating a magical barrier in the air.

“I note these swords are not reacting despite their apparent enchantments. May I hold both, or will I burst into flame and die in excruciating agony?”

Ksmvr stared at Ryoka. His words created a momentary hush before Ryoka recovered her tongue.

“It’s fine, Ksmvr.”

“Ah, the enchantments do not conflict?”

She shook her head.

“Some of it is lower-grade stuff, but it’s all compatible or so I’m told. That’s the real benefit here. An expert [Enchanter] did the matching up so you should be able to equip any combination of items without the enchantments clashing.”

“Dead gods.”

Ceria breathed the words out. Her hands were shaking. Erin could understand her emotions.

“I thought you could only use one or two artifacts or else they’d combine and explode!”

“Only if the enchantments are poorly woven. But if an expert in the field were to select quality pieces, an adventurer may wear a large variety of enchanted items.”

Typhenous remarked as he studied the ring Pisces had picked up with unconcealed envy. Ulrien nodded.

“That’s a service a lot of Gold-rank adventurers and Named Adventurers pay for. Your group is exceptionally lucky.”

“But how? I’m sure this all wasn’t in the bag of holding—”

Ceria turned to Ryoka, looking bewildered. Ryoka took a deep breath. This was the part she’d been worried about.

“I had to sell one of the items from the bag. It was valuable. Really valuable. The [Enchanter] I talked to agreed to exchange all of this for the item. He also says he owes you a favor you can call in at any time.”

Everyone went silent at the news. Yvlon glanced at Ceria and Ksmvr scratched at one antennae. At last, Seborn broke the silence. He and Moore were staring at one of the rings Pisces was holding with a frown.

“It must have been some item.”

“Indeed.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed. He glanced at the array of magical items Hedault had found for Ryoka.

“The fact that you refuse to tell us is indication alone of its worth. Why not reveal its nature…unless you think you made a poor deal? Or perhaps one better than the quality of arms represented here?”

Ryoka frowned, feeling defensive and feeling that she shouldn’t feel defensive. She turned towards Pisces as Ceria and Yvlon stared at her.

“I don’t want to tell you because if I did, you might have gotten into a fight about it. It was an item two of you could use, and only one of you could have.”

Ceria and Pisces traded glances, while Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at each other. The Horns of Hammerad looked at Ryoka. Pisces’ tone was accusing.

“So one of us could have used it to great effect—”

“But only one of you. And it would have caused a huge fight, believe me.”

“So you sold it without consulting us.”

“Pisces!”

Ceria snapped at Pisces, who’d folded his arms disapprovingly.

“We agreed to let Ryoka decide what to do. If she says it was better to sell the artifact—”

“Again, without consulting us. She might have let us know what it was, first.”

“But then we’d fight, wouldn’t we?”

Yvlon frowned at Pisces. She stared at the items, thinking aloud.

“No matter what it was…I bet it would have caused issues, even if we decided whose it would be. How fair would it have been to split the loot afterwards? What if someone wanted to take it and abandon the team? I’ve seen groups torn apart over that before.”

Ceria nodded slowly, and Ksmvr stared at Ceria before nodding energetically as well. Pisces blew out his cheeks, looking annoyed, but someone else voiced their agreement.

“I’ve seen the same thing as well. It happens all the time and it can lead to bloodshed when people fight over the best artifact.”

Jelaqua crossed her arms as she sat at a table with Ulrien and Halrac. Both Gold-rank adventurers nodded as the Selphid spoke directly to Pisces.

“I think you’d better thank your Runner friend here, Horns of Hammerad. She might have spared you an ugly argument.”

Revi, Typhenous, Moore, and Seborn all murmured in agreement. Pisces looked around for support and found none. He sighed dramatically.

“Very well. I suppose I must withdraw my issue. But let us at least find out what we paid for.”

Ryoka smiled, feeling relieved and grateful towards the other adventurers.

“It’s worth it, believe me. Hedault—the guy who did all the appraising and buying—found some quality stuff for you.”

She began to list out the items from memory, handing each one around as the Horns of Hammerad clustered around the table. They were practically shaking with excitement, and the other adventurers drew close, taking the item after the others were done with it and looking it over and talking softly. Erin and Lyonette got a chance to investigate the artifacts too, although Mrsha was banned from touching, much to the Gnoll’s quiet grievance.

“The biggest items are the sword with the weight enchantment, the Flamespread Dagger, the Forceshield Buckler, the [Barkskin] ring, the Ring of Jumping…and the ring that shoots the attack spell. There are a few potions and the bag of glowing stones and monster lure…”

Ryoka showed the Horns of Hammerad the ball with the angry face. Mrsha leapt up onto the table to touch it. It began shrieking and scared Mrsha so badly she fled into the kitchen, crying, until Lyonette went to cuddle her and pour a bit of healing potion into her sensitive ears.

“Ow. Okay, so that’s the stuff we recovered. What’s the rest of this?”

Ceria rubbed at her own ears. Ryoka smiled.

“Nothing too good according to Hedault, which means decent protective enchantments on all the gear. Yvlon—you’ve already got the chest plate, right. I have the vambraces and greaves for you…a helmet as well, and there’s gauntlets somewhere…”

“How strong are the enchantments?”

Erin remarked with interest as she peered at the plain steel gauntlets Yvlon was trying on. The woman winced as she struck part of the metal in her skin with the edge. Jelaqua struck the chest plate with the head of her flail experimentally and nodded in approval.

“This is good stuff. I’ve seen enchantments like these before. They cushion blows, not just make the metal stronger. Give me a good cuirass and I could kill a score of zombies by myself.”

“You could kill a group of Ghouls with that sword if you’re quick enough.”

Ulrien remarked as he tested the sword by tapping Moore’s staff as the half-Giant blocked. Moore grunted softly.

“A strong enchantment. Very nice.”

“You bet. And I’ve got a robe for Pisces. It only has a small protective charm, but I’m told it resists stains. And it’s white.”

“Thank the leaves for that.”

Pisces sniffed as Ceria tossed the robe at him. He was studying the two wands. There were also three rings sitting on the table next to them.

“Am I to understand these are both for us? What of the rings?”

Ryoka nodded, smiling.

“Two wands, both made of…damn, I forget. Some kind of redwood tree? Hedault said it didn’t really matter. The centers are filled with Waisrabbit bone in one, and Gazereye—the stone, not the actual eye of a Gazer—in the other.”

“Low-quality materials, but acceptable. I shall use the bone wand, Ceria, if you agree.”

“Fine by me.”

“Aw. Rabbit bone and stone? Is that really wand material?”

Erin peered dubiously at the wands. It was Pisces who answered with a second, self-important sniff.

“Both materials are decently rare and certainly useful as catalysts, Erin. Gazereye is a decently powerful hallucinogenic stone whose powers are magical and Waisrabbits have several unique abilities.”

“Like what?”

“They can teleport. And cast a form of offensive magic. They’re quite hard to catch. These wands would be costly, if not exactly hard to acquire. What of the rings, Ryoka?”

“Okay, there’s three of them…uh, I think this one has the [Lightweight] enchantment. I thought it would be good for Ksmvr and Yvlon—you won’t be slowed down by the armor.”

“That’s handy.”

“These two…Ksmvr, this ring lets you breathe underwater.”

Ksmvr paused.

“Very valuable. I shall take it.”

Ryoka sensed Ulrien and Halrac’s eyes on her. They knew that she knew the Antinium’s weak point. She cleared her throat and went on.

“And for you Ceria, I have this ring that has a catalyst built into it. It’s supposed to help amplify your ice spells. See, the outside is enchanted to insulate the inner part, because inside of it is—”

“Everfreeze Ice. I see.”

Pisces inspected the ring. Ryoka blinked.

“You can tell?”

“Oh yes. Springwalker could draw from the cold of the ice in situations where the temperature does not suit her spellcasting. It is a good choice. But where is my ring?”

“I have a spellbook. One filled with a few decent Tier 3 spells and some unusual Tier 2 and Tier 1 spells.”

Ryoka offered it to Pisces. He took it without comment and began flipping through it with desultory interest.

“And for me?”

Ksmvr stared at Ryoka. She smiled awkwardly.

“I didn’t know if any of the armor I got would fit you, Ksmvr. So instead I had Hedault find another sword. It’s enchanted to be a bit sharper and sturdier, but not much more. I’m told it’s good enough for a Gold-rank adventurer, though. I have a cloak designed to protect from mundane arrows as well, but that’s all I could find that would fit you. I got you a bow that can shoot twice as far and some enchanted arrows, but no armor. Sorry.”

The Antinium paused, and then nodded.

“That is quite enough. My thanks for the consideration you have shown.”

Ryoka paused. She had her hand over the bag of holding the Horns had given her. Now she reached into it and began to pull out potions, a scroll, a length of enchanted rope…

“This is extra stuff, but it’s the kind of adventuring gear that Gold-rank adventurers use. I’ve got strong healing potions, mana potions…enough to get you all set up.”

The Horns of Hammerad clustered around, appraising the items. Pisces looked quite impressed by the quality of the healing potions and tried to pocket one before Ceria caught him.

Revi edged over to her teammates. She whispered to them as the others kept talking.

“Hey Ulrien, Halrac, appraise how much those extra items were worth for me.”

The two experienced adventurers frowned. Ulrien started counting on his fingers.

“A full set of matching enchanted plate armor is…ten thousand gold pieces at least.”

That much?”

I don’t have a matching set of armor. Even if all the enchantments aren’t of the same quality, the fact that they don’t conflict is what matters. That’s why I use other enchantments and don’t wear plate at all. As for the wands, what do you think, Halrac?”

“At least a thousand gold pieces each. That [Necromancer] is underselling them. They’re not cheap, hundred gold-piece wands with an expendable spell. As for the sword…if it’s good enough for Gold-rank, it’s worth a few thousand gold.”

“Oh come on. I’ve seen weapons for a few hundred—”

“Not if it’s good, Revi. Quality matters and these ones have no mana bleed. That doubles their prices alone. Add in a spellbook for a thousand…robes are probably a few hundred…expensive cloak if it can resist arrow strikes…the bow…rings…”

“Don’t forget those potions and the other items. Some look useful.”

Halrac nodded.

“Say twenty five thousand for the lot?”

Twenty five thousand?

He shrugged.

“I’m guessing. It could be half again as much. Or half that if you have a haggling Skill. The fact that all the enchantments don’t spill over is incredibly useful. It means the Horns can upgrade their pieces without fear or swap them out. That’s worth a large amount. As for the rest…”

“Makes you wonder what the item they sold was. It must have been expensive.”

Ulrien frowned thoughtfully.

“The real question is how big the debt the [Enchanter] owes them is. Is it a small favor or…?”

They turned their attention back to Ceria as she spoke to the others, gesturing to Ksmvr.

“We have a decent spread of equipment—and more gold than we gave Ryoka. We can outfit Ksmvr with anything else he might need.”

Ceria pointed to the pile on the table as she turned to the others. She was shaking and grinning at the same time. She hesitated, opened her mouth, turned to the rest of her group.

“Should we…start dividing stuff up? Does anyone have a preference?”

“The robes, armor and so on are easily divided. However, the most powerful items—the dagger, sword, buckler, and three rings are not. I shall express my desire for the [Barkskin] ring and the ring that projects the spell immediately.”

Pisces picked up both rings, looking at the others. Ceria frowned.

“You can’t have two rings, Pisces.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want that ring.”

“Shouldn’t a warrior have it?”

“Yeah, but it’s [Barkskin]. Do you know how useful that is?”

“I do. That is why I want it.”

“Hold on, let’s not fight. We should decide who gets the easiest items to assign first.”

Yvlon interrupted the squabble between the two [Mages] as she picked up the sword. She swung it carefully as everyone backed up to let her do it. Yvlon looked at the sword, and then wistfully at the buckler.

“As much as I’d like a magical shield, having a sword like this has been a dream of mine. Ksmvr, would you let me take this one?”

“Yes, Comrade Yvlon. And I believe you should have this as well given that you are more proficient with it than I.”

To everyone’s surprise, Ksmvr handed the buckler to Yvlon. She tried to push it back, looking shocked.

“I can’t have both!”

“It is only logical. You are specialized in the sword and shield style of fighting, Comrade Yvlon. I am used to any number of weapon combinations. It would be most effective to concentrate strength in one member of the party.”

“But I—no, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“But it is I who insist. As a member of the party, I wish to make the most advantageous decision for the group possible.”

Everyone stared at Ksmvr. He shrugged. Yvlon looked moved to tears as she took the buckler.

“Call me Yvlon, Ksmvr. I’m sure I’ve told you that. And if you’re sure, I’ll gladly accept. But I won’t forget this.”

Ksmvr smiled, raising his mandibles and parting them slightly as Yvlon put the buckler on one arm and held the sword with the other. Fully armored once again and holding the two enchanted items, she looked like she was ready for another battle. Ryoka had to smile. Ksmvr’s generosity did unpleasantly happy things to her heart, and she saw Jelaqua nudge her two companions and grin as well. Halrac looked approving, and Ulrien and Typhenous were nodding in tandem.

Ashamed by Ksmvr’s display, Ceria and Pisces stopped fighting over the rings and looked at each other.

“Ksmvr’s right. You take the ring with the spell attack, Pisces.”

“And you take the [Barkskin] ring, Ceria.”

“No.”

To the surprise of all again, Ceria handed both the [Barkskin] ring and the Ring of Jumping to Ksmvr. He stared down at them.

“But if I accept these items, what will you have, Captain Ceria?”

“Call me Ceria too, Ksmvr. And I have the spellbook. I think it’s fair if I don’t take an item, right Pisces?”

She looked at the [Necromancer]. He looked startled, and then shook his head.

“One item would be appropriate, Ceria.”

“Not if Ksmvr needs it. Ryoka had the right idea with the cloak, but Ksmvr can’t wear armor like most of us. He needs protection. As for the ring…I’m not a frog, and I hate heights. I don’t think you want to leap around, Pisces, Yvlon—”

“No thanks.”

Ryoka bit her lip as Ksmvr accepted the ring. She really, really would have liked it for herself. But she didn’t want to say it out loud and spoil the mood.

Newly equipped, the Horns of Hammerad looked at each other. Pisces was smiling, and Yvlon looked like a girl with a bunch of toys. Sharp, deadly toys.

“What do we do now, oh Captain? I want to run out and challenge a Mothbear right now.”

Ceria nodded, flipping the wand over in her hands and catching it. With a pang, Ryoka realized she alone would have only two new items from all of this, the wand and ring. But Ceria seemed happy enough. She thought, and then indicated the wand in her hands.

“Practice first. We have to know how to fight with all this—this equipment! Then we’ll think about what we could do with our new gear. I’ll bet there are all sorts of new tactics we could employ…”

“You might also want to see if the Guild will recertify you as Gold-rank adventurers.”

Everyone looked at Ulrien. The big man pointed at Yvlon’s sword.

“Your gear alone could make you a Gold-rank, Miss Yvlon. And given the experience of the others and your ability, I’d say getting the Guild to confirm your rank might be easy. If not, one or two requests would certainly put you there.”

“Gold rank.”

Ceria and Yvlon breathed the words. Ryoka held her breath. Just like that. The Horns of Hammerad had approached the next tier of adventuring in a single moment. The moment lasted right up until Typhenous coughed.

“On the note of artifacts, I hate to make the request now, but before you are too accustomed to your items, I would like to ask if you had considered selling the ring young Pisces holds.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at Typhenous. Ulrien nudged the older mage, looking disapproving, but Typhenous wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“I will pay more than the ring’s worth, enough for another magical item of similar or equal value. Such a ring could be quite useful to me.”

“Hey, if you’re bidding, what about me? I’ll pay more than Typhenous. Just show me what it can do.”

Revi crowded over to Pisces. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Not indoors!”

Seborn stared at the table.

“If we’re bidding, I’d like to ask if you’d consider selling the dagger. No one claimed that.”

“Oh, right! No one here uses daggers. I mean, have a backup, but I don’t need one. And Ksmvr—”

Ceria wavered. She looked at Ksmvr, who shrugged.

“I could use the weapon, but if it will assist the group as a whole…”

“How much would you pay for the dagger?”

Pisces’ eyes gleamed. Seborn began to count on his fingers. Typhenous and Revi were arguing and Ulrien was arguing with the both of them. Ceria raised her hands and shouted.

“Please, not right now! We won’t sell anything until we discuss…”

She looked helplessly at the others. Ulrien nodded.

“Ease off them, Typhenous, Revi. They’ve just gotten their first big haul. You remember how overwhelming that moment is.”

“Ah, I do. To be young again.”

Typhenous sighed, looking only slightly disappointed. Then he clicked his fingers together and created a shower of sparks in every color that delighted Mrsha.

“This calls for a celebration, doesn’t it?”

“Of course!”

Jelaqua sprang onto a table with a mug. Mrsha leapt up beside her and the Selphid laughed and raised a mug towards Ceria and the others.

“To the Horns of Hammerad, on getting their first true haul from a dungeon! Erin, roll out some more kegs! It’s time to celebrate this properly!”

Everyone in the room cheered. Ceria laughed and Erin had to smile as Lyonette ran over to the bar’s counter to count how many kegs they actually had and if she’d have to buy more from Krshia.

“Party!”

Ryoka stared around as Yvlon and Ceria hugged each other and Jelaqua laughed and quaffed until Moore lifted her off the table. At once, the mood in the inn had turned festive. The Runner heard Halrac as the [Scout] turned to Revi.

“You’re not going to complain about another party, are you?”

Revi sniffed.

“What do you take me for? I’m all for having fun. Hey Erin, just leave the keg out here why don’t you?”

“Hey, that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Revi!”

Erin disappeared into the kitchen and then came out and helped Ulrien lift a barrel onto a table. Moore picked up another one and put it on a second table, and then Ryoka had a mug in her hands. Ceria hugged her.

“You did it. We have to thank you—and talk about paying you later!”

“Oh, that’s really not—”

Ryoka didn’t get a chance to finish. Suddenly Ceria was yelling for everyone to toast her. And of course, a toast meant a long drink. And Ryoka was tired from the road, and then Ivolethe decided to make off with a mug meant for Moore…

That was how the party went. Ryoka found herself playing with the bag of glowing stones, rolling them as Mrsha ran excitedly after the glowing treasures. Somehow, the people in the city had heard about the party—perhaps it was a Skill, or maybe there was a class, [Partycrasher]—and she saw familiar and unfamiliar faces mixing and laughing.

Then the door to Celum opened. Ryoka’s jaw dropped as a familiar head poked through. Octavia blinked as the wave of sound and light hit her.

“What the fuck?

No one had told her about the door. Ryoka’s jaw stayed open as Octavia opened the door wider, exposing her shop, and then walked through, straight from Celum to Liscor in a moment. She raised her voice, called out.

“Hey Erin, I have another question about—is that Ryoka?

She caught sight of Ryoka and nearly ran straight over Lyonette. The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] had a tray of drinks and slopped some onto Octavia’s front.

“Sorry, sorry! Uh, want a drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

Octavia promptly forgot about what she wanted Erin for, took the mug, and laughed as she came over to Ryoka.

“Ryoka! You didn’t tell me you were in Liscor!”

“How did you—”

“Oh, the door? Wonderful thing. I still think I should be charging a fee, what with Erin putting it in my shop. You didn’t know? Well, it’s not like you ran all the way to Liscor from Celum, is it? Hah! Runner joke there. Don’t scowl. Uh…so anyways, there’s this door. Let me tell you all about it!”

It was a garbled explanation, but Ryoka got the gist. After Octavia had wandered away to find a second drink—she’d downed the first one with incredible speed—Ryoka went looking for Erin. She had a magical door? Ryoka’s mind felt stretched by the possibilities it represented.

“Hey Erin. About this door—”

“Oh, right! The door! Yeah, didn’t I tell you about it? It’s amazing—”

“If you did, I don’t remember!”

What?

“I said if you did—”

“Sorry, let me—Lyonette! I have the noodles ready! Where’d you put the beef?”

Turning her head, Ryoka saw Lyonette scream back across the room.

“Upper left pantry!”

“Thanks!”

Erin went to the upper left pantry, and Ryoka saw to her horror that a plate of raw beef, still bloody and raw, was sitting there. She grabbed Erin’s arm when the girl went to grab it.

“You’re not going to cook that!”

“Yeah, why not?”

The girl stared at Ryoka blankly as Ryoka gabbled for words.

“It’s raw! It’s been sitting out there for…who knows how long! Haven’t you frozen it or—or—”

“Oh! I get it!”

Erin slapped her forehead, grinning hugely.

“I have a new Skill!”

“What?”

“I just got it and—hang on, I’m coming!”

Erin turned and shouted at Ceria, who was waving and shouting something about a french fry disaster and Ksmvr. She made a face.

“Sorry! Explain in a bit.”

But it turned out that little bit was a while, and when Erin came back, she had to hurry and get the rest of the food she’d been cooking ready for the hungry partyers.

“So Erin, we should talk—”

“Totally! Totally! Hand me that bowl of butter, will you?”

Ryoka did. Erin grabbed it and put a generous dollop into her pasta, making it sinfully buttery. Ryoka had to raise her voice to make herself heard above the general din.

She’d followed Erin into the kitchen, but Ryoka had to keep stepping aside to let Lyonette and Erin rush about with dishes. Ryoka fed bits of marinated beef to Mrsha as she tried to keep up a conversation with Erin.

“So what’s been happening?”

“Oh…you know, stuff. Nothing much.”

That was a total non-answer and a lie, but really, what was Erin supposed to say? The [Innkeeper] was in her element, which was to say, doing everything at once for everyone. Ryoka saw Erin find a bowl for her beef, which was excellent, it had to be said, bring a pot of pasta out for people as Lyonette cleared a table, rush back into the kitchen to find plates, forks, knives, spoons…she was so busy and yet she turned Ryoka down when the girl offered to help.

“You have fun! You just got back, so…relax!”

Ryoka tried to, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Because she’d intended to talk with Erin, and she didn’t seem to have the opportunity to. She kept telling herself she’d do it later, when everything was quieter.

In her defense, it had been a long time since Ryoka had last been to the Wandering Inn.

 

—-

 

How does news of a party spread? It could only be magical, or so Erin felt. It was some divine providence, some kind of fate that snagged people up and told the little part of their brains that lived for trying to limbo underneath a sword while drinking shots of Thunderhammer—it was close enough to what Erin had explained, so she let it go—that there was fun to be had.

Maybe that was how a group of Humans from Celum ended up mixing with the Gnolls and Drakes from Liscor. Then again, most were adventurers, and perhaps it was one of the Gold-rank adventurers who’d spread the word. They’d come to celebrate the Horns of Hammerad ostensibly; really, adventurers would use any excuse to eat and get drunk.

But they weren’t the only ones. In the middle of the party, as Erin was debating having a seat and seeing Ryoka had time to have a shouted conversation…maybe outside, she heard someone shout.

“Ryoka!”

Suddenly, the door to Celum was open and Garia and Fals came through. They made a beeline for Ryoka, who looked startled and pleased to see them. Erin smiled, but the smile slipped a bit and she had to hang onto it.

She was so busy. Erin hadn’t been planning a party tonight and she had to scramble to use all the food in her stores. But it was a party for Ryoka and the Horns of Hammerad, so she worked hard and tried to make everyone happy, mainly by stuffing their faces and serving them drinks until they threw up, which was another problem. Erin kept busy into the night, serving tables, cooking more food. She was making money, and that was good too, right?

She was tired, dragging again, when it was over, sometime past midnight. Erin stared around the room, ready to crash despite the dirty tables, when she realized Ryoka didn’t have anywhere to sleep.

“What if she sleeps upstairs with Mrsha and me? There’s plenty of room.”

Lyonette suggested to the two as Erin wrung her hands and Ryoka offered to sleep in the basement. Erin nodded, relieved. Ryoka paused, looking and feeling guilty.

“Ah, well, it’s too late to chat. We have to catch up sometime, right?”

Erin smiled, tired, sleepy, a tiny bit upset. She glanced around the dirty inn, filled with things to do and lied to Ryoka.

“Oh, it’s no problem. We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

Ryoka hesitated and then turned away, practically dead on her feet. Erin stared at a table, and knew if she didn’t clean up now, she’d have to do it while making breakfast. She lurched over to a table, wandering to sleep. Ryoka watched her friend, full of unsaid words and things she wanted to say or ask, but was too afraid to.

Two young women, two friends, stood in the dark inn by the flickering fire, feeling more like strangers because they hadn’t talked yet. Because they had their own lives, which was natural. But they still felt the distance.

And then as Ryoka got ready to sleep in a room where a small Gnoll cub was lying on the floor in the moonlight, her sides rising and falling, Lyonette drew Ryoka aside.  She told her about Christmas. And Ryoka remembered the sight of Erin bending over a table, collecting dishes in the darkness, and knew what she had to do.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.11

Ryoka woke up when she stopped breathing. It wasn’t that she’d stopped trying of course; it was just that trying to inhale through a layer of fur was a nearly impossible feat.

“Grfph!”

Mrsha had been happily sleeping in her new spot on Ryoka’s head. She went flying as Ryoka sat up, but landed in her actual bed. She woke up, looked around, and glared at Ryoka reproachfully.

Ryoka glared back. She coughed, spat out a bit of white fur, and looked around.

That was not fun. Mrsha, you’re not a cat. Don’t act like one.”

The Gnoll sat up and yawned. She scratched at her head with a paw, and then padded over to Ryoka. She began to rub her head against Ryoka’s face.

That was like a cat. But a cat didn’t hug you. Ryoka felt her irritation slipping away. She hesitated, then hugged Mrsha back.

“Okay. Okay, I guess I can forgive you. Why don’t we have breakfast now that I’m up?”

The Gnoll nodded eagerly. She scampered towards the stairs and Ryoka wondered what she was going to do with Mrsha. What could she do? The Gnoll was homeless. This was a good home for her, but—

She wasn’t a cat. She was a person, a child. Yet she couldn’t speak. And Ryoka had no idea how old Mrsha really was. Urksh had talked to her like she was a kid, but she could be anywhere from just a baby to a pre-teen by that standard.

Ryoka dressed herself and blinked at the dark sky. She walked downstairs, hearing Mrsha running about. Her mind was filled with somber thoughts.

If she was in her tribe, Mrsha might have grown up fine. She could be a [Hunter], a [Cook]—her disability wouldn’t hinder anything else. But if she grew up here, what would she do when she was older? Get a job at Erin’s inn?

Would they be around that long? Would Erin and Ryoka grow up here? Really? And if they didn’t, what would happen to Mrsha, to Lyonette, when they left?

These were dark thoughts for a morning. Ryoka decided she wanted to face them on a full stomach. Hopefully Erin was awake. Maybe Ryoka could sneak by her and steal some food? The Asian girl blinked as she entered the common room of the inn.

“Huh.”

“Morning Ryoka! Want some honey bread and sausage?”

Erin grinned as she turned with frying pan and spatula in hand. She finished ladling hot, sizzling sausage onto Zel Shivertail’s plate as Mrsha sat herself down next to him. The Gnoll cub waved to Ryoka and bounced up and down in her seat.

“Erin. You’re already up?”

“Yup! I’ve been awake for like an hour. Or two? Lyonette’s got your bread. Hey Mrsha, leave some honey for Ryoka, okay?”

The Gnoll nodded eagerly as Lyonette emerged from the kitchen with some bread, steaming, freshly cut. Ryoka’s stomach began to rumble the instant she smelled it.

“Good morning, Ryoka.”

Zel greeted Ryoka as if there was nothing odd about sitting with Mrsha. He smiled as Mrsha reached for a mug in Lyonette’s hand. The [Princess] frowned at Mrsha.

“Don’t grab or I’ll drop everything, Mrsha.”

Obediently, Mrsha sat and waited for Lyonette to put the mug on the table. Lyon turned and smiled at Ryoka.

“Hi Ryoka. Is bread and sausage good?”

“Uh…sure.”

Still blinking sleep from her eyes, Ryoka sat at the table across from Zel. She watched as Mrsha began to slurp greedily at the warm honeyed milk. In moments, she had her own plate of bread, sausage, and a mug of hot milk. Zel passed a bowl of honey across the table and Ryoka slathered it over her bread.

“Hell of a breakfast.”

“I’m growing soft with age. I can’t stay here too long or I’ll get spoiled by the food.”

Zel sighed happily as he patted his stomach. He eyed Ryoka, and the young woman tensed slightly. But Zel just nodded to the honey.

“Mind passing it back? I think Mrsha wants more.”

That was breakfast. Zel didn’t speak much, and Mrsha was happy enough to provide enough entertainment at the table. She unabashedly tried to steal food from both Ryoka and Zel’s plates when she was done with her food. Not because she was hungry; Ryoka was sure she could get more if she wanted. It seemed to be a game.

Zel casually blocked Mrsha’s paws, smiling fondly as she tried to sneak around his plate and grab his food. Ryoka deliberately lifted her plate up as Mrsha tried the same on her; the Gnoll leapt onto her chair and tried to climb Ryoka’s head.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette rescued Ryoka as Ryoka tried to keep from dropping her plate. She pulled Mrsha off and made the Gnoll apologize to Ryoka. Then more people came downstairs, attracted by the noise and food. And then a door opened and the Horns of Hammerad came up out of the basement.

“Ah, is Mrsha causing trouble again?”

Ceria smiled at the Gnoll. Pisces blinked and rubbed at his face as he slumped over to a table. He didn’t seem to wake up until Lyonette passed him a mug and put food in front of his face.

“Don’t try stealing from me today, child.”

Revi stared at Mrsha as the Gnoll abandoned her table in search of new targets. She tugged at a loose thread around her neck as Mrsha ignored her. Jelaqua laughed as she tempted Mrsha over with a sausage held in pallid fingers. Mrsha leapt, but Jelaqua’s hand blurred and she was chomping down the sausage and catching Mrsha by the time the Gnoll landed.

“Please don’t encourage her, Jelaqua.”

Ryoka stared as the room filled with adventurers. She blinked down at her empty mug and raised it as Lyonette passed by with a pitcher.

“Oops. Here you are, Ryoka.”

Ryoka sipped at the sweet honey milk and then turned her head as a door opened. Not to the front of the inn. Rather, a door set in the side of the wall opened and closed. Ryoka stared as Octavia, looking more disheveled than Pisces, stumbled in.

“Food? Food…”

She stumbled over to a table and put her head down. She was red-eyed and had shadows from lack of sleep. She ate her bread like a starving thing, scarfing it down and snarling at Mrsha when the Gnoll got close.

This was how breakfast in Erin’s inn went. Ryoka sat, sipping her drink with Zel as she watched Pisces tease Mrsha, levitating a chunk of honey-coated bread just over the Gnoll’s head as she leapt and tried to catch it.

Ryoka saw how bustling Erin’s inn was. She felt almost out of place in this new atmosphere, but she could see how it attracted people. There was good food to eat—bread not a minute out of the oven and hot sausage was a treat, even for someone who used to eat in fancy hotels and restaurants when her family travelled.

Ryoka watched as Lyonette rushed about the room, refilling drinks, taking requests, and because she knew to look for it, she watched Erin. The [Innkeeper] didn’t stop moving. She was in the kitchen, cooking, chatting with Halrac at a table, breaking up a fight between Octavia and Pisces over the last piece of bread—and she’d been up for two hours already.

“Erin, I would love to talk about those magical dishes you made for those adventurers a day ago.”

Jelaqua was speaking with Erin as the girl brought over a second loaf of bread to the table for Moore. Ryoka took a breath and stood up. Time to make her move.

“Excuse me?”

The adventurer and Erin looked over as Ryoka made her way over to them. Erin smiled, and Ryoka nodded politely at Jelaqua. She had a hard time not staring at the Selphid’s incredibly pale face, and a harder time not ogling the gigantic man sitting on the ground and still bending over the table, or the half-crustacean fellow.

“What’s up, Ryoka?”

“Sorry—Jelaqua, is it? I’m going to have to ask that you talk to Erin later. She’s got a prior appointment today.”

“Oh?”

Jelaqua’s eyebrows rose. She glanced at Erin, whose face had gone totally blank. Ryoka was just glad she didn’t need Erin to pretend anything. The girl was awful at lying.

“I do? Uh, I don’t remember Ryoka—”

“We’re going out. Just you and me.”

“What? We are?”

Every head in the room turned. Ryoka felt herself go a bit red. She still hated being at the center of attention. But she was getting used to it.

“That’s right. You need a break. And we’ve got catching up to do. So you can finish serving breakfast—”

“I can do it!”

Lyonette waved a hand eagerly. She winked unsubtly at Ryoka. Erin hesitated.

“But I should do lunch. And there’s this thing I do with adventurers, Ryoka—”

“Nope. It can wait. You go have fun!”

Jelaqua laughed. She reached out and slapped Erin on the back. The girl staggered a few steps until Ryoka caught her. Seborn kicked Jelaqua. The Selphid looked abashed.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“No problem. But I’ve got an inn, Ryoka. I can’t just—”

“No arguments. We’re going to go to Celum. Lyonette’s got the shop.”

“Hold on!”

Ceria called out, frowning. She looked at Ryoka.

“We wanted to talk with you, Ryoka. We still need to pay you for going all the way to Invrisil and getting all the artifacts appraised—”

“Tomorrow.”

Ryoka tried to drag Erin towards the door Octavia had stepped through. Someone else called out.

“Hold up! What about lunch?”

Revi crossed her arms. Ryoka stared at her.

“Get it somewhere else. Or I’m sure Lyonette could make something.”

“You’re just going to walk off with our [Innkeeper]? What if we need her?”

“Too bad. She needs a break.”

“Ryoka, really, I appreciate it, but—”

“Nope.”

There was an art to being a jerk. Ryoka shut Erin down and turned her. She began to push her towards the magical door. She met Zel’s eyes as the [General] stared at her in amusement and looked away. She aimed her next comment at the entire room.

“Erin needs a break and I want to catch up with her. But I can’t do that when every two seconds someone wants a piece of her, or needs her to solve some incredible problem.”

The adventurers in the room glanced at each other. Halrac nodded to Ulrien and the big adventurer spoke for his group.

“No objections. Go ahead, Miss Erin. You do deserve a break.”

“I—well—okay—but are you sure, Lyonette?”

“Go ahead!”

Mrsha ran after Erin and Ryoka, but that was fine. Ryoka had nearly gotten the weakly protesting Erin to the door.

“Maybe I can just help tidy up—”

“Nope. Now, let’s get out of here before—”

The door burst open. Ryoka heard a shout.

“Erin! Erin!

Olesm ran into the room, trailing snow and looking about excitedly. He spotted Erin and made a beeline to her. Ryoka tried to bar the Drake as he danced excitedly around her and Erin.

“Erin, you’ll never guess what!”

“What?”

“I just got the most incredible communication from one of the Walled Cities. I just learned—and you’ll never believe this—”

Nope!

Ryoka threw her arms up and blocked Olesm as the Drake tried to show a letter to Erin. Olesm halted and stared at her, confused.

“Oh. Miss Ryoka. You’re back. Well, listen to this—”

“No.”

The [Tactician] looked surprised.

“No?”

“No. I’m sorry Olesm, but whatever you have to say, you’ll have to say it to Erin later. Tonight, maybe.”

“What? But I can’t wait that long—”

“Too bad. Erin’s busy. She’s taking a break today.”

Olesm stared at Ryoka, completely dumbfounded. He raised the scrap of parchment in his claws helplessly and gestured towards it.

“But it’s the most incredible news—”

“Is someone going to die if Erin doesn’t hear it?”

Ryoka crossed her arms. Olesm hesitated. His energetically waving tail slowed.

“…No.”

Ryoka nodded.

“In that case, will this incredible thing still be there tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then it can wait. Erin, come on.”

“Sorry, Olesm.”

“Aw, but—”

Ryoka opened the door as Olesm danced in place, looking upset. He called out as Ryoka stared into Octavia’s shop, eying the place where Erin’s inn vanished and Octavia’s shop began. That was real magic.

“You first, Erin.”

“Okay.”

“But it would just take five minutes! Ten! Please?”

“No.”

“It’s about chess!”

“Don’t care.”

Erin’s head turned as Ryoka tried to push her through the door.

“Well, if it’s about chess—

“No. You’re taking a break.”

Ryoka got her friend through the doorway. The people in Erin’s inn heard her arguing with the other girl for a moment, and then the door closed. Olesm stood dejectedly in the center of the inn, looking heartbroken.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Every head turned as Pawn walked into the inn, brushing snow off of his head. He was followed a second later by another Antinium holding a bow and a dead bird. Well, ‘bird’ was stretching the term generously. This one looked like a smaller version of a pterodactyl.

Pawn glanced around the room as Bird brushed snow off of his shoulders. He opened his mandibles and addressed Lyonette.

“Is Erin here?”

Bird raised his catch.

“I have birds. They are not rotten.”

Everyone stared at them. Ceria paused mid-chew and swallowed what was in her mouth. She looked at Yvlon, who smiled crookedly.

“Ryoka does have a point.”

 

—-

 

“Aw, come on Ryoka. I want to know what Olesm has to say!”

“And you can. Later. For now—come on Mrsha. Don’t wander off!”

Ryoka strode down the street, shepherding Mrsha and Erin both. They were like cats. Mrsha hadn’t been part of Ryoka’s plan, but she’d snuck through the door into Celum behind the girls and Ryoka didn’t want to spend time trying to make her go back.

She had to talk with Erin. She had to. She’d put it off for too long. And she needed privacy to do that. So Ryoka took Erin to the one place where she was sure no one would bother them.

The Runner’s Guild in Celum.

Heads turned as Ryoka pushed open the door. She grinned as she walked into the room.

“Hey there. I’m back. Anyone miss me?”

For a second, Ryoka thought the [Receptionist] at the counter might have had a heart attack on seeing Ryoka’s face. Every eye immediately scanned Ryoka, searching no doubt for a small blue faerie. But Ryoka hadn’t spotted Ivolethe today. Instead, the Runners and [Receptionists] only saw Erin and Mrsha, sniffing the air curiously.

“Miss Ryoka, ah, how can we help you today?”

One of the female [Receptionists] hurried across the room towards Ryoka. She looked apprehensive, but Ryoka only smiled.

“I’d like to use one of the private meetings rooms if they’re available. Can you give me a key?”

“A private—oh.”

The [Receptionist] blinked at Erin. The other girl smiled at her.

“Hi, I’m Erin. How are you?”

Ryoka coughed.

“She’s my client.”

“Oh. Oh. In that case, let me just—”

The [Receptionist] hurried back to the counter and had a conversation with her co-worker. Erin edged over to Ryoka as Mrsha stared at the Runners and they stared back.

“Ryoka, what are we doing?”

“Finding somewhere quiet to talk.”

The Runner’s Guild was hardly a quiet place. However, it did have one feature that made it ideal for people who needed privacy, and that was the rule about Runner’s confidentiality.

Whether it was a letter, a parcel, a giant flaming sword with the owner’s name on it or anything in between, a Runner was supposed to keep the name of their clients and the nature of their delivery secret, even from people like [Guardsmen]. Unless they were testifying in relation to a crime, that was.

It was an unspoken code of conduct that wasn’t as highly enforced among Street Runners, but City Runners and especially Couriers traded on their trustworthiness. Your reputation for keeping secrets was part of your identity as a Runner. A Runner who blabbed might find themselves out of work or with a knife in their backs.

And to facilitate that need for secrecy, each Guild had one or two or many rooms that could be used by clients wanting to talk to Runners about personal deliveries. Such deals were often quite lucrative, and usually only occurred between Runners who’d worked with the same person for a number of years. They met in these rooms, which were shielded against eavesdropping and of course, completely private for the two to meet in safety.

This was what Ryoka wanted now. She waited until the woman at the desk came back with something in her hand. A key.

“Miss Ryoka, your room is the first up the stairs. I hope you and your client have a pleasant negotiation.”

She stared at Erin, and the girl smiled at her. Ryoka smiled.

“Thanks. I notice you got all that snow cleared up. I guess I’m forgiven since you haven’t kicked me out yet, right? Or is Persua banned for life?”

A muscle twitched in the [Receptionist]’s face.

“I believe the [Guildmaster] will want to speak with you later. But please, take this key.”

She handed the key to Ryoka and turned away. Ryoka felt a bit guilty, but she still hadn’t quite forgiven the Guild for letting Persua act like…Persua. Erin nudged Ryoka.

“What snow?”

“Oh—I’ll explain in a bit. We’re just going up the stairs to somewhere we can talk.”

They made it halfway across the room when someone called out.

“Is that you, Ryoka?”

Ryoka groaned. But she turned and smiled as Garia Strongheart came over, smiling cautiously.

“Hey Garia.”

“Hey Ryoka! I didn’t think I’d see you here today. We only got to talk a bit last night…hi Erin. Who’s this?”

She looked down at Mrsha. The Gnoll stared up at the bigger girl, circling her warily. Ryoka hesitated. That part of her that had recently appeared, the part that said she should be nice to Garia, was struggling with her blunt, rude self, which was to say, the rest of her.

“Sorry Garia, I’d love to chat, but I’ve really got to talk with Erin about something important. But uh…this is Mrsha.”

“Oh. Hello!”

Garia smiled at the Gnoll and reached down to scratch her ears like a dog. Mrsha recoiled and Garia paused. She looked a bit hurt on both counts, so Ryoka put a hand on her shoulder and smiled apologetically.

“If you’re still in the city after this, I’ll find you, okay?”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I wasn’t going to do a run today—I sort of sprained my ankle and I’m taking it easy. I had a healing potion, but it was low-quality…but I don’t want to get in the way of your conversation.”

Garia was so apologetic that it made Ryoka feel guilty. She ushered Erin up the stairs and into the first room she came to.

The room used for private meetings was filled with a nice table, padded chairs, and not much else. It had a window looking out into the city, but since they weren’t glass windows, the shutters were closed. Ryoka wondered what the rooms in the Runner’s Guild in Invrisil would have looked like.

“Okay, now we’re here.”

Erin blinked around the room as Mrsha leapt onto a chair and then onto a table. She took a seat while Ryoka hesitated and then took the one opposite her. It didn’t feel as comfortable as Ryoka had hoped—the room was meant for business deals, not chats.

“Sorry about all that. But I think we can talk here without anyone bothering us. No one’s allowed to disturb a private meeting unless there’s a real emergency.”

“Oh. So that’s why we’re here. We could have just talked at my inn. Come here, Mrsha.”

Erin let the Gnoll jump into her lap and cuddled her as she looked at Ryoka. The Runner coughed.

They were here. Ryoka had planned this out last night before she’d slept with Lyonette. It was a chance to talk to Erin, finally, with no one to interrupt.

Only now she was here, Ryoka realized she had no idea how to start. They were going to talk.

…How?

She couldn’t think of how to start the conversation. Ryoka froze up. She felt as tongue-tied as she used to be. Erin was her friend. But she hadn’t talked to her in…forever. How could she begin?

Erin wasn’t helping. The girl was glancing around the room and whispering to Mrsha as the Gnoll wriggled happily in her arms. Ryoka felt the awkwardness quotient in the room rise until Erin broke the silence.

“Why did you say I needed a break, anyways?”

Ryoka stared at Mrsha as the Gnoll tried to carve into the wooden table with her claws. What was she supposed to say? No. She had to be honest.

“Lyonette told me about your Christmas party.”

Erin paused. She looked down at her hands.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. It was the thing Ryoka dreaded the most. She looked at Erin, but she had no idea what the other girl was thinking. How could anyone read minds? Was she angry at Lyonette? Or Ryoka? Did she not want to talk about it?

Conversation was a quagmire, a bog of uncertainty. And Ryoka sank like a stone.

“I uh, well, it must have been rough.”

Mrsha looked up as she sat in Erin’s lap. Erin wasn’t smiling. She stared at the shuttered window.

“Yeah. It was really embarrassing, to tell the truth.”

Ryoka cleared her throat.

“Well, you must have been really stressed out.”

“I was.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s nice of you to say. But y’know, it kinda was, right?”

“Well…”

Ryoka coughed and fidgeted. She cast about, tried another line.

“You have so much to do every day. I saw breakfast. That’s an undertaking.”

Erin nodded.

“Yeah. I don’t know how I could keep up without Lyonette’s help. She works really hard. I bet that was a surprise when you met her again, right?”

“I barely recognized her, to be honest.”

It was like meeting a completely different person. Ryoka could barely remember the previous Lyonette, when she’d met her again. The old one had been haughty, arrogant, and rude. This new Lyonette had callused hands, was always busy, and cared for Mrsha like a sister. Or a mother.

“What happened?”

“I left her alone. She was the only one in the inn and…”

Erin stared at the table. Then she looked at Ryoka, guiltily.

“I think she was starving. I mean, literally starving to death while I was gone. No one went to visit her except Olesm, and he only did it when he was checking if I’d come back. She must have…run out of food for a while. She didn’t say, but I think that’s what happened.”

“Jeez.”

Ryoka stared at the table blankly for a second. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

“That’s rough.”

Wholly inadequate words, delivered too late. Erin nodded. She stared at Ryoka, and Ryoka stared back until things got too awkward and they both looked away. Someone’s stomach rumbled. To Ryoka’s surprise, it wasn’t Mrsha’s.

“Sorry, that was me.”

Erin patted Mrsha as the Gnoll turned to inspect her belly. She looked at Ryoka with a guilty grin.

“I know we’re talking and stuff, but do you mind if we got something to eat? I actually uh, didn’t have breakfast yet. I had some sausage and a bit of bread, but I was going to eat after everyone else…”

“Oh. Damn. Sorry—I’ll check.”

Flustered, Ryoka got up. She exited the door as Erin tried to stop Mrsha from ducking her head under her shirt. The [Receptionist] at the desk blinked as Ryoka strode over to her.

“Can I help you, Miss Ryoka?”

“Yes you can. Get us, uh—something to eat. We need snacks.”

“Snacks?”

Ryoka nodded distractedly.

“A cheese platter or something.”

“Ryoka?”

Someone called her name and came over. She turned and saw Fals grinning at her.

“Fancy meeting you here! Garia said you were in a meeting with Erin. Everything okay?”

“Fals. Good to see you.”

Ryoka clasped his hand and then looked at the receptionist.

“Can we get something to eat?”

The woman hesitated, looking torn. It was customary for Runners to make these kinds of demands. Well, not customary, but if a Runner—or more likely, Courier—were meeting with an important client, refreshments were a natural part of the negotiations. Only Ryoka thought that the [Receptionist] had clued into the fact that Erin and Mrsha weren’t exactly VIP guests.

“Eat?”

Fals blinked at Ryoka, and then caught on. He winked at her while the [Receptionist] was looking away from him. Then he looked very concerned and raised his voice slightly.

“Oh, you mean for Miss Solstice? A very important guest. You’re entertaining her here? I’m sure the Guild could get some of those jam buns down the street as well. After all, Erin does talk with Gold-rank adventurers on a daily basis.”

“Not to mention a Drake [General].”

Ryoka saw the [Receptionist]’s eyes go round as she and Fals nodded at each other seriously. He had an excellent deadpan face.

 

—-

 

Erin was teaching Mrsha how to do trust falls off of a chair and the Gnoll was doing absolutely no trusting or falling when Ryoka opened the door. Both looked up as Ryoka smiled hesitantly at them.

“Okay, there will be snacks sent up shortly. We’ll also get drinks—I said you’d like fruit juice so they’ll see what they have. Uh, I think we might get some buns, a cheese platter—what?”

Her friend was giving her an amused look.

“That’s a lot of food! I could have just eaten an apple, you know.”

“Uh, sorry.”

Ryoka flushed a bit.

“I just wanted to get everything we might want right away. There will be uh, pillows delivered as well.”

Erin burst out laughing and Ryoka felt herself go crimson. But before embarrassment could poke  her with hot needles, Erin was nodding appreciatively.

“I totally support your decision, Ryoka. One hundred and twelve percent. I did the exact same thing too.”

Ryoka blinked.

“You did?”

The innkeeper girl smiled as she recalled.

“Back home—I’d get a bag of chips, one of those big ones from the store, a full water bottle, and a couple of blankets and then get my laptop to watch TV all night…or play chess.”

She waggled her eyebrows at Erin, which made Mrsha immediately place a paw over them. Ryoka grinned as she sat down again. There was no hesitation now as she spoke, confiding a secret to Erin and the distracted Mrsha.

“When I was a kid, I’d buy food and then try to hide somewhere in the house so my dad couldn’t make me go to formal events. One time I hid in a closet and no one could see me when they opened the door. I spent two days in there, sneaking out to use the bathroom at night.”

Erin laughed in delight. Ryoka grinned, although internally she winced at the memory. Her little game had ended when the police had shown up to take her parents’ statement. They’d thought she’d either run away (again) or been kidnapped.

The idiot she’d been in the past helped the Ryoka of today, though. Erin was laughing at the memory, and right on cue, the door opened and Mrsha sat up, wagging her tail as a [Receptionist] carefully edged into the room with food.

It was a cheese platter after all. Ryoka blinked down at it, surprised that people in this world had cheese platters. And more food came—and pillows! Erin and Ryoka put the food on the table and Mrsha began scarfing some of it down. But all too soon the Gnoll cub was pacing around the room, too full for snacks.

“Uh oh. I think Mrsha wants to go somewhere where there’s more stuff.”

Erin looked concerned as Mrsha stood up and clumsily tried the door handle. The Gnoll looked pleadingly at Ryoka, who frowned at this second unexpected conundrum.

“Maybe she can go downstairs? There’s more space down there and I think she could hang out with Garia and Fals. They’d love to spoil her, I’m sure.”

Erin nodded hesitantly.

“Are you sure it’ll be safe?”

Ryoka had to think about this, and because it involved Mrsha, she double-checked her own thoughts.

“Persua’s gone, and her little gang revolved around her. More importantly, both Fals and Garia are there. They’re responsible and I think Garia would put someone’s head through a wall before she let anyone hurt Mrsha. I’ll go with her and ask if it’s okay.”

A few minutes later Mrsha happily bounced downstairs with Garia and Fals laughing and promising to buy her some dried jerky. Ryoka took a seat in the room and found a pillow on her chair. Erin was already sitting on hers.

“Double padding. See?”

Ryoka smiled. The tension was gone now, and she felt like she could talk. She sighed as she closed the door.

What should she say? This time Ryoka knew the answer. Whatever came to mind. Whatever she needed to say. Because she was beginning to remember it now. This was how it went. She had a friend. And what could you tell a friend, a true friend, a good friend?

Anything.

“I worry about her you know.”

“Who? Mrsha?”

Ryoka nodded. Erin had a piece of cheese on a jam bun and she was nibbling at it. Ryoka picked up a bit of goat’s cheese and stared at it. She popped it into her mouth and swallowed before speaking.

“She’s my responsibility. Her tribe sacrificed themselves so she and I could get away. I…just don’t know how to look after her. I’m not a mother, and I can’t stay with her all the time.”

“I don’t think you have to. Lyonette’s here and I am happy to have Mrsha in my inn.”

“I know. And I’m grateful. But it’s not fair to Mrsha. She deserves someone to look after her.”

“And it has to be you?”

“Well yeah—”

Ryoka paused, thrown by the question. Erin was staring at her.

“She’s my responsibility.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t get help, right? I talked to Krshia, and she’s teaching Mrsha some days. And Selys helps babysit her on her days off…I think Mrsha’s really happy here. If you spend a lot of time with her when you’re here, what’s the problem? She knows you’re a Runner. Just be nice to her and hug her a lot whenever she’s around.”

For a while Ryoka stared at Erin. She opened her mouth, closed it. And then she laughed.

“Damn. No wonder people come to you for advice.”

The other girl blushed a bit.

“I dunno about all that. I’m just saying things how I see it. Mrsha’s part of the inn, now. I can’t imagine not waking up and having her try to eat everything in sight.”

They laughed at that. They laughed, and a bit more of the invisible wall they’d built up broke away soundlessly. It was only a wall if you thought it was a wall. And this was the feeling Ryoka had craved.

This was the feeling Erin had craved. The innkeeper sat across from Ryoka, staring at her friend. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to speak with Ryoka. The other girl was tall, Asian—the most unique Human in this world, aside from maybe Revi or Octavia. No one looked like her.

And Erin could talk to her about things only Ryoka could understand.

Ryoka had discovered the joys of a brie-like cheese, close in texture, but slightly greenish and with a sharper tang to the flavor than she was used to. She offered some to Erin, and Erin declined. She had a lovely striped cheese that went very nicely with a bit of dried plum on the platter.

“So what really happened while I was gone? How’d you get back? Was everything really okay?”

For a second Erin’s mind went blank as Ryoka asked the question. She thought of everything that had transpired since she’d left Celum. She took a deep breath, put down her food, and looked at Ryoka, happiness gone.

“I killed Toren.”

Ryoka froze. She looked at Erin.

“You met him? Did he try to attack you?”

The other girl shook her head.

“No. I never saw him after he ditched me. But I heard—oh, Ryoka. I heard a lot of terrible things.”

She told Ryoka about Toren. How he’d attacked people on the road, ambushed travelers, and how she’d told Pisces to cut her mana supply. Ryoka clenched her fist, crumbling a cracker to dust in her hand as she listened.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You warned me. I should have listened.”

There were no words for the guilt Erin felt. Ryoka nodded, looking upset.

“I did. But I didn’t think he’d suddenly start killing—I wonder if something Pisces did went wrong? Or maybe it’s because he could level…anyways, that’s really…are you sure he’s dead?”

“What?”

“Rule of monsters, Erin. In every scary movie, in every video game…the monster’s not dead until you see the body. And sometimes, not even then.”

Ryoka stared at her friend. Erin had frozen in her seat.

“You think Toren’s alive? But I cut his mana supply…”

“Maybe he had a mana potion? Or…is there a way to generate mana on your own? Could he have found another master or something? This is reality, not a movie, Erin. But we are in a fantasy world.”

“I know. I get it. I’ll—I’ll keep an ear open. If anyone talks about a skeleton, I’ll know.”

Erin sat with her hands woven together, staring down at the table. Ryoka stared at her and coughed.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to—look, it’s just a thought.”

“I know. And I did more than just kill Toren, I mean, that was like the last thing that happened. Actually, a lot of things happened while you were gone! What happened to you? I heard Magnolia spirited you away when you went to Ocre to visit Ceria and the others. What did she want?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“The usual. Threats, interrogation, intrigue—”

“Aw. Did she try and charm you as well?”

“That was the first thing she did! God—I could have kicked her ass, but not with Ressa there. Oh!”

Ryoka snapped her fingers. The sound was a crack—in the small room it was like a gunshot. Erin jumped.

“That’s loud!

“Sorry. But you don’t know! Guess what I found out on the way to Magnolia’s mansion? Ressa’s not just a [Maid]. She’s a [Ninja].”

“What? You’re joking.”

“I’m sure of it. I saw her toss a throwing star at a bunch of Goblins that ambushed the carriage. And after that, when Magnolia was attacked by the assassins, she was fighting them like—”

What? An assassin attack?”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

Ryoka waved a hand airily, concealing a grin. Near-death experience and horrifying trauma was fun to joke about after the fact.

“That happened right in the middle of our chat. Didn’t you have an assassination attempt when you visited her?”

“No I didn’t! Spill! What happened? Is Magnolia okay?”

“Well, I think she’ll have to do some remodeling, but her shrubbery was only partially consumed by the fire—”

Ryoka ducked as Erin threw a bit of cheese at her. She laughed, and then stopped laughing when she told Erin about the people who’d died. Erin listened, almost in tears when she heard about the servants who’d been killed as the assassins went after Magnolia, agog when she heard about Magnolia’s death-ray ring…and then she told Ryoka about returning to Esthelm, about talking with Pawn about Christianity…

Sometime after they’d been talking, the bit of cheese was eaten by Mrsha, who slunk into the room to grab as much food as she could carry and escape. Ryoka and Erin were sitting together by this point, laughing and talking to each other freely.

“It was just for a few weeks, but it feels like months, doesn’t it?”

Erin nodded, sipping from her cup as Ryoka filled hers from a pitcher filled with ice cubes.

“I did so much! I helped run Agnes’ inn, I made a bunch of weird food at Octavia’s shop, I helped start an acting troupe and got a magical door—”

“Hold up. What was that? Acting? You’re joking with me.”

“Nope! We should stop by the Frenzied Hare before we go back to Liscor. I can introduce you to Wesle and Jasi—they’re putting on a performance of Othello this week, I think!”

Ryoka stared at Erin. She stared at her cup. She slowly filled her mouth with liquid and looked at Erin. The girl raised her hands.

“Don’t you dare spit it on me! No!”

When Ryoka had swallowed and Erin had explained, the conversation halted and stopped on Erin’s private indignation with Miss Agnes, whom she’d had less and less contact with since returning to Liscor.

“Can you believe her? I mean, she didn’t want to help Jasi at all! It was like she didn’t even care!”

Ryoka could only shrug. She wanted to ask, ‘what did you expect?’, but then she looked at Erin and realized the other girl had expected more of Agnes.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised, Erin. Agnes is, well, an ordinary woman. She might be nice to her friends and people who help her out, but she’s not going to stick her neck out for other people.”

“I thought she was a good person.”

Erin sighed as she fiddled with a cracker. Ryoka’s mouth twisted.

“She’s just a person. Not bad, not good. She might help a bit if she has the means, but she’s not like you, Erin. She’s not…worth thinking about.”

“But she was so nice and welcoming. How could a woman like that just not care? Jasi was so tired—and hurt! She was practically missing all the scales on her hands! Are people just like that?”

Ryoka’s head bowed.

“Maybe. Maybe they’re all like that.”

Erin stared at her. Ryoka ran her hands along the edge of her chair as she spoke.

“That’s how I used to think. I’d look at news stories of people letting dictators get away with crimes, or turning a blind eye to crimes or not doing anything when there’s a problem. Or if they did, it was something small. Something I thought was worthless, like one of those food drives where you donate bits of food and ship it off to another country. Ordinary people did just enough to make themselves feel good and let other people do the actual work.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Erin’s voice was soft. She looked at the table.

“Sometimes you can only do a bit, Ryoka.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Yeah. I realized that when I tried to do the right thing. It’s really hard. Really, really hard. Half the time it seems like there’s no answer, no good way to fix what’s broken. The other half, it feels like if everyone would just work together we’d solve the problem. But we never do.”

Erin stared at a wall. When she spoke, it was quietly, thoughtfully.

“I don’t think it’s fair to ask random people to fix problems. I think we’ve got to work together, so if there’s something I need to do, I’ll ask people I can trust. My friends.”

“But if you do that, what about the world?”

She shrugged. Erin pointed to the closed window.

“I don’t know about the world. I can’t imagine trying to solve world hunger, or—or cure cancer. And there’s no internet here. No way to talk to people. But I can help people around me. That’s what I did at Esthelm.”

“You did do that.”

Ryoka still couldn’t believe Erin had managed that. She’d saved a city. Or maybe…helped them save themselves. Erin nodded.

“I think you’re sort of right, Ryoka. In our world it’s really hard to do stuff. There’s laws and jerks and so many problems. And we’re not rich or powerful or famous. Maybe in our world we can’t do anything. But here, I know the second-most important guy in Liscor’s Hive, and I know a Drake [General], a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers, and I played chess with Magnolia. I can do something, I think. I can help people. It’s just that I’m so busy…”

“Yeah. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ryoka sat up in her chair. Erin was trying to juggle crackers and failing. She looked at Ryoka.

“I just don’t know what to do. I love all my new customers and I’m making money hand over fist with all the Gold-rank adventurers. It’s just I don’t have time, and Lyonette’s overworked as it is…”

“So hire someone.”

Erin blinked at Ryoka. Ryoka stared at her.

“I mean, maybe you don’t want to, but I think you have to at this point, Erin. You could have someone do a trial and maybe it’ll be tough sorting things out, but if you can get an actual staff—”

“No, I think you’re right. I just forgot I could do that. Hire someone. Okay. Yeah, that’s a good idea!”

Ryoka stared. She stared so hard her eyes felt like they were going to fall out. Erin shifted uneasily.

“What?”

“You forgot you could hire people?”

“I’m new to this innkeeper thing, okay? I kept thinking ‘this is my inn, so I’ve got to do everything’. I only hired Lyonette because I thought she’d die in the cold by herself. But I guess I never thought about getting a new [Barmaid] or [Cook].”

“So you’re going to do it?”

Erin nodded, smiling.

“Yeah. I can do it. I’ll do it tomorrow, or maybe later today. Actually, I’ll look into it after we finish talking.”

“What?”

“I’ll go hire someone. You’re right. Selys always said I should. I’ll go have a word with Safry and Maran tomorrow. They’re both [Barmaids]. They should know some good people I could interview, right?”

Ryoka hesitated. Erin’s turnaround from thought to action was so fast she was having a hard time keeping up.

“I mean, we could think this through some more. Have you thought about hiring a Drake or Gnoll? It might help if they know more about local customs. How much will you pay them?”

Erin shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it all out as I go. That’s how I roll.”

Ryoka stared, but since she’d done that and Erin seemed immune to it, she switched topics.

“Okay, about Pawn.”

“What about him?”

Erin looked confused. Ryoka replayed parts of their catching up she’d done.

“You said you were telling him about the bible, right?”

“Yeah…well, he was asking. And he was really confused, so I…”

Erin hesitated. She vaguely recalled Ryoka’s admonitions not to bring up religion.

“Was that a bad thing?”

There was a right way to respond and a wrong way. Ryoka had done the wrong way, once. She remembered shouting at Erin, calling her an idiot and then getting punched halfway into oblivion. She bit her lip.

“I think…it might have been a mistake. But it’s what Pawn needed. I’ll have a talk with him. But this god thing…”

“I know. Gods are a bad thing. The crusades and the inquisition, right?”

“Something similar. But if Klbkch is okay with Pawn…well, I’ve just got a lot to do around here.”

“So do I! I think I need to talk to Klbkch too, Ryoka.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of expanding my inn, actually.”

“What, just like that?”

“Well obviously I need to see how much it will cost. But my rooms are all sold out and I think Ceria and the others are getting tired of sleeping in the basement. If I could get the Antinium to build me a third floor or maybe a second wing…”

“You’ll definitely need more staff if that’s the case.”

“And a [Cook]! I’m telling you Ryoka, if I didn’t have to keep making food all day that would free me up so much. Forget a [Barmaid], a [Cook] is what I really need. But it’s so hard finding people with [Advanced Cooking]—apparently people with that Skill are sort of rare. I don’t want to pay too much for someone, you know?”

Ryoka nodded thoughtfully. She had a sudden thought.

“You said you leveled up, right? You got that magical ambient energy and a skill that kept everything fresh, right?”

“Right!”

Erin nodded happily. Her becoming a [Magical Innkeeper] had been one of the highlights of her recent past. Ryoka smiled as her thought became an idea, and an excellent one.

“If that’s the case, maybe you don’t need a [Cook] after all.”

“What do you mean?”

Erin was curious. Ryoka smiled.

“You have a Skill that keeps food fresh, right? If that’s the case, why not prepare everything a few days ahead of time rather than worrying about it?”

She was opening her mouth to object when Erin realized what Ryoka was saying. Her eyes widened.

“You mean—”

Ryoka nodded, grinning widely in anticipation.

“I mean cook everything. Take a day and just make food for twelve hours straight. You can store it wherever you like and serve it whenever you need to! For that matter, don’t worry about mealtimes. Just make breakfast, lunch, and dinner all together. Because if the food doesn’t lose its freshness…”

“I can just reheat it! I could have a month’s worth of food ready and all Lyonette has to do is warm it up and serve it!”

Erin leapt to her feet. She threw her hands up and danced about, laughing excitedly.

“Ryoka, you’re a genius!

“I’d like to think so. Speaking of which, when we get back I want to test that magical door of yours. It’s…frankly, it’s mind blowing.”

“Isn’t it incredible?”

“Yeah, but it could be more incredible, Erin.”

“What do you mean?”

Thoughtfully, Ryoka glanced at the window, which was again, less than scenic since the shutters were closed.

“There has to be a way to utilize all that mana your inn is producing.”

“I thought it would be good mostly for my door, actually.”

“Yeah, but—I bet the door doesn’t take up a third of your inn’s supply of mana. If that’s even how it works! I want to see how many people you could actually transport before it runs out of power and—I wonder how far you could send people with it? Could you send someone to say…Invrisil?”

Erin froze mid-tango. She gaped at Ryoka.

“Invrisil? Ryoka, you really think I could make my inn connect all the way over there?”

“It would help me out a lot, if you did.”

Ryoka’s mind was racing with possibilities. She frowned, thinking aloud.

“But that’s not all. I know there’s rune magic. Couldn’t you use the inn’s mana for some kind of spell?”

“Like what?”

“Like—well, you’ve already got the equivalent of a preservation rune on your whole inn…”

“Better.”

Erin smiled happily. Ryoka blinked.

“Oh? How so?”

“I could have gotten some runes on my pantry. I talked to this [Mage] who said he could put some on my pantry for…I think it was like forty gold coins? But it would only have been a shelf or two, and it wouldn’t be total preservation. He said it was more like it would slow down the rate at which food went bad. So I couldn’t just leave raw meat in there because it would still go bad pretty fast.”

“Huh. I guess [Field of Preservation] really is an incredible skill.”

“Right? What do you think I’d get at Level 40? Or Level 60?”

“I don’t know. A totally automated kitchen? Plates and dishes that automatically serve and wash themselves?”

“That would be so cool. Do you think—”

Anyways, Erin. I was saying that you could have other runes. Like ones that heat up your inn, or cool it down. Or…or what about a rune that…distills water from the air? Is that possible?”

“Ooh. Useful! Let me write this down.”

Erin searched around for a bit of parchment as Ryoka kept talking.

“There’s so much I have to do there. I told you about Laken—”

“An actual [Emperor]! And he’s from our world! I want to meet him. And Durene!”

“I’m sure you’ll love him. But he’s so far away that even with Magnolia’s coach, it’s a day’s journey. But if you could get to Invrisil just by walking through a door—”

“The Runner’s Guild will get really mad if I start doing deliveries that way.”

“Maybe it can just be a personal connection? If people knew your door could do that, you might be in danger.”

Ryoka was thinking over the issue, looking for potential risks. Erin nodded, serious.

“I want to make my inn better. If I can link my inn to other cities, I’m totally down for it. And I like the idea of expanding the inn. And hiring more help. Especially hiring more help. I wonder if I could hire Garry? Or…”

She broke off, lapsing into thought. Ryoka stared at her friend. They’d covered a lot of topics, almost everything Ryoka had done and seen. She’d told Erin about the wand she’d sold to Hedault to equip the Horns of Hammerad. But there was one thing she hadn’t mentioned.

“Erin, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Magnolia and her assassins are one thing, but I ran into…something…as I was coming back from Laken’s village.”

“What?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I don’t know. But it was…dark. No, that’s not the word. Look, let me explain. It started when I was running through a blizzard. Ivolethe was guiding me since she can see through the snow, but she suddenly started getting lost. We ended up in a forest, and I had to build a fire since she and I couldn’t find our way out. It was like we were trapped there. And then it started getting really dark…”

Erin’s eyes widened as Ryoka told the story of the three visitors who sat around the campfire. Ryoka finished, telling Erin about hurling her fingers into the fire. She flexed her right hand as she did. She thought she could still feel the fingers. She could remember them burning.

“You’ll probably think I’m crazy. But it was all true Erin, I swear. And Ivolethe knows something. She just won’t tell me who—or what—they were.”

She waited for Erin to laugh at her, or at least be a bit skeptical. That would be natural. But Ryoka’s blood froze as Erin pulled something out of her pocket and told her what had happened to her on the Winter Solstice.

“Do you know what this, is Ryoka? It’s a coin, but it doesn’t look like it’s silver.”

Ryoka stared down at the bright, off-silver color and the faded inscriptions on the shiny metal. She felt it carefully and then put it down on the table.

“I have no idea. But you say some travelers gave it to you?”

Erin nodded.

“In exchange for the food. Not the gifts.”

The gifts. An umbrella that contained the sun. A rope to hang yourself with and pretend to be dead. A horn—

Ryoka’s skin erupted into goose bumps. She’d heard a horn while she sat around the fire. She stared at the coin and felt very, very cold.

“Who do you think they were? Do you think they were connected to the people you met?”

Carefully, using the tips of her fingers, Ryoka pushed the coin back across the table towards Erin.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it. Tamaroth. I’ve never heard that name before in my life. But I’ll ask about it. I’ll ask Klbkch—”

“Why him?”

“He might know something. Look, until I can find out more, don’t show that coin to anyone you don’t trust, Erin. There’s someone else I can talk to besides Klbkch who might know.”

“Who? Teriarch?”

“Ye—how’d you know?”

“I met him.”

Erin blinked as Ryoka lurched up from her seat.

“You met—

“Didn’t I say? Yeah! We met him on the road. He was looking for you, Ryoka. He wanted to know if there were other games besides Cookie Clicker.”

Ryoka stared at Erin. She tugged at her ears when Erin described meeting Teriarch—appearing as his Human [Mage] form no less—and how Erin had taught him to play Angry Birds.

“Hold on, I need a break. Would you hand me a knife? I need to slice off my ears, because clearly I’m hearing things.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Ryoka! I really did meet Teriarch—he’s weird, like you said, but sort of nice! How did he duplicate your iPhone? Do you think he can do it for me if I ask?”

Ryoka put her head in her hands.

“Please stop talking. My head hurts.”

Her head really did hurt. Teriarch, out in the open? Playing crappy games? What did it mean? Was there a meaning? What could she do about it? Bash her head in with a rock? Forget? After a while, she looked up. Erin was gazing at her, grinning.

“Isn’t it weird?”

“What, specifically?”

“We keep running into the same people. You knew Octavia before I met her, and I met Teriarch…everything’s connected.”

“It’s a small continent. Just about the size of Eurasia.”

“Well, I think it’s awesome. And I also think…yeah, I think I know what to do.”

Erin smiled. Things felt clearer to her, as if a fog had lifted. Here was Ryoka, her friend. Maybe her best friend? Her friend from another world. And it felt like Erin had been waiting for a long time to talk to her. Not about anything specific—it was just that she needed to talk to someone.

“Build my inn, hire people, and sell food to adventurers. That’s my plan for now. What about you, Ryoka?”

The girl shrugged.

“I’m staying here for now. I’ve been away too long, and there’s so much I need to do. Ivolethe is going to teach me…something. Faerie magic, maybe. Or a way to run faster. I’ll go shopping—see if I can pick up some magical items and get Octavia to brew me some potions, but my goal is to become a Courier. If I can make it all the way to First Landing with my two feet, maybe I can see about getting a ship to go to Wistram.”

“That’s big.”

“Why aim low?”

“True.”

Erin played with a bit of cheese on the platter.

“Do you think we should go there? To Wistram?”

Ryoka stared out of the window. She got tired of staring at the shutters and opened them. A cold wind blew in, and Ryoka stared out across the city of Celum, at the rooftops full of snow.

“I don’t know. But I know that I need more…power. No, that’s not the right word. More strength, more speed, more…something. I need to protect myself, and other people. Getting rich and learning to run faster is a way to do that.”

“I’d just like to earn more money. If I can make my inn better, well, then I think I can help other people. I could buy things for Mrsha, help out Ceria and the others…”

“Money makes the world go round.”

It was funny, but money was important. So important. Money could buy them safety, get them to Wistram, or maybe just protect them. Magical artifacts, [Barmaids], toys for a Gnoll cub. Was there anything money couldn’t buy?

It was clichéd, but perhaps the answer was a friend. Ryoka reached for a pitcher, embarrassed at the very thought and found it was empty. Erin looked into her cup and found it was gone too. She shrugged to herself and then looked at Ryoka.

“Tell me about Invrisil. Did they have any cool fashions over there? Did you see anything interesting, or were you talking with that [Emperor] guy too much to notice?”

“Oh, I got an eyeful. Invrisil’s huge, Erin. It’s a real city. You’d either love it or hate it.”

“I think I’d love it…if they have cool stuff there.”

“They have ice cream.”

“No way!”

“Yes…way. They’re serving tiny spoonfuls out in silver bowls as if it were Häagen-Dazs. If you started selling ice cream over there, you’d be rich in no time.”

“Ice cream’s that popular? Well duh, it is, obviously. I should make some more. But do they have plays?”

“Not that I saw. You think you want to send the actors all the way to Invrisil?”

“Why not? They could start Hollywood over there!”

“More like the Globe Theatre.”

“The what?”

Shakespeare, Erin. Don’t tell me your actors only know how to perform Othello.”

“Hey! The first thing I taught them was Romeo and Juliet!”

“Aw. Romeo and Juliet? Really?”

“Actually, this play was Juliet and Romeo. I also got them to do Pygmalion, and Hamlet…and Frozen…but I’m running out of plays to teach them.”

Ryoka laughed.

“I’d sell my left kidney to see them do Chicago. Or at least, one or two songs from it.”

“Well, why not? You could teach them how to do the acting.”

“No. I couldn’t!”

“Why not?”

Ryoka was trying to imagine a bunch of female Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans doing the Cell Block Tango scene from Chicago. Her imagination was having trouble processing the idea.

“No. That would be—”

She broke off. Erin was nodding and smiling expectantly.

“Yeah…?”

Ryoka hesitated. And then she grinned. When she was around Erin, it felt like she could really do anything. Nothing was too crazy with her.

“Let me see if I can remember the lyrics. No promises.”

“I want to see if they’ll perform in Liscor. It would be cool to have them perform in my inn. Or maybe somewhere more public? And I could sell my new magical foods as well!”

“Yeah, we need to have a talk about that stuff, Erin. I know it’s incredible that you can make magical food, but…Defense Soup, Erin? Really?”

“Hey! It’s hard to name this stuff. I thought about Thickskin Soup, but that sounds really nasty. Relc was calling it Scale Soup…”

Ryoka was laughing. Erin was waving her hands. At some point, they stopped talking about anything important. They cracked jokes, came up with ridiculous names to call their soup—they laughed and for a few moments, they weren’t trapped in another world. They were just friends, hanging out together.

And then, at some point, Erin had to go to the bathroom, and Ryoka realized Mrsha was back in the room and trying to get their attention. Erin sighed.

“I guess we should do something today.”

“I suppose so.”

Ryoka made a face as she lifted Mrsha up. She recoiled from the Gnoll’s breath.

“How much did they feed you, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll child lolled about in Ryoka’s arms, stuffed to the point of unconsciousness. Erin sighed as she looked about the room.

“I wish we could do this again.”

“Why not? We can come back here again. Next week, or sooner. Whenever you like. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Ryoka grinned at Erin, and saw the girl’s face light up in reply. She lifted Mrsha up with a grunt and walked towards the door. Beyond it lay the rest of the world. But somehow it wasn’t as daunting to face it. This moment had restored something Ryoka needed. Something Erin needed.

And both of them knew it. Erin spoke up as Ryoka opened the door.

“Hey Ryoka?”

“Yeah?”

The young woman turned at the door. Erin smiled at her.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Ryoka turned away. She opened the door and Erin got up. The two stood at the doorway. Ryoka grinned.

“Let’s shake things up.”

 

—-

 

Her name was Ivolethe. She was a Frost Faerie, at least to the people of this world. But that was a poor name for her true nature. But at the very least it hinted to her origin. She was no Human. She was not mortal.

And now she hovered in the snow, in the cold air, outside of a window. She could sense warmth from within, hear voices and laughter. Perhaps she might have entered, but there was cold iron in the walls of the building. And she was not invited.

Ivolethe hovered by the window, peering in through a crack. There were two girls sitting in the room. Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin. Ivolethe stared at Ryoka. Her friend. That a faerie could be friends with a Human was incredible. But Ryoka was still Human, still mortal. And there were ways in which she and Ivolethe could never truly understand each other. Yet they were friends, just as Ryoka was friends with Erin.

Ivolethe stared into the room as the two girls laughed and spoke. There was friendship there, still small, perhaps tenuous at times, but blooming and growing brighter in the cold. Ivolethe put her hand on the window’s ledge and took it away as the wood began to frost over. She looked into the bright room, and turned away.

Friendship. Ivolethe had it too. And it meant more to the Frost Faerie than Ryoka could know of for now. So Ivolethe flew. She flew high, high into the sky, and then south at speeds Ryoka could only dream of.

She flew south, coming to rest high in the air. Ivolethe looked down, and saw blood in the snow. She saw dead things.

And undead things. Two beings woven of magic and the grave stood in the snow, surrounded by children. Goblins. Armed children, a score of them, at least a hundred. Hobgoblins and Goblin warriors, fierce fighters in black armor.

They were all dead. The Goblins’ blood stained the snow. The two dead creatures stood among them, untouched. It had been a brief skirmish, and completely one-sided.

Ivolethe watched as a larger force of undead, thousands, no, larger, approached. A detachment rode forth, proud warriors surrounding a Goblin that reeked to her of the same death the two undead had.

Here was a threat. One that Ivolethe might have dreamed of wiping out with an avalanche, or some other wrath of nature. Yet that would have been meddling on a scale that would surely cause repercussion. And…punishment.

So Ivolethe did not interfere. But she watched a bit of destiny play out as the undead duo stood among the deceased Goblins.

 

—-

 

Venitra and Ijvani stood among the remnants of the dead Goblins that had ambushed them. She recognized them as belonging to the Goblin Lord’s army, but she felt no qualms in butchering them. They, like all things not created of her master, were lesser things.

Still, she didn’t attack the next group that surrounded her. Huge Hobgoblins and snarling Goblin elite warriors, Goblin [Shamans] and [Mages] who watched her with more fear than their warrior counterparts. So long as she was not attacked, Venitra would not harm the Goblins. Doing so would run counter to her master’s plans.

“They attacked us when we requested to speak with you. Next time ensure they are not so foolish.”

She was speaking to a Goblin who stood in front of her and Ijvani. He was pale and his eyes…there was something wrong with them. To Venitra, the eyes were reassuring, comforting, even. They reminded her of her master, Az’kerash. It might be presumptuous of the Goblin to emulate her master so and perhaps under other circumstances Venitra would have plucked the eyes out herself. But as it stood, Venitra considered the Goblin Lord an…ally of sorts.

He did not respond to her comment. None of the Goblins surrounding him could look at their leader, or at Venitra. Both were monsters, of a kind.

We are headed towards Liscor.

Ijvani’s voice was closer to a hiss, and there was an unsettling echo to her words. The Goblin Lord looked at her. He did not speak, but one hand rose and pointed.

Venitra and Ijvani turned. Ijvani stared at Venitra, and the woman made of bone didn’t meet her companion’s eyes.

I told you we were going the wrong way.

“We’ll adjust our course.”

Venitra turned back to the Goblin Lord. His eyes were fixed on her. She nodded at him.

“We shall leave you to your work. Oh. I should mention this—there are two Drake armies closing in on your position.”

The Goblin Lord nodded. Venitra had seen the armies as she and Ijvani had moved past them, undetected. She studied his face.

“Each one is about ten thousand strong.”

He grinned. And turned away. Venitra paused, and then turned. She and Ijvani began walking through the snow. To Liscor. To find the accursed Human named Ryoka Griffin.

I told you we were going the wrong way.

“Silence, Ijvani.”

The next day the two suppression armies sent to crush the Goblin Lord’s army met his in the hills a hundred miles to the southeast of Liscor.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.12

Erin and Ryoka left the room in the Runner’s Guild, a sleepy Mrsha draped in Ryoka’s arms. They left as friends, refreshed, ready to face the world.

“Ryoka’s back!”

Erin sang and danced down the steps, beaming in delight. She flexed her arms while Ryoka shifted the snoozing Mrsha.

“Erin and Ryoka, together again! The invincible duo!”

Ryoka smiled, embarrassed, and then covered it with a scowl.

“Stop that.”

“Come on, don’t you think we make a good team?”

“I think a good team doesn’t brag about how good they are.”

“But we’re like a duo! You know, Bonnie and Clyde! Jesse and James! Bert and Ernie! Tom and Jerry! Uh…Batman and Robin!”

“Erin—”

“Siskel and Ebert! Spongebob and Patrick!”

“Which one are you, then?”

Erin hesitated.

“Uh…Sp—”

“You’re Patrick.”

“No…I don’t want to be him.”

“Well I’m sure as hell not Patrick.”

“Okay, maybe that was a bad comparison. But I could be, uh—”

“I’m Batman.”

“Aw.”

Their banter was interrupted by a [Receptionist] who hurried to them on the stairs with a smile on her face.

“Miss Erin, Miss Ryoka, I hope your discussion was productive?”

“What? Yeah. Oh—right.”

The [Receptionist] was staring meaningfully at Ryoka. She hesitated, cursed internally, and then shifted Mrsha to fish at her belt pouch.

“Here.”

She handed the woman two gold coins. Both Erin and the woman’s eyes bugged out when they saw the glitter. The [Receptionist] gaped at Ryoka, and then hurriedly curtsied to Erin.

“I hope you enjoyed our brief hospitality, Miss Erin. Please, if there’s anything we can do, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Uh. Okay.”

When the woman had hurried off with the coins Erin grabbed Ryoka.

“What was that?

Ryoka grinned.

“The Guild charges a 5% fee on all deliveries. I’ll do the paperwork later, but right now they think you just gave me a delivery worth forty gold coins.”

“But that’s so much! Ryoka—”

The Runner shook her head. She was in a good mood.

“I’ve got the money, and I think we got what we paid for, right? Private rooms, delivered food, entertainment for Mrsha…and I feel a bit bad for bullying that receptionist.”

“I guess…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not. Here, hold Mrsha for me, will you?”

Ryoka dumped Mrsha into Erin’s arms. The Gnoll grunted and Erin did too. Ryoka strode over to two Runners who were approaching her.

“Garia, Fals. Thanks for looking out for Mrsha.”

“It was our pleasure, Ryoka. That little furball can run pretty fast! Are you going to teach her how to be a Runner?”

“Who knows?”

Ryoka smiled at Fals and turned to Garia. The shorter Runner smiled at Ryoka with an awkwardness Ryoka recognized. She’d felt it herself not a few hours ago.

“Sorry for overfeeding her, Ryoka. She’s just so cute…”

“No problem. And I’m sorry I had to cut you off, but Erin and I really needed to reconnect. Uh…how’s it been, Garia?”

“Oh, you know. I’m just running deliveries. I don’t do anything that interesting…”

“Not like a Runner who make it to Invrisil in two days! I heard the rumors Ryoka—don’t tell me it actually happened?”

“Not quite. I hitched a ride, actually…”

Ryoka gave them a cut-down version of the events, minus the assassinations and heard their envious comments about getting to do that many deliveries at once. Then she got to the heart of the matter as she turned to Garia.

“Look, Garia, I’ve really dropped the ball on hanging out with you. You keep offering to do a delivery together and I’m always busy…I’m not a good friend.”

Garia turned bright red and waved her hands hurriedly.

“What? No, I know you’ve got a lot to do. I don’t think—”

“A good Runner makes time for friends, right Fals?”

The young man blinked at Ryoka, and then smiled.

“True enough! Are you planning on doing a delivery with Garia then, Ryoka?”

“Better. I was wondering if that offer to visit her family was still on the table. We could hang out for a day or two.”

Ryoka really had no desire to meet Garia’s family, but she had every desire to be a good friend to Garia, and from the way the girl’s face lit up, that was the right thing to offer.

“Meet my family? Well—of course! They have a farm—we could have you over any time.”

“What about in a day or two? Maybe tomorrow? I’d hate to impose, but I don’t want to get tied up and not come…”

“No, no! They’d love to have you. I’ve told them all about you…”

Garia’s eyes slid sideways to Fals. Ryoka noticed, and turned towards him.

“Why not come with us? I’m sure Garia would love to introduce you as well.”

Fals looked surprised. He glanced at Garia and then met Ryoka’s eyes. She stared at him silently and he hesitated.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Well, what if I bring a friend? Garia, would you mind if Mrsha joined us? I think she’d love to see a farm.”

“No problem! And I bet she’d love to have fun with everyone…”

Garia was sneaking glances at Fals. Pressured on two fronts, he gave in graciously and smiled at Garia.

“I would be glad to. Just let me know when and we can run there together. Does your family enjoy sweets by any chance? I would love to buy them a jar of Miss Erin’s honey…”

“You don’t need to bring anything! Really!”

Ryoka participated in the conversation for a little bit, set up a tentative date, and then rejoined Erin, who’d persuaded Mrsha to walk on her own four paws. Her real struggle was making four paws turn into two.

“Come on, Mrsha. You can’t always run around on all fours. Krshia doesn’t do it.”

Mrsha gave Erin a glance that said quite clearly that Krshia was a fool who only walked upright to fit in. Erin smiled at Ryoka.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep. I’d say we’re in time for a late lunch if we get back to the inn now.”

“I just ate! Well, I guess I can make something if the adventurers are hanging about…”

Ryoka frowned, perplexed.

“Do they always stick around? I thought they’d have things to do. Like kill monsters or go into the dungeon.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t actually do that so much. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers are always talking and making plans…some days they go in and come back really late, covered in all kinds of nasty stuff.”

“Well, hopefully Pisces is still about. I want to talk with him.”

 

—-

 

Pisces was indeed still in the inn, drinking and talking with the other Horns of Hammerad. And Griffon Hunt. And the Halfseekers.

None of the adventurers had left the inn, although Zel had. They were all clustered in the center of the room, talking heatedly about some big discovery. Ryoka had to get Ceria to explain it to her while Erin went to make a late lunch.

“Some adventurers went into the dungeon, Ryoka! This team—they’re only Silver-rank. They’re called Vuliel Drae and they went down through that hole Mrsha fell into. Apparently there’s an entirely new section of dungeon down there!”

Ryoka stared at the adventurers as they fussed over a bit of parchment. She walked over, peered over Ceria’s shoulder and was treated to a very rough map.

Or rather, the copy of a map. As it turned out, Halrac had just gone into the city and come back with a map of the dungeon. It had been made by Vuliel Drae, a relatively inexperienced group of adventurers who’d descended into the new hole and come out with a rudimentary sketch of a few passageways, a tale of running into half a dozen traps and monsters within the first hour, and the head of a monster no one could identify.

And an enchanted mace. It had sent ripples through the growing adventuring community within Liscor. Because it was proof the dungeon had treasure.

“Not just any treasure. High quality enchantments.”

Ulrien explained that to Ryoka, although she had a sense he was also telling her for Ksmvr and Pisces’ benefit. The Horns of Hammerad were listening intently to the Gold-rank adventurers talking. Despite Ceria and Yvlon’s experience, they were still juniors watching experts in their field work.

And argue. Seborn was talking about the mace, much to Jelaqua’s clear displeasure.

It has some kind of auditory enchantment. It shrieks like a Death Wailer when you hit something, and everyone but the wielder is affected. I’d say the effect isn’t just sound-based—there seems to be some kind of immobility effect to it as well. So that’s two benefits. Too bad only one person can use it safely, but the cost—

“Damn it, those bastards were already getting offers for the mace! It’ll probably sell for thousands of gold pieces!”

Jelaqua burst out and kicked a chair into the air. Lyonette screamed and ducked, but Moore caught the chair out of the air. He stared reproachfully at the Selphid.

Interestingly, Jelaqua blushed. Ryoka wasn’t sure she’d be able to with a dead body. But her cheeks did change color. They turned slightly orange, as if something inside the dead skin was heating up.

Disturbing, to say the least. Ryoka looked away as Jelaqua apologized to Lyonette. Ulrien, the other team leader, was less emotional.

“It was luck. Those adventurers were lucky to survive an encounter with the monster carrying the mace. It’s not like they made it to a vault or raided a monster’s lair.”

Halrac nodded and grunted.

“Word is they would have been completely wiped out if another adventurer hadn’t helped them out.”

“Who?”

“It’s unclear. Some lone adventurer with the ability to resist the mace’s effects. She slew the monster carrying it and got the team through several hallways filled with traps by all accounts. There was no name given—she’s described as a masked swordswoman with incredible talent.”

The other Gold-rank adventurers murmured at this. Typhenous raised his eyes at Revi and Ryoka saw the Stitch-girl shake her head. Jelaqua ground her teeth together.

“A lone swordswoman? Everyone’s getting the jump on us!”

Ulrien frowned at her.

“It’s not who’s fastest, Jelaqua. It’s who’s alive at the end to claim the treasure. You know that. Forget a lucky break; if just one of the dungeon’s treasuries is partially intact, we’ll reap a hundredfold times that amount.”

“I know. I just don’t like someone stealing a march on us.”

Jelaqua groused. She looked towards the kitchen and lowered her voice.

“Plus, you know those idiots wouldn’t have had the courage to descend, much less survive, without Erin’s cooking!”

Ryoka had been told all about the magical effects of Erin’s food. Not only could she make a soup that warmed you up when standing naked in the cold, but she could make one that toughened the skin, and another that made you stronger than you should be.

It was an incredible Skill with several caveats. You couldn’t have more than one effect at once, it wore off in a few hours, the food spoiled quickly, and Erin had to make it. Her or someone else with [Wondrous Fare]. And it was the exact sort of thing an adventurer might want, especially going into a dungeon. However…

“I’m not sure if they’ll conflict with our potions.”

Jelaqua had asked Erin to make her some of the Scale Soup, but she hadn’t had a chance to test it yet. She paced around the room, understandably anxious.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Erin’s magical cooking helps all the low-level adventurers who can’t afford better enchantments, but we…”

Ulrien ignored his counterpart. The Halfseekers seemed used to Jelaqua’s emotions, but Griffon Hunt was methodical. He nodded to the others.

“I want to talk with the leader of Vuliel Drae. See if he can describe these Gnoll-like monsters. I hear they brought back a head.”

Seborn nodded.

Some of the Gnolls were quite agitated when they saw it. They may know more.

“I’ll inquire about it.”

Halrac left with Seborn, the two being the most knowledgeable about the monsters. Ulrien and Jelaqua went to track down the leader of the adventurers who’d gone into the dungeon.

“They’re probably at the bottom of a barrel of ale and celebrating. Still, I want to know what it was like in detail.”

That left Typhenous, Revi, and Moore. Ryoka was surprised the [Mages] didn’t have their own duties, but then she saw all of them sitting down and eating Erin’s magical food, with varied degrees of enjoyment.

“See, I can make the Corusdeer Soup into a patty. And the uh, Scale Soup becomes…”

Revi paused as something went crack inside her mouth. She spat out what she’d eaten and stared at a hard fragment in horror.

“Ew! What is that?”

“A uh, Stonelizard scale. But I boiled it!”

“Is that lemon and mint? And…fish?”

“It tastes better than it does as a soup!”

“Gah. That’s hardly an improvement.”

Revi made a face. Moore, chewing down his food, shrugged his huge shoulders.

“You must admit it still tastes a thousand times better than some potions.”

“True. Now, to see how it might conflict with spellcasting and other enchantments.”

Typhenous pushed his plate back and began rummaging at his belt for a potion. Ryoka turned to the Horns of Hammerad, who’d been talking amongst themselves.

“How are you all doing?”

“We’re wondering whether we should be looking into this dungeon too, honestly.”

Ceria confessed to Ryoka as she watched Typhenous carefully imbibing part of a potion and making a disgusted face. She sighed as she scratched at her bone hand. Ryoka looked at her hand and then glanced at her missing fingers.

“It sounds intense down there. I hope you’re thinking it over carefully.”

The half-Elf nodded seriously.

“We learned our lesson once, Yvlon and I. But honestly Ryoka, there’s not much else we can do around here. Monster hunting around Liscor isn’t exactly a lucrative business, especially in the winter. Plus, I’ve seen Rock Crabs and I don’t want to tangle with them, even with our new gear. We could look for work around Celum thanks to the magical door, but…”

She shrugged, making a face.

“We’re talking it over. Which reminds me, we need to pay you…”

“I’d like to say it was between friends, but I wouldn’t say no to gold either. Still, you did get Erin back to Liscor for me…”

“We owed her for that. Come on, if you want one of our artifacts or the gold that [Enchanter] gave you…”

Ryoka was sorely tempted to see what she might ask for, but she had something else on her mind right how. She hesitated.

“I’ll think about it. But could I borrow Pisces? I need his help for some research?”

“Research? Hey Pisces! Get over here! What are you looking into?”

Ceria eyed Ryoka curiously as Pisces walked over, looking disgruntled at being summoned.

“Ah, Miss Ryoka. What may I help you with? Or am I not permitted to know the details of this endeavor either?”

Ceria stamped on Pisces’ foot and he hopped around, shouting while Ryoka explained. The [Necromancer] stopped yelping and his eyes lit up when she mentioned the door.

“Ah, a project to measure the door’s capacity? Well now, that is an interesting subject. May I take it that you intend for me to test the limits of the enchantment?”

Ryoka nodded.

“Is there some way to tell how much energy the door consumes? Definitively, I mean.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Well, Erin did manage to find the effective limit by jumping through it repeatedly. But I suppose that is not the aim of your inquiry?”

Ryoka gave him a look.

“Jumping through a door isn’t exactly a precise measurement. I’m just asking if there’s a way to calculate exactly how much energy is used per transportation. Is there a limit to weight or mass? How does distance affect the drain? Can you reduce the magic consumed into a figure and derive the maximum travelable distance from that figure?”

Ceria’s eyes went slightly cross-eyed, but Pisces’ eyes lit up. He stared curiously at Ryoka for a second and then smiled.

“Astounding. You seem to have a fascinatingly astute mind for magical theory. Have you some kind of connection with the [Engineer] class, by any chance?”

Ryoka smiled slightly.

“You could say that. Will you help?”

“I have nothing better to do, and the subject interests me as well. Very well.”

Pisces and Ryoka strode over to the door, Mrsha padding over behind them and watching curiously as they bent over the door. The Gnoll stared as Ryoka and Pisces opened the door and started chatting about the effects of the teleportation spell. She got bored and watched Revi poking herself with a dagger. Pisces and Ryoka’s conversation wasn’t exactly riveting.

“I understand that Erin’s new Skill provides the inn with a lot of mana. How fast does it replenish, though?”

“If it works under the principle of a site of high ambient magical power, like a mass graveyard or perhaps Wistram Academy for example, it would be a daily influx of energy with a set upper limit to the environs. However, I believe it is the door’s individual capacity that should be measured.”

“Oh? You’re saying the enchantment can only hold so much mana itself?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Naturally. This enchantment is built into the very wood and is of exceptional quality, but the most complex ward or binding has its limit. That is why the best enchantments on weapons, or objects such as this door, have mechanisms that allow them to recharge themselves.”

“So that’s our variable. Right. Well, if we’re testing how many times it can be used, we need to tell how much the maximum is.

“There are several ways to determine that. But I believe exhausting the supply and deriving the limit from usage would be easiest.”

“Right. But just teleporting to Celum gives us only one variable. I’m suggesting that I teleport from set distances—”

“Naturally, naturally. We must account for the variable of distance as well as mass and weight. You need not lecture me on basic theory…although I am surprised I need not do the same for you, Miss Griffin.”

It was surprising, but Pisces understood the theory of the scientific inquiry, even if he didn’t have the terminology. But he knew the need to account for variables, and how to assign units to calculate the amount of mana used by the door.

In fact, the discussion made part of Ryoka’s mind light up. She hadn’t thought in terms of calculation or figures since coming to this world. And apparently, [Mages] shared at least a few genes with mathematicians, because their conversation attracted Typhenous’ attention.

“Ah, Miss Griffin and young Pisces. May I ask what your fascinating discussion is about?”

The older [Mage] came over and in seconds, was engrossed in the idea of testing the limits of the door’s ability to teleport. Pisces had already created a second ‘anchor’ which could be used to teleport back and forth—it was a mug.

He’d been drinking out of it and it was the closest thing to hand. Ryoka upended it and let a few drops fall onto the floor before she agreed to carry it a mile from the inn. But they still had to find a way to measure how much energy was being used each time she teleported.

“My suggestion would be to use a simple cantrip to do the measuring. You see, it is possible to draw from the door’s capacity. Thus, the change in the size and intensity of a [Light] spell linked to the door’s mana supply would indicate the reserves contained within the enchantment.”

Typhenous stroked his white beard importantly as Ryoka did some warmup stretches for her legs and arms and Pisces squatted by the door. The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Ah. That is interesting. What if I were to use this as a benchmark?”

He raised his hand and his other palm on the door’s surface. Ryoka blinked, and then felt every hair on her head try to stand up. She swore and ducked as a thin column of electricity burst from Pisces’ hand and shot across the room. Yvlon and Lyonette jumped out of the way, the armored woman cursing at Pisces.

“Watch it! I’m wearing metal, you crazed maniac!”

Pisces ignored her. The thin, crackling stream of electricity had formed a straight line that shot out and then began to earth itself on tables a good twelve feet away from where he was standing. Mrsha got close, reached out at the bright crackling busts of energy, thought better of it, and scampered away.

“Pisces! What are you doing?”

Erin shouted at him. The [Necromancer] stopped casting the spell and carefully walked over to where the spell had stopped. He marked the edge of the spot where the electricity had reached and marked the point with a cup. He turned to Typhenous and Ryoka and smiled.

“[Lightning Jolt]. Simple, and relatively costless. I am naturally using the ambient mana to fuel the spell while drawing on minimal reserves of my own.”

Typhenous nodded appreciatively while Ryoka went over to Erin and explained why she shouldn’t hit Pisces with a pan.

“Only naturally. But can you keep your own output steady, young mage?”

Pisces smiled archly at him.

“My control is sublime, Typhenous. I shall cast the spell again once Ryoka has teleported the first time. And if we have a measuring tape, we may derive a very rough estimation of how the range of the spell decreases with each casting…”

“Right. So if we assume that was close to 100%, we’re at…about twelve and a half feet. And if I hop through the door and come back—two teleports…Pisces, will you do that again?”

Pisces obliged. This time everyone watched as the lightning shot out…and stopped a bit before the place where Pisces had marked with his cup.

Ryoka blinked as Pisces placed a spoon on the second spot.

“Oh wow. That doesn’t go down much. We might have to break out a ruler after all.”

“Well, a rough estimate is possible. I conclude that the distance of the first spell was roughly twelve and two thirds feet, Miss Griffin. As for the second measurement, it would be fair to say the spell decreased in length roughly two to three inches. With rough estimation, that would mean the distance of one hundred and fifty two inches decreased by three inches per two jumps, which would mean…”

Ryoka did the math faster than Pisces could.

“You could bring over fifty people to the inn and back before it ran out of juice. But that doesn’t account for how fast the door recharges.”

Pisces stopped. He blinked at Ryoka and cleared his throat. Ryoka saw Ceria sniggering at the [Necromancer] behind his back.

“Ah…yes. That is correct. Well, we shall account for those elements as well. Once the door’s mana is fully depleted, measuring the length of the [Lightning Jolt] spell after a set period of time would allow us to calculate the rate of passive mana absorption.”

Typhenous nodded.

“Of course.”

From her kitchen, Erin scratched her head. She looked at Ryoka and shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t get it.”

Ryoka did. It wasn’t difficult math, although all the variables meant they’d need a lot of data to get good results. She saw Lyonette was watching them curiously, as was Mrsha. Yvlon and Ceria on the other hand looked like they weren’t able to follow the conversation at all. Ksmvr seemed to get it, but he was showing solidarity with his other teammates by pretending to be disinterested. And Revi was still poking herself with a dagger.

“Ow! Typhenous, we’re supposed to be testing the food, not checking on the stupid door!”

“Indulge me, please, Revi. I do enjoy this. And I seldom have the opportunity to speak with minds of similar inquiry.”

Typhenous waved at Revi and got a glare in response. From his seat on the floor, Moore got up and stepped carefully over to the mages and Ryoka. He smiled at them.

“I too would like to observe. And may I ask whether you intend to use the door as an involuntary translocation spell or as a portal effect? That may have a bearing on the mana cost.”

Typhenous and Pisces looked appraisingly at Moore. The half-Giant smiled at them. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I believe young Pisces and I agreed that maintaining the portal effect was most efficacious, with the natural caveat that suddenly running out of mana would not adversely affect someone caught in the middle of transportation—which it does not—holds true.”

The other adventurers rubbed at their ears. Ryoka just rolled her eyes. [Mages] loved their fancy words, as much as any scholar. Mrsha shook her head and padded away and Erin went back into her kitchen, grumbling about an ‘older Pisces’. But Moore just nodded.

“I see. And the reason is?”

Pisces smiled and answered for Typhenous.

“Accidental transportation. If it were immediate, any contact with the door might trigger it, or a method of activation might be needed, all of which is far more complicated. An open portal allows for less disorientation as well.”

“Very true. Ah, I see that Pisces has managed to alter the enchantment. Miss Ryoka, will you be carrying this marker out to distances for us to test with?”

Moore handed the quite ordinary ceramic mug to Ryoka. She nearly dropped it and stared up at the half-Giant. Talk to him like a normal person. She knew that, but she had a horrible, horrible urge to call Moore a different name. She couldn’t help it. If he started waving around a pink umbrella, she’d really be in trouble.

“That’s right Ha—uh, Moore. I’ll run it out one mile to start and we’ll see how much energy that requires.”

Typhenous nodded.

“We may have to rely on a more precise spell to measure the energy consumption. I will consult with Moore and Pisces, although I believe a restrained [Flame Jet] spell would be more precise.”

Moore looked concerned.

“The inn is made of wood, Typhenous.”

“True. What would you suggest?”

Moore smiled and tapped the ground lightly with his huge staff. The floorboards suddenly sprouted a line of grass that shot forwards and ended at Ryoka’s foot. She gaped at the grass until it withered and faded, seconds later.

“Simple, accurate, and less dangerous to Miss Erin’s guests and her inn. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Pisces and Typhenous exchanged a glance. Then they stepped aside so Moore could get a better look at the door. They began speaking all at once as Ryoka grabbed the mug and headed towards the door. Pisces stroked his hairless chin in an imitation of Typhenous as he chattered with the others.

“For the purposes of experimentation, we must naturally use the instantaneous teleportation effect…”

“But how to differentiate between the costs for portal-style teleportation and instantaneous?”

“What if we configured the door leading to Celum and measured the difference between the two for the mana cost?”

“Of course. But if we are accounting for the variation in distance, we should also take measurements at different distances than simply one mile. I propose a sample at one mile, five, ten…”

“Only naturally. Has anyone a piece of parchment? I have a sheaf and some ink in my room if necessary.”

Pisces produced a slip of folded parchment. Moore opened his spellbook and took out a magical quill that needed no ink. Typhenous rubbed his hands together.

“Ah, good friends, it is a privilege to be working together with such fine minds. Shall we begin?”

 

—-

 

“They’re all nerds.”

Erin peered at the three mages standing around the door with narrowed eyes. Ceria paused as she gulped down the spicy meatballs made in Drake fashion. They were on a skewer, and meat to be dipped in a sauce Mrsha had gotten all over the fur on her face.

“What’s a nerd, Erin?”

“Uh, someone who talks about a lot of complex and weird stuff?”

Erin wavered. She didn’t mean she actually thought Pisces, Typhenous and Moore were lame or deserved to have their pants pulled down or have their heads swirled in a toilet. Not that she’d ever seen that happen in real life. Besides, if anyone tried that to Moore, he’d probably throw them through a wall.

Maybe not. Moore was nice. Ceria just shrugged.

“I’m actually glad Pisces has found other [Mages] he can talk to.”

Erin looked at her half-Elf friend.

“You don’t talk with Pisces about stuff like that?”

Ceria laughed.

“What? Magical theory and numbers that don’t make sense? No way! I can’t follow what they’re doing. Calculating a door’s mana supply from a spell that makes grass? How would that even work?”

Erin vaguely understood what they were doing, because Ryoka had explained it briefly to her and because she’d had to take classes in algebra and so on in high school. But she wasn’t surprised no one else got it. But it was surprising Ceria didn’t know.

“Wait, why don’t you understand? They’re talking about magic, right?”

“A kind of magic, Erin. They’re looking into the enchanting magic, but also spatial magic. Teleportation, you know? I don’t study that, and for good reason.”

Ceria put down her finished skewer of wood and grabbed another off of the plate. Across the table, Yvlon picked hers up and showed Ksmvr how to dip his with etiquette. On another table, Mrsha demonstrated how to eat like a savage. Ceria smiled as Lyonette tried to wipe Mrsha’s face and the Gnoll tried to avoid the clean cloth.

“Magic isn’t like that for me.”

“Really? What’s it like?”

“Magic is like…”

Ceria frowned. She conjured a small orb of water up with a flick of her hand, and as Erin watched, it fragmented into droplets and formed into a tiny replica of Ceria, which waved at Erin. Erin watched, open-mouthed as Ceria flicked the icy figure into the air. It shattered as it reached eye-level, and then landed on the table, a spatter of water droplets. Ceria breathed out and then grinned at Erin’s dumfounded expression.

“Whew, that’s tough. But magic is like that, see? I visualize my spells and put everything together just right. It’s hard to do earth magic and fire magic can get nasty if you don’t understand it right. But ice magic is like sculpting. You harden the ice here, lengthen it here…and you have a spike. It’s all seeing and concentrating, not…numbers.”

“Wait, so magic isn’t math?”

“Of course not!”

Someone interrupted their conversation. Erin looked over and saw Revi chewing on a meatball with a sour expression. The Stitch-girl’s tone was acerbic, but not exactly rude as she spoke to Erin.

“Magic isn’t the same for every mage, Miss Erin. Why would it be? Different schools use magic in different ways. Ceria specializes in destruction magic, in shaping her ice spells. But magic isn’t like that for me. I summon warriors. Magic is all about maintaining a link between myself and my spirits.”

“What’s it like?”

Revi hesitated. She drummed on the table and looked away before she replied.

“It’s rather like keeping a conversation up with all of my familiars. I have to maintain them, make sure there’s nothing wrong with their bindings, and I’m always looking for more. Magic is like collecting, exploring, augmenting what’s there. I slowly improve myself and the spirits I summon, buying new equipment for them, learning new ways to boost them with spells in combat…”

“Magic’s different for everyone it seems.”

Revi and Ceria nodded. Erin sighed. She wanted to learn magic, and knew that she couldn’t. Okay, in theory she could, but she didn’t have the raw talent or capacity Pisces and Ceria did. And…she didn’t really have the time. She had to get more help, like Ryoka said! It was just too bad she couldn’t throw around fireballs for fun now and then.

“Ah, is that food I see? Friends, let us adjourn for a moment.”

The other [Mages] had finally noticed that there was food on the tables. Typhenous, Pisces, and Moore came over to eat, and while they did Erin quizzed them on what magic was like.

Pisces snorted when he heard how Ceria practiced magic.

“Of course an [Elementalist] would think that way.”

Ceria threw a meatball at his head and he caught it in the air and levitated it onto his plate. Typhenous smiled at Erin and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Alas, it is the case where Revi and I have disagreed on the fundamentals of magic theory. A [Summoner] is…well, not the same as a general practitioner of the arts.”

“Up yours, Typhenous. Our spells are fine!”

“Yes, well, I’m sure they’re quite functional. For spells that require no adjustment and have little variation no matter how they’re cast.”

Pisces smirked and Typhenous smiled at him. Ceria muttered and flicked her fingers at them, showering the two [Mages] in snow. Typhenous blew it back at her and Revi hurled her plate at the two male [Mages].

There was a definite tension between the female mages and the male ones. Erin edged away. Mrsha and Lyonette stared at her as she joined their table.

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Someone popped into place in front of the door. Erin turned, and saw Ryoka, sweaty, looking about and scowling when she saw the eating mages.

“Hey! I just ran five miles. Get back over and finish testing!”

She snatched a plate full of the skewered meatballs from Moore and began scarfing them down, much like Mrsha. Actually, that was probably where the Gnoll was learning her table manners. Erin resolved to have a word with Ryoka about that.

While her friend was busying appearing and disappearing in the inn and the mages were arguing about the results, Erin had another visitor. It wasn’t Pawn or Bird—Lyonette told Erin they’d gone back to their Hive, much to her disappointment.

Instead, Klbkch came into the inn, looking for Ryoka. He got Erin instead, and didn’t seem put out by the trade.

“Sorry, Ryoka’s busy teleporting. But if you have time, I’d love to talk.”

“I have a reasonable supply of time, Erin. How may I help you?”

“I uh, I want to hire some of your people, Klbkch. And maybe upgrade my inn? Um. I can pay!”

Erin waited, looking hopefully at Klbkch as he sat with a plate of lukewarm meatballs in front of him. The Antinium Revalantor stared at her. He had a long gash down one arm, where the chitin was splintered. Was that new? Why hadn’t he healed it? After a minute Klbkch shook his head slightly, as if coming to.

“Ah. You never cease to surprise me, Erin.”

“Oh? Is that bad?”

“No. Rather…it would be fortuitous if not for the timing. May I ask what reason you have for this course of action?”

That was odd. Erin explained her problem with overwork as Klbkch nodded.

“Naturally this is an issue. So you wish to hire…?”

“Um. Garry? I know you’ve got lots of Workers and Soldiers, but I really need a [Cook]. And I get along so well with Garry and he’s a friend, so…”

Klbkch drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. At last he slowly shook his head.

“I regret that I cannot allow Garry to work at your inn, although I will naturally consult with you about construction costs and options.”

“Aw. Why not?”

The Antinium paused, and for some reason, looked awkward. He clicked his mandibles a few times before replying.

“My Queen…is partial to Garry’s skill at preparing food. I do not believe she would allow him to work elsewhere no matter how much gold was offered.”

“You mean she likes his cooking?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, I mean, that’s a bummer. But it’s okay. She probably needs to eat a lot because she’s uh, so, so…grand. Big. Huge. Gargantuan. Which is a good thing! Right?”

Klbkch wasn’t as quick to nod as Erin would have thought. He traced on the table with a finger, catching a tiny ant that had somehow wandered into her inn. He stared at it as Erin blinked at it and him. She wondered if he had a connection with—

He squished the ant and then picked up a meatball with the same fingers. Klbkch ate it slowly as he spoke.

“The…Queens of the Antinium are naturally large. However, this is not due to their need to birth eggs. That method is inefficient and was removed from our process long ago. Rather, Queens are normally composed of an extensive matter of brain. Sometimes Queens had bodies that were two thirds thinking matter. However my Queen merely emulates that fashion.”

It took Erin a moment to figure out what he was hinting at.

“You mean she’s…fat?”

Klbkch looked around the room slowly. Ksmvr sunk down low at his table as the Revelator spotted him. Yvlon scowled at Klbkch, but the Antinium just turned back to Erin and lowered his already quiet voice.

“I believe that she is the lightest of all the Queens on Izril by a considerable margin. She was the only Queen able to relocate herself to Liscor to start a new Hive, and as such she is still capable of movement.”

He paused and thought about that statement.

“For now.”

Erin had a horrible urge to start telling ‘yo mamma’ jokes about the Queen of the Free Antinium, but she resisted the impulse with difficulty. It wasn’t nice, although the Queen was a huge jerk. Plus, Erin couldn’t think of any good ones.

So instead she sighed and slumped over on the table.

“Too bad. I was really counting on getting Garry! But if the Queen wants her munchies…aw.”

Klbkch regarded Erin for a moment.

“I regret that I cannot allow you to take Garry. However, I would have to say the same of Anand, Belgrade, and Pawn. They all fulfill important roles within the Hive, now.”

“Yeah. And what would I get them to do? I mean, I could have them help Lyonette, but they’re not [Barmaids]. I’m going to talk with Safry and Maran about that anyways…although I could use some guards.”

“Indeed?”

Erin nodded, thinking. She hadn’t discussed that with Ryoka, but Selys had always told her she needed help. Of course, she’d gotten Toren after that…Erin pushed away the memory.

“Someone to stay here while I’m out and all the adventurers are away would be good. I don’t like leaving Lyonette and Mrsha by themselves, even if there is a magic door to Octavia’s shop. For that matter, what if trouble comes in through the door?”

“Indeed. That is a quandary. Would you hire an adventurer?”

“Maybe…but they cost a lot! With how much I make, I’d only be able to hire one. And Selys says the job isn’t popular, I mean, a bouncer or a guard has to stand around all day.”

“Indeed. It is an unenviable task in many respects.”

Erin sighed, thinking out loud.

“What I really need is someone who’s patient. Someone I know—only all my adventurer friends like adventure. It’s their thing. But I need a guard, and not Wesle! Someone who never gets bored, who has practically no life…”

Erin chewed at her lip as Klbkch sat silently. She turned to look as Lyonette showed Mrsha how to dip her meatballs in some raw egg and eat it. Erin opened her mouth to ask if that was hygienic, remembered that no one besides Ryoka knew what that word meant, and then stared at the eggs.

The idea hit her in a flash of inspiration. She turned to Klbkch.

“What about Bird?”

“What?”

“Bird! What if I hired him?”

Klbkch stared at her. He visibly hesitated and glanced towards her window.

“Bird? He is unusual. Do you truly believe he would serve as an adequate guard for your inn?”

“Why not? He likes high places, and he likes sitting in one spot. He told me so. He can sit on top of my inn and shoot birds all day! Hold on—I’ve just had a great thought. Let me show you what I mean!”

Erin rushed into her kitchen and ran back to Klbkch with a piece of parchment and charcoal. She began sketching energetically.

“I told you I wanted to upgrade my inn, right? Well, I want a bigger common room—can you expand it like ten feet? And I want a third floor and longer second floor so I can have a lot more guests. But what if I added something on top of the third floor?”

It took Klbkch several minutes and a few questions before he could identify Erin’s sketch as a blueprint for the inn. What she had envisioned was a third floor for the inn, but her newest addition was a tall tower on top of the inn, a watchtower with no roof that would give anyone an unparalleled view of the landscape, much like the crow’s nest on a ship.

Erin grinned as she pointed to it and showed Klbkch a tiny stick-Antinium with a bow standing on the tower.

“He could sleep on the third floor and go up to the tower to shoot birds and watch out for danger. That’s all Bird does, right? And the tower would be totally cool! Doesn’t it look cool? I’ll call it…the Bird’s Nest.

She waited. Klbkch stared at her. Erin coughed.

“That was, uh, a joke. You know, because of Bird and his name? And nest? And it’s tall?”

Klbkch nodded.

“I am aware. And if Bird agrees, I see no reason to object.”

“You mean you’d do it? You can build my inn?”

Erin sat up excitedly. Klbkch poured over the designs for Erin’s inn and nodded slowly.

“Your proposed designs for your inn seem feasible. However, I will have to charge you for this work, Erin. I am…unable to requisition supplies and aid so readily from my Hive at this time.”

“That’s fine! I wanted to pay you anyways. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

Erin smiled brightly at Klbkch.

“How much are we talking about here? I’ve got lots of gold coins.”

“I believe three hundred and twenty eight gold coins would be sufficient for this work.”

Erin paused. She stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it around. But reality didn’t change, although she did find some earwax.

“Um. That’s…a lot.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. Sadly, if we acquire useable wood from the forest of ah, ‘boom trees’, there is the matter of construction, hiring the Antinium, glass for the windows…”

“But three hundred—”

“Part of the cost—six silver coins out of every twenty—is given to Liscor under our treaty with the city. It is a non-negotiable tax.”

“That’s highway robbery!”

“No. That is our agreement. But it drives prices higher, as does a standing law that requires me to charge you for work outside of the city’s limits, as well as the necessity of guarding said Workers while they go about their tasks. To construct a third floor and expand your inn is a difficult task, Erin. Building a new home of quality would normally cost around two hundred gold coins in itself.”

Erin put her head in her hands. She didn’t have that money. She had a lot of money, but that…no. She stared at Klbkch.

“It’s the glass that’s expensive, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Each window costs approximately eight gold coins.”

Erin said a bad word. And then told Mrsha it was a bad word. The Gnoll nodded appreciatively as Erin sighed over the cost.

“What’s the problem?”

Someone came over to their table. Ryoka was gulping down water as Lyonette refilled her glass. She heard Erin’s woes out and barely listened to the issue of money before she nodded.

“I’ll pay for it, Erin. Go ahead and get everything built.”

Erin gaped at Ryoka.

“What? But Ryoka, it’s so expensive—

The Runner shrugged carelessly. She sipped from her glass as Mrsha tried to leap onto her shoulder and failed. The Gnoll splatted onto the ground and went howling over to Lyonette, who scolded her about being reckless before cuddling her.

“I’m good for it. The Horns are paying me a bit more than that for doing the run to Invrisil and back. I’ll take it out of that and I’ll still have over a thousand gold coins to buy magical items with.”

“But—”

Ryoka flicked some sweat out of her eyes. She looked back at the door, where Pisces was waving her impatiently over.

“Erin, I really don’t care. Klbkch, I’ll give you the coins later, okay?”

She jogged back towards the door and vanished with a pop of dislocated air. Erin turned weakly back to Klbkch.

“I can pay some of it. Really.”

“We will negotiate the division of payment. But I will take Miss Ryoka’s word on credit. Her generosity is worth accepting, Erin.”

“Yeah, but I never give her anything back…”

Erin sighed. She felt guilty, but she wanted a better inn more. She also felt a bit hurt. True, Ryoka had all that money from running dangerously, but she didn’t treat it, like it was, well, important.

Maybe it was because Ryoka used to be really rich? She said her father was some big shot politician guy and her mother also had an important job. Either way, it was done.

“I guess I’ll talk to Bird and see if he wants to be my guard. I think he will. And then I’ll have one guard! Do…do you think one is enough?”

Klbkch pondered the question before nodding.

“Safety is a relative term, but you are able to escape to Liscor and Celum quite quickly. Bird would no doubt be able to fend off any assailant if outnumbered or outmatched.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It is his duty. If his death meant your survival, it would be a trade both he and I would be willing to make.”

Klbkch stared at Erin and she felt a cold pit open in her stomach. She didn’t reply, and the Antinium seemed to realize he’d made her uncomfortable. He switched subjects quickly.

“If assigning a group of Workers and Soldiers to your inn were permissible, I would do so. However, the contract between Liscor and my Hive—and my Queen’s own thoughts on the subject—do not allow for this course of action. If Bird agrees, I would have no issue allowing him to work at your inn on a semi-permanent basis.”

“Okay.”

He paused, looking at Erin. Klbkch clicked his mandibles and make a dry sound, clearing his throat.

“Well. We shall begin construction shortly. However, for the moment there is a…situation in the Hive and all Workers and Soldiers are needed. I shall send a team to begin work, but it may take more time if the need for bodies persists.”

“Oh? Is…something happening in the Hive?”

For some reason, Klbkch glanced at the other adventurers, the mages clustered around the door and Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr talking at a table about their magical artifacts. He shook his head slowly.

“Nothing that need concern you, Erin. It is simply a busy time for us.”

He left quickly after that, heading back to his Hive. A bit unhappy, but more exhausted by all the planning, Erin mechanically got dinner ready.  But she realized she didn’t have enough of the weird crunchy vegetable that was called for in her soup.

Yellats. Erin went to Celum rather than Liscor to get them. It was just as quick—quicker, since she didn’t have to go through the snow and she could get them at a shop. Erin made her purchase and headed back towards Octavia’s shop. But she took a detour at the Frenzied Hare.

“Hey Safry! How are you doing?”

“Erin!”

The [Barmaid] turned and smiled at Erin as the [Innkeeper] entered the bustling inn. Erin looked around for Miss Agnes, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. That was surprising, given how the inn was fairly full and both Maran and Safry were busy working with another woman Erin didn’t recognize.

“Wow. Busy evening crowd. Where’s Miss Agnes?”

“Oh, she’s out with her husband. Mister Agnes is feeling better, and business is good thanks to you. Miss Agnes hired another [Barmaid] and a [Cook]—she’s not around half as much as she used to be.”

Safry made a face as Maran rushed by with some drinks for a table whose occupants were crying out in thirst. Erin knew the [Barmaid] was taking time to talk to her while the other two covered for her, so she talked fast and didn’t beat about the bush.

“Hey Safry, I’m actually looking for some help. And I think you could give me good advice.”

“Oh?”

The young woman—well, relatively young, since she was older than Erin—brushed sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes and smiled at Erin.

“What could I help you with?”

Erin smiled sheepishly. She liked Safry, and Maran. She’d worked with them for a week and they were hard working people. She felt a sort of kindred spirit with them.

“I’m actually sort of overworked right now in my own inn. I’m always cooking, cleaning, and so on. Lyonette helps a lot, but she’s only one person, you know? So I was wondering…do you know any good [Barmaids] I could talk to? I’d like to hire at least two, maybe as many as four. I’m going to go to Liscor and ask Selys and Krshia as well, but I thought you might know of some people I could talk to.”

Safry stared down at Erin, empty tray in hand. She looked around, and then to Erin’s surprise, pulled up a chair in front of her table. She leaned closer to Erin, looking at the [Innkeeper] intently.

“You’re looking for new [Barmaids]?”

There was a curious intensity to her tone. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

“In that case…what about me?”

“What?”

“Why not hire me?”

What?

Erin stared at Safry. Of all the responses she could have imagined—and she hadn’t imagined any—this wasn’t one of them. But Safry looked serious. And she was already turning, shouting out above the busy noise of the inn.

“Hey Maran! Maran!

The other [Barmaid] came over, looking footsore and tired.

“Aw, Safry…we have work!”

“Just sit. Listen—Erin’s hiring [Barmaids].”

“What? Do you want to hire me?”

Maran immediately sat down next to Safry, leaving their third co-worker to struggle alone against the hordes. But the two older [Barmaids] were intent on Erin. And Erin couldn’t understand why.

“Why do you want to work at my inn? Maran, Safry—I thought you two liked it here!”

They exchanged glances. To Erin’s bewilderment, they both shook their heads.

“We don’t like it here, Erin. It’s a good job, don’t get me wrong, and I’d work it the rest of my life if I had to. I have to eat after all. But if you’re hiring…I’ve been to your inn before. It’s larger than Agnes’, and you’re easier to work with than she is. And I’d bet you’d pay better than she does, too!”

“You don’t like Miss Agnes?”

Erin had her own private beef with Agnes after Jasi, and just how the woman ran her inn in general, but she hadn’t ever expected the woman’s relationship with her workers to be one of those issues. But to her surprise, Safry and Maran were only too happy to badmouth the woman.

“Miss Agnes? She’s not half as good as you, Erin. She doesn’t run the inn like you can, she can’t cook…on bad days, she’ll scream at you for serving the customer the wrong order she gave you. Or dock your pay for taking a break when it’s not busy.”

“She doesn’t do that. Really?”

“Oh, she’s better when her husband’s well. And Mister Agnes is a steady fellow, but when she’s stressed it gets ugly. And, well, she’s just not sympathetic! I had a terrible cold—couldn’t take or afford a healing potion, you know how it is with sickness—and she told me if I didn’t work I’d be fired, never mind that Maran was down with the same illness! I swear I gave my cold to two dozen folk, but I had to work.”

“She’s tight with her coin, too. We don’t get tips, Erin. I don’t know what world you come from—”

Erin jumped, but it was just an expression. Maran went on tiredly.

“—But folks don’t just leave extra coin for us. We rely on what Miss Agnes pays us, and that’s not much. True, it’s what most [Barmaids] get paid, but you’re a lot more generous than she is. You gave us a handful of coins each time after we’d worked our fingers off serving those crowds after the plays. Agnes would never do that.”

“I had no idea.”

It didn’t seem right to think less of Miss Agnes, not when Erin knew how the woman worked hard and tried to support her sick husband. But when she listened to Maran and Safry, Erin had to believe them. She couldn’t tell if they were lying, but she thought the things they were describing were the kinds of things Agnes might do. Like Ryoka had said, she wasn’t a bad woman.

Just not always a good one. And now Erin was faced with a problem, because she liked Maran and Safry. And she thought they might be a great help to Lyonette. However…

“If I hired you two, what would Miss Agnes do? I couldn’t do that, girls.”

Safry made a face.

“What, Agnes? If you hire us she’ll find two other [Barmaids] like that.”

She snapped her fingers dismissively. Maran nodded.

“A lot of girls have a few levels in the class, and it’s not like we’re rare. Erin, we’re begging you. Hire us!”

“But if Miss Agnes is angry…”

“She’d never scream at you, Erin. She’s afraid of you.”

“What? No.”

“Yes!”

Both [Barmaids] chorused at the same time. Erin stared at them.

“Me? Really?”

Safry nodded.

“You’re a Level 20 [Innkeeper] at least, right? Agnes is only Level 18, though she’s been working here for nearly a decade! It’s her husband who has all the cooking Skills. Ever since you came along, her inn’s been making ten times what it normally has!”

Maran chimed in.

“You also have that Skill—you know, where you get really scary? I swear, Miss Agnes nearly wet herself when you lectured her. She won’t kick up a fuss, Erin. Please?”

Erin put her head in her hands. This was too complex! She only wanted advice, but now she had to make a choice. When she looked up, Maran and Safry were still staring at her. Erin took a deep breath. Life was full of hard choices. And knowing what she did, Erin knew her decision already, though it might cause trouble. She looked at Safry.

“Okay, assuming I were to hire you…how much do you get paid now?”

The [Barmaids] smiled.

“What are you offering?”

Erin wavered. She didn’t know what [Barmaids] around here were paid, but she’d done her math, and figured out how much she could afford to pay.

“I was thinking…one silver coin and six copper coins per hour, and more if it’s a busy day? Bonuses if it’s a rush, obviously. Maybe a bit more? I dunno. What do you think?”

There was silence. Maran and Safry looked at each other. And then they looked at Erin. Safry spoke.

“How many [Barmaids] do you need? I have friends. And I could start tomorrow if you want.”

They leaned over the table, ignoring their coworker shouting that she needed help. Erin sat back in her chair and looked at the two [Barmaids]. She gulped.

 

—-

 

It was dinner time, or rather, a bit past that when Ryoka finished the testing. She popped back into the air in Erin’s inn, staggered, and clutched at her stomach. The teleportation made her feel as though she’d gone on a roller coaster ride at twice the normal speed. While inhaling paint fumes. Upside down.

“I think…I’m gonna be sick.”

Pisces carefully stepped back as Ryoka covered her mouth. It wouldn’t do to get his new robes dirty. True, he had the magical ones, but these were the unenchanted robes Ceria had gifted to him on Christmas. He would prefer to keep them clean.

Ryoka staggered over to a table and slumped onto it. Typhenous was sitting there, scribbling on a piece of parchment while Moore did math by tracing glowing numbers in the air. The two [Mages] concluded their calculations and looked up. They conferred with Pisces, and then presented their conclusion to Erin as she served everyone dinner.

“You’re telling me you spent all day doing maths?

Halrac looked outraged, especially since everyone else, including Revi, had been gathering information about the dungeon from the latest reports. But Typhenous refused to be shamed.

“The understanding of this door, my good Halrac, is a boon in itself. And our conclusion is stunning!”

“The door can send someone of Ryoka’s general weight, give or take twenty pounds…”

Pisces flicked his fingers at Moore, and the half-Giant finished with a grin.

“…Five hundred and thirty six miles, given minimal change in altitude or magical ambience. The door would exhaust its magic after such a teleport however, and require roughly eight point two hours to recharge fully.”

The [Mages] sat back as the other occupants of the room went still. Ceria whistled and Jelaqua took a long drink of mulled wine.

“All the way to Invrisil, huh? Even if it’s only once a day…that’s powerful.”

“Invrisil? Hah! Who’d want to go there? It’s full of annoying Humans!”

Heads turned as Relc waved his mug and shouted from his table. By his side, Olesm slouched down as the Humans glared at Relc. Both Drakes had come up from the city, but Relc was in a substantially worse mood than Olesm.

Got something against Humans, have you?

Seborn looked at Relc. The Drake nodded. He had a bruise on his arm, his scales faintly discolored. It was the first injury Erin could ever remember seeing Relc having, outside of when he’d fought Gazi.

“Sure do, fish guy! I had to break up four brawls of adventurers today. Four! You Humans cause too much trouble! At least when Drakes fight, they break it up when the Watch comes. But noooo…you Humans always fight back!”

“Probably because they’re not used to [Guardsmen] who are actually competent. Most of the ones in the northern cities are barrel-scrapings, not fit to be Bronze-rank adventurers.”

Revi spoke up from her table, eliciting a glare from Halrac and Ulrien and putting her squarely in the ‘not Human’ camp in the room. Erin watched the arguments with half an eye, although she thought it wouldn’t come to actual violence, especially when Lyonette circulated with another tray of drinks. She was getting good.

“Hey Erin, about what I was going to tell you…”

Olesm caught Erin as she was serving tonight’s dish, a spicy vegetable soup, mixed with some rather wonderful fried dino-bird that Bird had shot the other day. Erin slid into a seat as Olesm talked excitedly.

“I was sending some copies of your chess game around, and I had a lengthy correspondence with a famous [Strategist] from one of the Walled Cities! Well, I say famous…he’s not exactly the most shiny scale around, but he’s well-known and guess what? He wants to come here and play a game of chess with you, Erin! Here!”

“What? No way!”

“Yeah! I told him—well, I told him I’d ask you, but do you think—”

“I’d love to! Anytime! But wait, I barely have time to play…and I haven’t in such a long time! I’m rusty! Quick, let’s play a game.”

Erin and Olesm fussed over a chess board while Ryoka wandered over to a corner of the inn. She’d spotted someone fly in at some point, and sure enough, Ivolethe was eating an egg while perched on Mrsha’s head.

Just an egg. She’d cracked part of the bottom and was sucking the insides out. There was something disgusting about the tiny faerie eating that way, and Ryoka didn’t look too closely as she squatted down. Mrsha immediately moved over to sit next to Ryoka as the girl spoke to Ivolethe.

“Where have you been, then?”

Ivolethe licked some yolk off of her arm and looked archly at Ryoka.

 

“Away. I do not hover about ye all the time, Ryoka Griffin.”

 

“Fine, be obstinate. I just wanted to say that Mrsha and I—yes, you, Mrsha—are going to visit a friend in a day or two. She lives on a farm.”

 

“Ah, friendship.”

 

Ryoka waited for Ivolethe to say something biting, but the faerie just paused. Ryoka looked at her.

“You down for a visit, or will you be going somewhere else?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

 

“I will come. And it is good you will be going away for a day or two. I think it is time I taught you something. The winter will end soon, Ryoka. And when it does, so too shall we part.”

 

“Oh. Right.”

Ryoka hadn’t been thinking about that. Rather deliberately. She stared at Ivolethe.

“You mean you think you can teach me magic? We haven’t gotten around to it. And I didn’t really manage to learn much when you tried before. But you think I can really learn how to run like the wind?”

The faerie was silent as she tossed the empty egg over her shoulder. It flew surprisingly far and high and bounced off of Ksmvr’s head.

 

“I do not know. But I think…”

 

Ryoka watched Ivolethe carefully.

“Yes?”

The faerie nodded slowly. She smiled wickedly.

 

“Yes, I think it will be entertaining for me.

 

She grinned at Ryoka, and the young woman bared her teeth in reply.

Across the inn, as Ksmvr stared at the eggshell and wondered aloud where it had come from, and then promptly asked Pisces to explain, Erin sat with Olesm and talked about her door.

“It’s so cool! Ryoka says she could take a portal-door-thingy to Invrisil and then I could go there and back any time I wanted! Okay, I could only go like once a day and then come back, but if I bought a mana potion or something…Pisces says he could fuel the door with his own mana to make it charge faster!”

Olesm was sweating over the chess board, tail lashing furiously. Relc looked bored as he watched them play.

“Invrisil. Hah. Why’s everyone want to go there?”

“Well, Ryoka knows some people there and it sounds really cool. It’s one of the biggest cities on the continent!”

“One of the biggest Human cities.”

Relc folded his arms. Erin looked at him as she took one of Olesm’s knights and he covered his face in despair.

“What’s wrong with that? I want to go to a cool city. So what if it’s Human?”

Olesm looked up.

“But you don’t have to. You could go to one of the biggest Human cities on the continent…or a Drake city. You could reach one of the Walled Cities from here, Erin.”

“Yeah!”

Relc pounded a fist on the table, and then held out for Olesm to gingerly tap.

“Scales over skin! Whoops, sorry, Erin. Why not Drakes? Give us a chance!”

“Really? A Walled City?”

Erin had never gone south from Liscor. Neither had Ryoka. She had no idea what was south of Liscor, what things looked like. Ryoka had said she’d gone to a mountainous place, a forest, the Blood Fields…but never a city.

“The Walled Cities are amazing, Erin. I think you’d love to visit. Why not try and get a teleporting door there? I’m sure a lot of people from Liscor would pay good money to travel back and forth as well.”

Relc was nodding as Olesm spoke. Then he sat up, scratching at the spines on his head.

“Home, huh? That reminds me, what with this dungeon thing…I was thinking about it after that stupid Gazi kicked my tail a while back. But I really need to get my spear back.”

Olesm and Erin looked at Relc. Erin pointed silently to the spear the Drake had leaned against the wall near his table. Relc waved his tail at it dismissively.

“Not that. That’s just an ordinary spear, Erin! I mean my spear, my enchanted spear! I had it back when I was a [Sergeant] in army. But I had to leave it when I left. Stupid rules…but I think I need it to handle all these monsters and stupid Human adventurers.”

He glanced across the room at Ryoka, who was tossing Mrsha up and catching her, much to the Gnoll’s delight. He nodded at her and spoke conspiratorially to Erin.

“Think your runner friend could go to one of the Walled Cities for me, Erin? For maybe, a discount? I need to send a message to the army.”

“Which army?”

“Liscor’s! Duh.”

Relc snorted.

“They’re fighting around one of the Walled Cities, last I heard. Well, they’re always fighting. I don’t know where they are exactly, but I bet anyone could tell your Runner friend. She looks familiar, by the way. Have I met her before? Ah, well, you Humans…anyways. It would only take like…a week or two? She’d be back in no time, I bet, especially if you give her one of those teleporting things.”

Erin stared at him. Olesm stared at him. Relc looked around innocently.

“One week? Come on. It’s not like it would take months. No? Fine. I guess I’ll go bug Hawk.”

The last visitor to the inn dropped by long after Mrsha had figured out how to throw up in midair and Ryoka had learned why tossing children and engaging in vigorous exercise around dinner time was a bad idea. Bird wandered into the inn and was immediately accosted by Erin.

“Bird! Guard! Bird House! I pay, you shoot! Birds! Bird!”

It took a while for him to understand what Erin was getting at, but when he realized what Erin was suggesting, Bird was ecstatic.

“I am ecstatic. Is that the word?”

“Yes! Oh, Bird, it’ll be great! You can have your own room, you can shoot birds, I can cook birds, Mrsha and Lyonette can be safe and you can stop her from running off without supervision—”

Mrsha, recovered and eating more food, gave Bird a wary look. He gave the Gnoll cub an ever warier look, but nodded at Erin.

“Revalantor Klbkch has informed me of my duties. I would be happy to accept.”

Erin smiled at him.

“That’s great. Everything’s so great! Oh, by the way, is Pawn around? I heard he was trying to talk to me earlier, but I didn’t get a chance to see him. What did he want?”

Bird looked confused. He scratched his head, and then remembered. He replied cheerfully.

“Ah yes. I remember now. Pawn was to be assigned to combat duty with the group of Soldiers under his command today. He wished to speak with Erin and talk with her in case he perished later.”

It was like a spell. Everyone that heard Bird went instantly silent. Only Relc and the Halfseekers across the room hadn’t heard. Relc was laughing loudly at Jelaqua and challenging her to a drinking match when he realized the room had gone still. He turned and looked at Bird as Erin put a hand over her mouth. Bird looked confused as he stared around. He shrugged.

“What? He said it was only a possibility.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.13 L

Once upon a time there was a Worker. He had no name. He had no future. He had been born to work, and he knew he would die. If not today, then tomorrow.

He would die while working. A chance fall from the top of a building while carrying lumber might be his end, or perhaps in a freak monster attack. He might die when fighting to defend his Hive, or if a tunnel collapsed due to an earthquake or flood.

And if he survived that, he would die when he grew old. When he grew slower he would be given jobs fitting his station. But at some point he would be too slow, too weary. And then he would walk into the jaws of a monster, or curl up and stop breathing. That was what the Worker knew.

And he didn’t mind. Because all routes led to death in the end, he did not worry about his fate. He was part of his Hive. If his Queen could live a fraction of a second longer, or his Hive prosper by the sum of one more copper coin, he would die fulfilled.

So he thought. And then one day, he met a girl named Erin Solstice. And she asked him if he had a name. The question had broken him into pieces. A simple question, but one that asked the Worker things he had never thought of, things he had no answers for.

He might have fallen. He might have become an Aberration. But he did not. He found a name in despair and found something else to live for besides his Queen. He found he was no longer a Worker, and he realized he was afraid of dying. He chose a name.

That was then. Now Pawn was something else. Not just a [Tactician] or [Carpenter] or [Butcher], but something that defined him. He had a class that was unique to him, something no one else had. He was an [Acolyte]. The first of his kind.

He was also a leader. It was not the same as [Tactician], no. For a [Tactician] only thought of the world in terms of loss and gain. They could command, but their Skills and nature did not inspire.

Pawn led Soldiers, the huge, silent guardians of the Hive. He had hundreds of them under his command, each one a killing machine. They didn’t have hands. Their fists were designed for murder, for tearing and pounding force, not to hold things. They had less future than that of a Worker, for they would live and die in their Hive, fighting against threats with their short lifespans.

They were fierce, loyal, unwavering. Pawn did not deserve to command one of them, but he had no choice. He had been given a position of power, so Pawn had learned to lead. He had lives of Soldiers under his authority, and he had unwillingly accepted the trust they had placed in him. He was no true general, no gifted visionary, but he had a duty. So Pawn learned. He learned what to say when he held a dying Soldier in his arms.

And he learned how to give them hope. Because that was what the Antinium needed. Hope. A dream. Faith that there was something worth dying for. The Hive wasn’t enough. Not at all. The Queen wasn’t enough. What they needed was light.

So Pawn took the Soldiers who had lived their lives in darkness. He took them out of the Hive. And showed them the sky.

 

—-

 

A few desultory snowflakes drifted down from grey skies above Liscor. A cold wind blew. Not a fell wind, or a chill wind—just cold. It wasn’t a wind that could scourge flesh or scale from bone or freeze extremities in an instant. It was just cold. And unpleasant. The Drakes and Gnolls and Humans walking down the street moved quickly to be out of the wind and weather. They were sick of winter, and wanted it to be over already.

But the Antinium marching down the streets stared up at the sky and marveled. The Soldiers walked with uniform alertness behind Pawn, drawing heads and clearing the street as they marched down it. Drakes and Gnolls alike got out of the way, eyeing the Soldiers a bit warily, but without fear.

The Humans were less circumspect. Twice already, Pawn had seen a group of Humans scream and run, or reach for their weapons. Both times he had resolved the situation, but the Humans made him uneasy. He couldn’t predict how they’d act.

The Drakes and Gnolls on the other hand, the citizens of Liscor, were easier. They just watched the Antinium warily, but the Soldiers Pawn led through the streets towards the eastern gates were accepted by now. Perhaps even liked?

No. No, not liked. Pawn sighed as he watched one of the Soldiers stare up at a cloud and then snap his head down and keep walking. It was a good sign. The Soldiers were too careful to stop paying attention, but these new ones had never seen the sky, let alone snow or people. Pawn knew they were staring while pretending not to. And he didn’t mind. They would have a chance to stare as long as they liked today.

“Left here.”

He indicated a street, and the Soldiers instantly filed after him, surprising a family of Gnolls. They backed away, but Pawn immediately halted to let them move past the Antinium.

“Hrr. Thank you.”

The father—or mother—bowed her head to Pawn and he inclined his. The Gnolls stepped quickly around the Soldiers, half of whom stared at the furry Gnolls. And the Gnolls stared back. One of the three children of the family of five, the youngest, sniffed at a Soldier’s leg and then hurried away as his parent snapped at him. It was another good sign, Pawn decided.

“Resume marching. Be careful of pedestrians.”

Pawn began walking and his Soldiers immediately fell into step behind him. The Antinium marched down the street, pausing to let a wagon go past as the [Driver] stared down at the Antinium. He had no words for Pawn or the Soldiers, but that was good too.

Because it meant Liscor was getting used to Pawn’s daily patrols.

At first, Pawn had encountered fear, suspicion, and downright hostility as he’d brought his group of Soldiers through the streets and out the gates. Despite Watch Captain Zevara and Klbkch assuring the residents of Liscor that these Antinium were not dangerous, they had feared Pawn and his group almost as much as the rumors of Goblin armies or Rock Crabs.

At first. But each day, Pawn had come back, his Soldiers carrying dead Shield Spiders, Corusdeer carcasses, and other proof of their victories against the dangerous creatures roaming around Liscor. That was all they did. They went out, patrolled the landscape, and came back with spoils that were turned into meat for [Butchers], armor for [Blacksmiths], ingredients for [Alchemists], and so on.

And the city had accepted them. Slowly, but surely, the people had realized that Pawn’s group of Soldiers were there to help. They had already known Klbkch, the Antinium with a name. He was recognized as a reliable, if odd Senior Guardsman, and, it was said, the only person who could put up with Relc or survive his escapades. So instead of people fleeing the Antinium when they appeared or screaming for the Watch, they just watched.

And then Pawn had begun painting his Soldiers, or rather, letting them paint themselves. It was their identity, and perhaps the single greatest idea Pawn had ever had. Perhaps the greatest idea any Worker had ever had, come to that. Because the Soldiers could not speak. They could not name themselves and Pawn had agonized over that fact. How could they be remembered without an identity, especially because they all looked the same, even to Pawn?

With paint. That was how. The paint was thick, water-resistant, and Pawn had bought enough of it from Krshia to let the Soldiers reapply it to their armored carapaces whenever they wanted. And he had let them paint themselves. So each Soldier that walked behind Pawn stood out. And the people noticed.

“There they are again. Damn bugs.”

A group of elderly Drakes sat at a table outside of one of the taverns, watching the Antinium wait for a wagon to be unloaded. They could move past, but Pawn didn’t want to spook the Drakes and Gnolls who were working. They were already moving double-time to get out of the Soldiers’ way.

In the meantime, the Drakes who’d taken issue with the Soldiers talked, and Pawn listened to them complain. They were old. Their scales were discolored in places by age and faded by time. These old Drakes often sat outside, Pawn knew. They seemed unaffected by the cold, or perhaps it was because they sipped spicy alcoholic beverages in the morning. They always had something to say about the Soldiers, too.

“Every day that Worker brings them this way. Now they’re blocking my view of the street too. Ruins my morning.”

“What morning? You barely wake up before noon.”

“Shut up, Shadowspine. I rise at the crack of dawn—”

Hah!

“—at the crack of dawn I say, and if I have to crane my neck every time a band of those black giants passes by—”

“You barely turn your head when your grandchildren come by. You’re just sore because I won five silver from you last night over dice.”

“It was a bad toss! You barely rattled the dice around, you cheating—”

Two of the Drakes sitting at the table began arguing and throwing things at each other. They bickered loudly as Pawn passed by. But another of the Drakes sitting at the table, an old female Drake with grey-green scales peered intently at the group of Soldiers.

“There he is. See?”

“What?”

The two arguing male Drakes turned their heads. The female Drake smiled.

“The one with yellow paint. See? I saw him yesterday.”

Pawn didn’t have to look to know which Soldier she was talking about. One of the Soldiers marching behind him had yellow splatters of paint all over his carapace, as if someone had thrown globs of paint at him. In fact, that was exactly what had happened.

The old Drakes stared at the Soldier in question. One of them, the alleged cheater, coughed and grumbled.

“So? He looks silly. What did that one do, trip and knock paint all over himself?”

“Hush.”

The other Drake turned and flicked her tail, smacking the speaker in the chest with her tail. Pawn was impressed. Drakes had a good amount of control over their tails, but this old Drake seemed quite adept with hers.

“I like him.”

“Pah! That’s all you know, Shivertail.”

The old Drake that apparently woke up at the crack of dawn cast his eyes across the group of Soldier. He pointed.

“There! That one’s far better.”

Every head in the group of Drakes turned to stare at the individual the Drake had pointed at. His chest and back was bare, but his arms and legs had been painted with purple slashes of color running from his shoulder down to his legs.

“Now that’s war paint.”

“Bah. What about that one?”

The cheating Drake pointed and Pawn saw he was looking at a Soldier who’d drawn a pair of eyes on his shoulders. It was unsettling how they seemed to stare at anyone the Soldier faced. But the elderly Drake seemed to approve.

“That’s proper art, that is. If you two knew anything about color, you’d be admiring him, or the one with the bird on his face.”

“Is that what it is? Who paints their face? That’s plain odd.”

“Bah. When I was a young [Soldier]—”

“Here we go again.”

Silence! When I fought in the army as part of the elite scouting division—

“You mean, glorified rangers?”

“—we hunted in groups, wearing war paint to demoralize the enemy! Anyone who saw our colors fled in fear or begged for their lives—”

“Didn’t you lot get routed by a single Gnoll tribe?”

“They had the terrain advantage! But mark me, if we’d been fighting on neutral ground—”

The wagon rumbled out of the way and Pawn continued marching. The arguing Drakes’ voices faded into the background noise, but Pawn’s smile did not.

Identity. Each of his Soldiers had it now. It wasn’t just elderly Drake grandmothers who watched out for a particular Soldier. Some of the other citizens noticed when a particular Soldier went past. It was like a game. The Antinium had been faceless and identical for so long that now there was a way to tell them apart, people were beginning to pay attention.

The Antinium group left the city, walking past the [Guardsmen] who watched the group with no visible signs of wariness. Pawn looked around and saw snow-covered hilltops, and a distinct lack of detail. So he pointed in a random direction, towards a mountain peak that looked somewhat inviting.

“We shall patrol in this direction. At a leisurely pace. Follow me.”

He began to walk. Not march, but walk. The Soldiers nearly ran Pawn over before they realized how slow he was moving. Over half of this group hadn’t ever been outside, and so they didn’t know how the patrol went.

Pawn proceeded up a hill, down a hill, and then around a hill because he was getting bored of walking up the incline. He set a pace slow enough that the Soldiers could get their fill of staring. Because they would stare, Pawn knew. They would stare at the snow, the sky, and watch a bird until it died of boredom if he let them. It wasn’t because the Soldiers were that simple, either. It was because they had never seen any of these things, and so the experience was precious and wonderful to them.

In that, Pawn envied the Soldiers. They could find so much meaning in a blade of grass. Too much, in fact. Pawn had learned to start the Soldiers off slow, get them out of the city and patrolling the boring landscape around Liscor for a few hours. Because that was all the stimulation the Soldiers could handle. Only after that would Pawn work them up to getting back in the city, staring at flowers, fire, and eating.

Food was one of the highlights of the day for Pawn, and probably the most important experience he could give the Soldiers. Instead of the horrible paste they ate, each one would get a meal courtesy of Lyonette, or more recently, Erin.

Erin. Pawn stopped and let the Soldiers covertly bend down and feel at the snow. Erin was back. He hadn’t had time to talk to her, but she was back. That filled Pawn with countless emotions, relief being first among them. She was back.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with her much, of course. Erin was always busy and so was Pawn. He didn’t like to bother her. Pawn had his life and Erin…was surely too busy to always be looking after him. He had Soldiers to lead now. And not only that…

He had a faith, as well. Pawn was an [Acolyte]. He could pray. He had no god, but he believed in heaven. And it was that faith that gave him a class and Skills no one else had.

Once, Pawn had told the Soldiers about heaven. They had believed in it like he had, and killed themselves to go there, rather than stay. But that was not the way. Pawn had known it. So he had told the Soldiers to stay, to build a heaven for the Antinium while they lived. Because there was no heaven for the Antinium. There was a god—one for the religion of Christianity, for Humans, that Erin had told Pawn about. But none for the Antinium.

So Pawn would make a heaven for his people, for the Workers and Soldiers. He just had to figure out how.

After a while, Pawn began walking again. The Soldiers fell in. He walked over a hill, down a hill, into a Shield Spider’s nest—

The Soldiers jumped in after Pawn and he got out with only a bite on his arm, barely fracturing his carapace. Pawn shakily climbed out of the pit as the Soldiers began smashing the Shield Spiders to bits.

“Ah…very good. Thank you.”

There was danger out in the area around Liscor. Not a patrol went by when Pawn didn’t have his Soldiers fight something or other. But not a single Soldier had died on these patrols, not one. Pawn was proud of that. The Rock Crabs, the fearsome scuttling giant boulders, were no match for the Antinium en masse. The Soldiers would just hold the Rock Crab’s shell down and break through the top with brute force, killing the surprised crustacean from above while it was pinned down.

Soldiers didn’t fight fair. They didn’t fight dirty either. They just fought. The Soldiers probably would have been astounded to learn there was a way to fight fair. They had been born to kill, and they did that quite efficiently.

Pawn watched as a Soldier kicked a Shield Spider into the air. The armored spiders were a considerable threat, worthy of a Silver-rank team or more dangerous in larger nests. Their armor could resist sword cuts, and they had terribly dangerous bites. A normal warrior would be hard-pressed to kill one, even with a mace or axe.

But the Soldiers were strong. One picked up a Shield Spider and held it as it struggled. Another Soldier hit it repeatedly as the other Soldier held it until the Spider’s center burst. Pawn looked away. Then he looked back sharply as something strange happened.

A Soldier had been striking down at a particularly large and aggressive Shield Spider. It had bitten into his legs, sending trickles of green blood out of the wounds. Pawn would have ordered someone to help, but the Soldier suddenly paused as the Shield Spider reared up, trying to bite at his face. The Soldier seemed to hesitate—and then one of his hands blurred.

It was an uppercut, but at a speed that nearly escaped Pawn’s vision to see. The blow caught the Shield Spider as it was rearing and knocked its head off. Literally. Pawn flinched as bits flew out of the pit. The headless Shield Spider collapsed and the Soldier stared at his fist.

Every other Soldier in the pit stared too. Pawn stared as well. He jumped down into the pit and walked over to the Soldier, who flinched.

“Was that a Skill?”

The Soldier stood at attention, silent. Pawn stared at him. This Soldier was the one with the yellow spatters the Drake grandmother had found so interesting. He had patrolled with Pawn several times before.

“Did you use a Skill?”

The Soldier stared down at Pawn. The Worker couldn’t read what was behind his eyes, but he had grown used to the Soldiers by now. He thought the Soldier seemed…nervous? Could Soldiers feel fear? But then the Soldier nodded hesitantly.

“A Skill.”

Pawn exhaled, clicking his mandibles together. One of his Soldiers had learned an activated Skill? That meant…they had leveled up! Pawn knew the Soldiers might, but to realize it now…

“What level are you? No—what class? Is there a way to tell? Ah, but…you do not know how to write and your fingers…”

Pawn stared at the Soldier as he looked down at Pawn. He seemed nervous for all that he was bigger, and stronger than Pawn. The Worker nodded at last, and the Soldier flinched as Pawn looked at him.

“Good work.”

All of the Soldiers stared. Pawn looked around.

“If you have Skills, do not hesitate to use them. But please do not risk yourselves.”

He pointed to the Soldier’s lacerated legs.

“We will stop the bleeding before continuing. The rest of you, clean up the corpses. We will collect them on the way back.”

The Soldiers paused, and then got to work. Pawn had the Soldier with yellow splatters sit and stopped the bleeding with cold snow and some strips of linen he’d purchased with his limited supply of coin. The Worker apologized, because he hadn’t been allowed to use the Hive’s supply of healing potions on Soldiers.

But he cared. And that was why the Soldiers followed him. Because even if Pawn didn’t know it, he had given them a purpose. He had given them identity, shown them the sky. He had given them something to believe in, and so they followed him. Each one would die for him.

But Pawn didn’t know that. All he knew was what it was another day. Another fine day, where none of his Soldiers had died. And it would have been a fine day tomorrow, where he did the same thing again. It would have been, but Klbkch summoned him the instant he returned to the Hive.

 

—-

 

“Combat duty?”

Pawn sat in Klbkch’s small office, a dirt room filled with a table and two chairs. And a coatrack which held no coats. Only a single scarf. Klbkch looked up from his desk where he was busy writing something down and nodded briefly.

“That is correct. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No. It is just that—why me? Why now?”

Pawn stared at Klbkch as the other Antinium clicked his mandibles sharply together in irritation and pushed his papers aside. Pawn felt nervous as Klbkch regarded him over the desk.

He was afraid of the other Antinium. Klbkch may have been the Revalantor of the Hive, and the former Prognugator, both a unique role for the one individual Antinium who directly served the Queen and enforced her will, but Pawn knew his blades had slain more of his fellow Workers than any lone monster.

For that was the duty of a Prognugator. To lead the Antinium in battle, to oversee the Hive while the Queen was busy, and to kill Aberrations. In theory that meant individuals like Pawn, if he turned out to be useless or worse, a traitor to the Hive.

Pawn could never forget that when he was around Klbkch. The Revalantor studied Pawn, and then nodded shortly as if he’d made a decision.

“I require your group of Soldiers to fight today for two reasons. Firstly, I wish to test whether any of them have indeed gained levels as a result of your leadership.”

Pawn nodded as his heart sank. That was the reason Klbkch had assigned the surviving Soldiers to him in the first place, to make them stronger. Pawn knew that, but it was too soon! They’d barely been with him for a week, and now they might die? But Klbkch wasn’t done. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before looking at Pawn.

“Ordinarily, I would give your unit another month before committing you to a far less-dangerous assignment to test your capabilities. However…the second reason is that we are in need of every Soldier in the Hive at this moment, Pawn. Each and every one, regardless of their worth. I recalled Anand and his group of Soldiers and Workers to the Hive two days ago, but they were not enough. Your Soldiers will fight and many may die. But they are needed to hold the line. If they cannot hold, we may be overrun.”

“What?”

Pawn felt stunned. Overrun? How could the Hive be overrun? Klbkch studied Pawn and shook his head.

“Ah, now I realize you are not informed about matters within the Hive. Belgrade and Anand know, but they have not spoken to you of this matter, have they?”

“No. I had not spoken to them for several days now.”

Pawn hesitated. He hadn’t seen Belgrade or Anand at all, actually. Klbkch nodded.

“They have been working without rest to defend the Hive. Now I understand. I will inform you of the situation, so you may understand why your Soldiers are needed, Pawn. I would not do so for Belgrade or Anand except in a tactical sense, but you are like Relc.”

“I am?”

“You are. You ask superfluous questions. Now listen. You are aware our Hive has battled monsters from the dungeon underneath Liscor, correct?”

“Yes. We always have been.”

For as long as Pawn had lived, the Hive had fended off the incursion of monsters from the dungeon. There were many, many routes from the dungeon to the Hive, many tunnels dug by hungry monsters or by the Antinium. They had to be guarded against attack, which is why Soldiers fought almost daily. But the Hive had always pushed back every attack, from Shield Spiders to Pickstriker fungi, and Crypt Worms and the undead. What had changed?

“We have always sought to defend ourselves from monsters within the dungeon. It has been a difficult task at times, but we have defeated every incursion regardless of the cost of life. However, now that adventurers have entered the dungeon…it is waking up.”

“Waking up? It is sentient?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“That is a metaphorical statement. A non-Antinium expression. To clarify, the population of monsters is growing increasingly active in response to numerous food sources. Thus, the amount of attacks on our Hive has doubled or even tripled in number. For the first time, the Hive is losing more Workers and Soldiers in battle than it produces. We are struggling to increase reproduction while holding the line.”

“I did not know.”

Pawn knew Soldiers and Workers died each day. But he hadn’t noticed more empty spaces or fewer bodies. There were so many Antinium in the Hive, how could you tell? Klbkch tapped the desk slowly.

“You were not meant to know. Nor will you tell anyone of our weakness, including Erin. Is that understood?”

He waited until Pawn had nodded to go on.

“We are capable of resolving this issue—in time. Workers are attempting to repair breached tunnels and create a second layer of fortifications. That is not the issue. The issue is that while Anand and Belgrade have successfully held back every monster attack—with far less loss of life due to their Skills—the latest skirmish created an event where Anand was wounded.”

Something twisted in Pawn. He hadn’t known.

“Is he dead?”

“No. But he is unable to lead, and Belgrade is unable to command alone. I must fulfill my duties as Senior Guardsman for a set period of each day, and rest at other times. I cannot apply for leave and alert the city of the Hive’s weakness at this moment. Thus, you must fulfill the void Anand has left.”

Pawn absorbed all this slowly. He had to fight? With his Soldiers? But—they had paint. They had identity. They were…his. And he had to tell them to die?

Perhaps Klbkch saw his indecision, because the Revalantor spoke sharply.

“You will select one hundred of your Soldiers to do battle. So long as you hold your position, there will be no issue. Belgrade is able to handle the battle as a whole. But you will not retreat unless ordered to, understood?”

Pawn wanted to object, but he knew it was pointless. Instead he asked the other question on his mind.

“What about the other Antinium? The visitors? Will they not fight to defend the Hive?”

Klbkch paused. Pawn had seen the other Antinium, and he remembered the one called Xrn, the Small Queen. She had been radiant. And she knew magic! He had never heard of someone like her, but Pawn was equally in awe of the Antinium with wings, and the ones that wore armor, or seemed to slide from shadow to shadow. Surely they could fight?

But the Revalantor just shook his head.

“They are guests of the Hive. If they wish to participate in battle, they are free to do so. But to request aid is…not a course of action which my Queen and I wish to undertake. No, we will fight back the monsters alone. You have your orders Pawn. Report to Belgrade tomorrow at noon. Now, leave.”

Pawn left. He didn’t want to, but he dared not defy Klbkch. Not the Slayer. And Pawn knew he was right. If the Hive was in danger, he and his Soldiers had a duty. They had to fight.

But Pawn didn’t have to like it. He immediately began walking down through the tunnels of his Hive, following the flow of Workers, searching for Belgrade.

He found the Antinium in the chess room. That was where other Workers played chess. They had no names. They were still not Individual, despite having leveled up in the [Tactician] class. Klbkch and Pawn had agreed the Workers were missing a key element to gain individuality.

Erin. Probably.

But Belgrade and Anand still loved to play. They always hung about in this room when not on duty.

Belgrade was not playing when Pawn found him. He was sitting by himself, in a corner, and the other Workers were sitting as far away from him as possible, glancing at him. Belgrade was hunched into a ball, clasping his four arms around himself in a pose Pawn had never seen before.

He was shaking.

“Belgrade. What is wrong? Are you sick? Are you injured?”

Pawn knelt beside his friend. Belgrade turned his head towards Pawn, and his mandibles clacked together soundlessly. When he spoke, his voice was taut, strained.

“Pawn? I—I cannot. Revalantor Klbkch says I must fulfill Anand’s role and my own, but there are too many, Pawn! I cannot counter all these attacks, and if they overrun the entrenched fortifications—”

“Belgrade. Listen to me—”

“I cannot do it alone, Pawn! Each time I send Soldiers and Workers out, they are killed, Pawn! There are too many this time. Shield Spiders, hundreds of them keep pouring out of the tunnels! And there are suits of armor that ten Soldiers cannot bring down, and the Crypt Worms! They are reanimating our dead, Pawn, our dead. Anand and I could fight them together, but by myself—”

“Belgrade.”

Pawn reached for Belgrade and held his shoulder. Erin had done that to him, once. The other Antinium was shaking, but it grew less as Pawn held him firmly. He looked into Belgrade’s eyes as Erin had once done. Pawn wondered if he should sing.

“I do not know how to sing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Belgrade, listen to me. You will not be alone tomorrow. I will be participating in battle as well, with my unit of soldiers.”

“You?”

Belgrade stared at Pawn. Rather than finding reassurance in this knowledge as Pawn had hoped, he looked horrified.

“Who gave you this order?”

“Klbkch.”

“No. I must speak to him.”

Belgrade struggled to get up, but Pawn held him down.

“I see the necessity of this order now, Belgrade. I will fight.”

The other [Tactician] shook his head.

“It is too dangerous, Pawn. You are not the same level of [Tactician] as I am. The fighting envelops the entire area—monsters will dig through the walls, or bypass defenses. You will not be safe.”

“You and Anand were not safe. I am needed. My Soldiers are of a higher level than the others, Belgrade. That is why Klbkch assigned them to my command.”

Belgrade hesitated, looking at Pawn with one of his multi-spectrum eyes.

“Truly? That would be—but it is still—”

He broke off, thinking. Pawn could see the [Tactician] part of Belgrade analyzing Pawn’s statement, looking to see how it might help in the coming conflict. He nodded, heart pounding out of his chest, but forced the words out of his mandibles.

“Leave the most dangerous areas to my group of Soldiers, Belgrade. We will not retreat. And we…we will do our duty.”

There was nothing more to be said. Pawn was a Worker, and he commanded Soldiers. They had been created to fight, to protect the Hive, as had Belgrade. And now Pawn understood something else as well. If he did not fight, Belgrade might die. Or more Soldiers and Workers might die. It wasn’t a choice where his Soldiers would die or not die if Pawn refused to fight. If he did not fight with them, Antinium would die. If he did fight, Antinium would still die. But perhaps if his Soldiers fought, less Antinium would die.

There was no good outcome. But there was only one choice that Pawn could take. And Belgrade saw it. He nodded. The shaking had stopped. Slowly, the [Tactician] got to his feet and placed his hand on Pawn’s shoulder as the other Antinium had done for him.

“I must rest if I am to fight at peak efficiency. Pawn, you must promise me to stay behind your Soldiers. If you die…I would not know how to speak to Erin.”

“I know.”

Belgrade left the room. Pawn remained. He clenched his fist. Now he had no other choice. Not that he’d ever really had another option. He turned to go, to seek out Erin despite the late hour, when someone called out his name. Pawn turned, and saw another Antinium staring at him across the room.

“You are the Individual designated as Pawn, are you not?”

The other Antinium was not a part of Pawn’s Hive. He could not be. No Antinium looked like him, not even Klbkch. This Antinium was as tall as a Soldier, and had the same build, but he had only two arms, and he carried a mace and shield at his side.

And he was wearing armor. It shone in the light, and in the eyes of the Workers who stared at him. Tersk, the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium was an armored giant, and he had a helmet which protected his head, which had no antennae.

“Prognugator Tersk.”

Pawn bowed his head as Tersk strode forwards. Tersk nodded in reply. Pawn had not spoken to any of the special Antinium who had come to visit the Hive, although the others, Belgrade, Anand, Bird, and Garry had all had strange interviews with the other Prognugators.

“How may I help you, Prognugator Tersk?”

“I wish to speak with you, Individual Pawn. I had wished to make your acquaintance when I heard of your existence a few days ago, but I have not seen you about until now.”

“Ah. I have been…busy.”

Tersk nodded.

“Yes. I understand you command a detachment of Soldiers. Tell me, Individual Pawn. How do you feel they would match up against a similar unit of Soldiers from my Hive?”

It was a military question, a question of tactics and analysis. Pawn stared at Tersk blankly and shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

The armored Prognugator paused. He seemed surprised by Pawn’s response.

“You don’t know? But you have levels in [Tactician].”

“Only a few. I have not fought, Prognugator Tersk. And I do not know the capabilities of your Soldiers.”

“Ah. I understand. I will signal my Soldiers to approach.”

Tersk turned his head and to Pawn’s surprise, took his mace and struck his shield with it, making a dull metallic beat that sounded like some sort of signal. And in less than a second, two Soldiers appeared, striding into the room and halting behind Tersk.

Why hadn’t he used Klbkch and Ksmvr’s inaudible way of signaling Antinium, like the Queen? Pawn’s eyes went to Tersk’s helmeted head. Oh. He didn’t have antennae.

“Here are two examples of my Hive for you, Pawn.”

Tersk indicated the two Soldiers, and Pawn noted that these Soldiers had a greatsword and a spear respectively. They stood completely still, staring ahead like Pawn’s Soldiers.

“We are the Armored Antinium, the sole Hive to use steel and metal to reinforce our bodies. We fight with weapons because they are more efficient, and allow for greater survivability of each individual in combat. We fight in formation, and are adept at battle above and below-ground. Now that you have analyzed these two Soldiers, tell me, what chance would your special unit have against them?”

“Well, there are two of them and I have over two hundred Soldiers under my command. I think we would win.”

Pawn’s reply made Tersk pause again.

“I was referring to an engagement of equal numbers.”

“Oh. In that case I don’t know.”

Pawn stared at Tersk, almost daring the Prognugator to ask another question as Tersk paused. He didn’t know why he was feeling hostile towards Tersk. Maybe it was because Tersk wasn’t fighting and Belgrade had been. Even Klbkch was leading the Antinium, when he wasn’t above-ground. But what had Tersk done for Pawn? According to Garry, all he did was wander around and ask questions. He had armor and a mace. He could be fighting!

“I understand your assessment capabilities are somewhat limited, Individual Pawn. I ask these questions to ascertain how your Hive capabilities match my own. It is a matter of strategic importance.”

“I have not heard of your Hive, Prognugator Tersk. But I am sure it is a capable one. However, I have never seen another Hive besides my own or other Antinium until recently.”

“Yes. Contact between the Hives is limited. That is a situation I feel must be rectified if we are to combine efforts.”

Tersk nodded repeatedly. He seemed so serious. Pawn felt a bit bad for being deliberately obtuse. But then Tersk turned to Pawn and began asking more questions.

“What is your class? What do you do besides lead Soldiers, Individual Pawn?”

Why did he keep calling Pawn that? The minute tolerance Pawn had felt evaporated. He answered shortly.

“I am an [Acolyte]. I pray.”

“An [Acolyte]?”

“Yes. Would you like me to repeat myself?”

Tersk paused, and his mandibles clicked together inside his helmet.

“I am unfamiliar with this class. I take it that it is unusual?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps unique. Why was Tersk asking all these questions? Pawn…didn’t feel like talking at this moment. Even to a Prognugator. It was an insidious, rebellious thought, he knew, but Tersk wasn’t his Prognugator. And Pawn hadn’t cared for Ksmvr, his former Prognugator, either. Why did he have to obey anyone, for that matter? Why did he have to obey Klbkch?

Oh. Right. He had swords. And Tersk had a mace. And two large armored Soldiers following him. Pawn grudgingly continued to talk rather than walk away.

“And what is prayer?”

“It is believing in something. It is believing, and having faith that something is true.”

Tersk waited, but that was the only answer Pawn was going to give him. The Worker crossed his arms, and Tersk noted that.

“Ah. And is this prayer activity enjoyable?”

“Not really. Not all the time.”

Tersk paused.

“It is helpful in some way?”

“Sometimes.”

There was no way of knowing. Pawn had prayed the day Soldiers lay dying, clinging to life after trying to kill themselves. Had more survived because he had prayed while trying to keep them alive? Did a prayer do anything? Pawn asked those questions every day, but he still prayed. He prayed that there was a meaning to prayer itself.

“I see. In that case, perhaps you will instruct me in the method of this prayer activity at a later date. It sounds intriguing.”

That surprised Pawn.

“Why? I doubt it would be useful to you, Tersk.”

Tersk nodded, looking thoughtful.

“The utility of this activity does not concern me, so much as the value of entertainment derived from it. You see, the Prognugator class is meant to oversee, to learn. However, one of the failings of my station is the nature of boredom.”

“You get bored?”

Tersk paused, and seemed to grow a bit guarded.

“At times. I serve my Queen best when my mind is alert. To that end, I require mental stimulation. It is a careful balance of factors that contributes to my most efficacious state. But another question. You are assigned to combat the monsters attacking from Liscor’s dungeon tomorrow.”

“Yes I am.”

“How do you believe your detachment of Soldier will fare—”

“No clue.”

The two Antinium stood in silence for a minute. Tersk stared at Pawn.

“Do you not wish to tell me your evaluation, Individual Pawn? If so, I must ask why—”

That was it. Pawn raised his voice slightly.

“I don’t know. I told you, I cannot make such judgments.”

“But surely, based on your previous experience—”

“I have never fought monsters from the dungeon.”

The Armored Antinium stopped.

“Oh. But surely you are aware of the dangers of the dungeon?”

“Of course I know. But I have never been assigned there myself.”

Tersk paused.

“Ah.”

How could Pawn not know? He knew Workers were assigned to construct defenses, shore up and fortify tunnels, all while Soldiers fought and died. He knew how many died each day. He could see the empty spot in the barracks. But he had never been there, never really thought about the cost. They were all Antinium, and they died for the Hive. That was all. It hadn’t really mattered so long as the Hive was fine, in Pawn’s mind.

Until now.

Tersk looked at Pawn, calculating, and then turned his head to look around the chess room.

“I understand the effort of this room is to create more Individuals like Belgrade and Anand. That is a logical way of thinking. The monsters that attack from Liscor’s dungeon are of a considerable threat, which surprised me given my understanding of this Hive’s…capabilities.”

“Did you fight on the front lines?”

Tersk shook his head.

“I did not. My safety is important to my Hive and I would not risk myself. However, Revalantor Pivr did participate in battle and was wounded. Three of the five warriors accompanying him were slain, and the heavy-combat variant he brought was heavily damaged in the fighting. He underestimated the monsters your Hive fights against.”

For some reason, that really cheered Pawn up. He didn’t like the buzzing Revalantor of the Flying Antinium, and suspected no one else did either. The thought that Pivr and his elite warriors couldn’t do better than Soldiers from Pawn’s Hive was…well, it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Revalantor Pivr’s failure is instructional for us all.”

Tersk nodded.

“Yes. I believe he is somewhat of a failure of the Prognugator class. Moreover, I would argue that he does not deserve the title of Revalantor either. He does not command the same presence as Revelator Klbkch, nor does he possess half as much experience in battle as Klbkch the Slayer.”

He spoke about Klbkch almost reverentially. Pawn tilted his head.

“You know of Klbkch?”

“Revalantor Klbkch? Of course. I was instructed to learn from the examples of my predecessors, and Klbkch the Slayer’s exploits are notable within my own Hive’s history. According to my Queen, Klbkch is the most stable and trustworthy of the three remaining Centenium.”

Curious. Pawn only knew fragments about the Centenium, and Klbkch hadn’t told him more than a few things. Like how all the current Antinium were based on the form of Galuc, the Builder. He realized Tersk might know more and pressed the Prognugator.

“What do you know of Prognugators, Tersk?”

The Armored Antinium tapped a hand on his armor, making a ringing sound as metal struck metal.

“I am familiar with my duties, and that my creation was an arduous task for my Queen. Prognugators require too many resources to justify the cost at the moment, hence my desire to remain alive to serve my Hive. However, I am aware this was not always the case.”

“Really?”

Tersk nodded.

“Before we came across the ocean, it was apparently a common practice to appoint multiple Prognugators per each Hive. As many as thirty in some cases, or so my Queen has told me.”

Thirty?

“Apparently. This was a time when we remained on Rhir. But my Queen has not spoken on that subject, and I am afraid that Revalantor Klbkch or Prognugator Xrn would know more than I. Ah, I had one more question for you, Individual Pawn.”

“What is it?”

This time Tersk visibly hesitated before he spoke.

“I have witnessed the Soldiers under your command. I noticed the markings on them, the paint markings. They are…striking. I wonder if such paints would allow for greater visual recognition on the battlefield. However, I do not understand why each Soldier is painted differently. Please explain that aspect to me, Individual Pawn.”

“They are important because they define the Soldiers, Tersk.”

The Armored Antinium waited.

“Only that? I thought there would be some greater meaning to the paint.”

Pawn nodded.

“That is everything. That is what makes the Antinium…Individual.”

“No. That is not what I understand Individuals to be. If paint were all that it took to create an Individual, why not paint every Antinium?”

“Because they need to do it themselves. It is a choice, Tersk. The Soldiers under my command chose their markings, chose to be Individual. That is what makes the paint so special.”

Tersk folded his arms, sounding testy as he replied.

“I do not understand. That seems illogical. Soldiers should allow themselves to be painted if it means they will become Individual and better serve the Hive.”

He really didn’t understand. Pawn felt a hot bubble of anger bubbling up inside him. He had places to be! He’d spoken with Tersk so long, he was sure Erin was probably asleep by the time it would take to reach her. He stared at Tersk, unmarked by battle, striding around asking questions not understanding anything.

“You remind me of a former Prognugator I served, Prognugator Tersk. Prognugator Ksmvr did not understand what it meant to be Individual either.”

The words struck Tersk, and Pawn saw him straighten slightly.

“I understand Prognugator Ksmvr was expelled from the Hive for incompetence, Individual Pawn. I am not sure I appreciate the comparison.”

“I think it is apt.”

Tersk stared down at Pawn. He opened his mandibles slowly as he clenched his fists.

“It occurs to me, Individual Pawn, that your statements throughout this conversation have been deliberately inflammatory and unhelpful.”

Pawn nodded slowly.

“Yes. I believe they have been.”

Tersk clenched one hand and took a step towards Pawn. The Soldiers did likewise, and the other Workers quietly playing chess froze and stared at the Armored Antinium. Tersk spoke quietly.

“I am a Prognugator of the Hive. I am not your Prognugator, but I will be answered with full clarity. That is what Revalantor Klbkch promised me. Need I take the issue up with him?”

Pawn nearly laughed in Tersk’s face. If that was a threat, it was the worst one Pawn had ever heard. He spread two of his arms out.

“You wish to understand, Tersk? Then understand this.”

He pointed at Tersk. He didn’t poke the other Antinium, because Pawn was sure that if he did, the other two Soldiers would kill him. But he did shout.

“Neither of you can understand what it means to be a Worker or a Soldier! We are not just numbers, Tersk. We feel pain. We suffer. We despair. And we die. If we do not feel boredom, it is because we have never known respite. You cannot understand what makes us Individual.”

“The other Individual, Belgrade, froze up due to his fear. Is that the weakness of your new identity, Individual Pawn? The Prognugators do not bow to emotion.”

“Neither do we.”

Pawn spat the words at Tersk. He felt angry, angry because Tersk did not understand, because he couldn’t. How could this Antinium be a Prognugator, lead Soldiers and Workers like this?

“If you cannot understand Belgrade’s fear, then it is because you have never experienced failure. You do not feel the same danger. You wear armor. We have none. If you want to understand us, take off your armor and fight as we do, with your bare hands. I would tell you to ask your Soldiers, but they have no voice. That is a pity, or they might tell you all you are doing wrong.”

He turned and stormed away, despite Tersk shouting for him to stop and explain. Pawn left the chess room, and Tersk stood in the silence as Workers hunched over their chess boards. At last, the Armored Antinium looked over his shoulder at the two silent Soldiers.

“I do not comprehend that strange Individual Pawn. What am I doing wrong?”

They just stared at him and did not reply.

 

—-

 

The next day, Pawn went to see Erin. She was not there. He waited, but before long he had to return to his Hive. It was time. One second he was in the Wandering Inn, speaking with Bird, asking him to tell Erin…to tell Erin…

And then he was in his Hive, facing his Soldiers. They were arrayed before him, a hundred, a little less than half of his entire command. They faced him, painted bodies standing tall, unflinching.

Pawn wished he felt half as confident as they looked. He walked slowly down their line, staring at each Soldier in turn, at their markings. They looked back at him, their leader.

Pawn had never felt like more of a fraud in his life. He had never felt like a fraud, in truth. He had been as true a Worker as any other, and confident in that knowledge. But a leader?

He was no leader. He didn’t have the class. He didn’t have the Skill, or the skill. He was not Zel Shivertail.

But he had to try. So Pawn squared his shoulders and spoke to the assembled Soldiers. His Soldiers.

“We are going into combat in twenty minutes.”

They looked at him. Not one Soldier moved. They had expected this. Perhaps they had known. They had ears…earholes, after all. Pawn nodded.

“You have fought before, I know. I have not. I believe I am unworthy of leading you.”

The Soldiers did stir at this. One of them paused, hesitated, and then shook his head. The other Soldiers looked at him, and then they all shook their heads. Pawn stared. He felt like he wanted to cry, like he’d seen Erin do. But the Antinium could not cry.

Instead, he bowed his head and uttered a prayer.

“I am praying.”

The Soldiers stopped shaking their heads. Pawn lowered his. He couldn’t close his eyes, but he clasped his hands together.

“I am praying for us all. I pray that we will survive this, each one of us. I do not pray that we will not fight. We must fight. It is right that we were chosen to fight. Because we, all of you, and me, are capable. We aren’t just fighting for ourselves, or to stay alive, but for the entire Hive.”

He gestured at the Soldiers standing in front of him, solemn, each one an individual, marked with paint, given identity.

“You are my people. If one of you died, you could never be replaced. Ever. And yet…the unnamed Workers and Soldiers who die each day are my people too. I did not think of it that way before.”

Pawn clenched his fist.

“I do now. Each day, Soldiers and Workers die. Sometimes only one or two. Other days, hundreds. Of late, too many have died. So we must fight. You are stronger than the average Soldier, you have levels. If we fight here, maybe a few less Soldiers and Workers will die. I think…I have to think that is worth it.”

There was no reply. Pawn looked at his Soldiers. He spoke to them like Zel told him to. When you held a dying soldier in your arms, you lied to him. You told him it would be alright. Or you told him the truth. But when you spoke to soldiers before they were going to die, you told them nothing but the truth. Or you lied.

This time, Pawn told them the truth.

“We are going to fight. Some of you may die. I may die. I hope none of you will. After this, I will bring you to the Wandering Inn and we will all eat. But we must fight. If we do not, our comrades will die. Other Soldiers will die, other Workers. We are fighting for each other. Remember that.”

He raised his hand, clenched it into a fist. Pawn raised all four arms, shouting.

“We will fight. We will win. So do not die!”

There was no response. But the Soldiers’ eyes burned. If they could speak, if they could only express themselves…there was no time. It was now. Pawn turned.

“Please don’t.”

He walked out of the barracks. Each of the Soldiers marched out behind him. And in minutes, in no time at all, they were fighting.

Fighting monsters.

 

—-

 

Two hours past noon, Belgrade was screaming. He screamed at a group of Soldiers.

“Move up! Take the L4A tunnel!”

They obeyed him as he projected his thoughts at them, telling them where he needed them now. He should have sent five times their number, to hold off the Shield Spiders dropping out of holes in the ceiling, flooding the corridor, but Belgrade didn’t have enough reinforcements.

They were all blocked off from the fighting. A tunnel had collapsed at the wrong moment, sending two suits of magical armor falling in with them. They’d begun hacking apart the Soldiers and Workers trying to clear the rubble, and until they were destroyed, Belgrade had to hold the front on his own.

The former Worker could have laughed at the thought. A front? The network of tunnels and interlocking corridors leading from the dungeon to the Hive was anything but a unified front. Belgrade would have traded both his antennae and two of his arms for a neat, clear board like chess to fight on.

Instead, he had to defend countless tunnels at once, collapse the ones he could to stop monsters from advancing while he slaughtered as many as he could before the passages reopened. It would be easy, so easy if Belgrade could funnel his opponents into one spot, but—

The monsters dug. The Antinium dug, and the monsters dug. Everyone dug. So a monster could dig right into a corridor filled with Workers rather than fight through all the entrenched Soldiers. It meant nowhere was safe, and it meant Belgrade had to be everywhere at once.

And he was failing.

“Workers! Twenty of you—no, forty! Hold back the Crypt Worms in the R98 tunnel!”

A group of Workers immediately ran to an upwards-sloping tunnel, going to do battle. It was a desperation play. Anand would never have made that call. Or would he? Belgrade knew the Workers would be slaughtered in an instant, but there were no more Soldiers. And there were three Crypt Worms rampaging through the R98 tunnel at once!

The horrifically long, fleshy creatures with tendrils that could rip open carapaces and remove skin from anything they touched were difficult foes at the best of times. By now Belgrade knew they were the smaller, weaker versions of the monster Skinner, the first creature he’d ever done battle against. They lacked Skinner’s incredibly thick armor he’d built over the centuries of skin, but they could still have several layers a Soldier had to rip away, and worse, they could command the dead.

Sometimes they’d bring rotting zombies, other times skeletons or Ghouls. The worst times were when they brought undead Soldiers or Workers. It was hardest for Belgrade to fight them.

And now they were advancing. In his mind—using the [Battlefield Eye] Skill he had recently acquired, Belgrade saw the Crypt Worms advancing, tearing the Workers he’d sent to shreds.

“Hold out. We just have to hold out for more Soldiers—”

He was talking to himself as he studied the map he was constantly updating with forces. Could he take some soldiers from S41? No, they were fighting the horrific poisonous worm things with wings. If they got through, everyone would be dying of poison. Then what about—

Belgrade’s hand fell on a spot on the map, one of the corridors he and Anand had designated the ‘death spots’. It was marked by a golden piece and Belgrade hadn’t moved any forces to or from it.

Pawn was there. He was fighting in one of the widest corridors, places where thirty Soldiers could line up shoulder-to-shoulder. Crypt Worms often came down there, and monsters would flood the huge passageway.

“Does he have Soldiers? Can I—no!”

Belgrade jerked away. He couldn’t ask Pawn for help. He didn’t even know how Pawn was doing. Belgrade had let Pawn take his command to hold the tunnel, made the Antinium promise to send word if he needed reinforcements. He might be fighting with all he had. If Belgrade took his forces away…

Pawn had to survive. So long as Belgrade could keep hurling the Hive’s forces at the monsters, he’d hold them off. It was a horrible thought, but the Hive had thousands of Soldiers and Workers remaining. Their concern wasn’t any one particular battle, but keeping the number of Antinium the Hive produced each day higher than the average morality rate of their people.

They just had to reopen one of the tunnels to let the Soldiers reinforce his position! Belgrade turned and uttered another desperate order.

“Twenty seven Workers, engage the enchanted suits of armor.”

That would give them time to dig, and lose him the Workers. Belgrade turned as Workers began to move, and then heard a voice.

“No.”

One of the Workers had paused. Belgrade looked at him.

“I said go—”

No.

Workers didn’t speak. It wasn’t that they couldn’t, it was that they never voiced their opinions. Belgrade stared as the Worker he’d ordered to fight and die turned, and started shaking. The voice that came out of his mandibles was suddenly loud, filled with horrible madness.

“i wILl nOT. I ReFUSE. diE? DiE fOR THe HiVE? nO! pOINtleSS! i rEFuSe!”

He turned, arms shaking, and pointed at Belgrade. His hands clenched and unclenched, and then he seized the nearest Worker and grabbed the Antinium’s neck with all four hands. The Worker who’d refused twisted and the other Worker’s head made a snapping sound and he went limp.

The Workers around Belgrade froze. He froze. There was only one explanation for this Worker’s suddenly behavior. He had gone insane. He’d turned against his Hive, become a killing thing that had no reason, no purpose. He had become…

An Aberration. Belgrade reached for his side. Klbkch had given him a weapon, although Belgrade had no Skills. The Worker, no, Aberration, charged at him, screaming.

“dIE!”

The Aberration ran at him, throwing off the other Workers who tried to bar his way. Belgrade waited until he was close, and then slashed with the enchanted sword he’d been given. Too slow, too late.

The former Worker ducked. Belgrade cut one of his antennae off, and then the Aberration knocked him to the ground. Two of his fists began to pummel Belgrade as the other two reached for the sword. Belgrade used all four of his arms to cling to the sword, trying to bring it to bear.

It ended when the other Workers tore the Aberration off Belgrade. He came away with one of Belgrade’s antennae. The pain was—Belgrade stumbled up and ran the Aberration through as the Workers held him down. The thing that had been a Worker kept reaching for him, trying to kill him until Belgrade twisted the blade and he went still.

Shaking, the [Tactician] got off the Aberration’s body and looked at the other Workers. They looked as shaken as he did, and they had been about to fight and die without hesitation.

“Take the body away. Now.”

Belgrade hurried back to the table. But no sooner had he used his one remaining antennae to sense what was going on then he felt a cold jolt of fear in his chest.

“Oh no. No, no!”

He looked up, and now he could hear the sounds of fighting. Belgrade turned, opening his mandibles to shout for every Worker he had to go above, but it was too late. Something shot down one of the tunnels, knocking aside the two Workers who’d been hauling the Aberration’s body away.

A red whip of flesh struck a Worker and pinned him to the ground. It pressed down, and the Worker was crushed into paste. Belgrade stared numbly up as the rest of the body followed, a huge, sinuous brown-red form, and a faceless head with long antennae. A worm with arms? No, something much worse.

A Crypt Worm. In his struggle, Belgrade hadn’t noticed them slaughtering the Workers. And now…they were here.

The first Crypt Worm loomed over Belgrade, slashing with its tendrils, sending the Soldiers running at it flying into walls where they broke. It was wounded in many places, but it was too large, too furious to be stopped. And it was in front of Belgrade.

And he had no more cards to play. Belgrade stared up at the Crypt Worm, suddenly calm. He’d used his Skills. The tunnel where the enchanted suits of armor were had been cleared somehow, but it was too late. His reinforcements were too far away and the Crypt Worm was looking at him.

Sword. Belgrade found it and raised it with one of his hands. He spoke, not to the Crypt Worm, but to his friend, as if he could hear him. It was just a foolish thing, but it comforted Belgrade.

“Anand. You must become strong for the both of us.”

That was it. Belgrade thought Erin might have approved. He stood up from the table as the Crypt Worm slithered towards him. A tendril shot out. Belgrade cut at it.

Again, too slow. This one sent him flying towards a wall. Belgrade heard his body crunch and slid to the ground. He looked—and didn’t see his left arms. Either of them. He knew he should feel pain, but there was nothing.

“So—so that’s what it’s like. Should have sent more Soldiers.”

Belgrade wheezed as he stood. The Crypt Worm was finishing off the last Soldiers trying to fight. Now it came towards him. Belgrade looked up. How would it end? He raised his sword. Try to cut it, just once—

The Crypt Worm dove. Something flashed towards its head, and suddenly there was an empty space in the air. There was no more head. Belgrade flinched as he heard the air tearing.

The Crypt Worm fell, head torn open. It jerked, trying to stand, despite missing part of its brain, and Belgrade heard the sound again. This time he saw…

What? It looked like a white jet of something moving unbelievably fast. It tore straight through the Crypt Worm’s center, cut it in half. And then…what was that?

Splattering. A spray. Some of it had blasted backwards from impact and struck Belgrade. He flinched, and then studied the liquid on him. It wasn’t blood. It was…

“Water?”

He got up. Belgrade was bleeding, but he had to see. He turned down the corridor the water had come from, as two more Crypt Worms shot down the passageway, and a group of Shield Spiders burst out of one of the tunnels. Everywhere was being overrun. Too late. Had to retreat. But all of Belgrade’s hazy thoughts stopped when he saw her, shining like the sun.

Xrn.

She was holding a staff in the air, a staff with a crystal orb. Her eyes shone with every color Belgrade had ever known and more he hadn’t. And from her came light. A piercing, brilliant light that made the Crypt Worms flinch away, screaming in high-pitched voices. But the light was soothing to Belgrade and all the Antinium who saw it.

Then she spoke. And her voice was thunder.

I am Xrn, the Small Queen!

It echoed down the cavern, filling the minds of the struggling Workers and Soldiers. They turned and saw her holding her staff high, the light emanating from it shining like a sun underground. Xrn raised one hand, and called a word.

“[Burning Lightning].”

Something red and orange and brilliant shot past Belgrade. He turned, and saw one of the Crypt Worms shriek as lightning struck and turned the creature’s skin and body into flame. It writhed, and died. Just like that.

With one spell. Xrn strode forwards, and Belgrade saw Soldiers and Workers running after her, ahead of her. It looked like the entire Hive. They flooded the tunnels, abandoning their duties, called by her voice. Xrn pointed at the monsters rushing towards Belgrade’s position and shouted.

“Stand, Antinium. Fight, Antinium! In the name of your Hive, stand with me and push back the invaders!”

Some of the Workers had survived the Crypt Worm’s attack. They rose. Belgrade was already running. He didn’t think, he just ran. The first of the Shield Spiders was crawling towards Belgrade. It reared up, half-blind from the light and Belgrade cut it apart with his sword. He was shouting. A worker charged into a Shield Spider, threw it down. And then the tunnel was full of Antinium, fighting, pushing back the stunned Shield Spiders with a ferocity unknown even to Soldiers.

They charged into the tide of monsters, a black wave of flesh and carapace that smashed the first rank of monsters to pieces. The Crypt Worms lashed out, but the Workers clung to them and the Soldiers tore flesh from the writhing, screaming horrors.

Xrn swept a wave of blasting steam down one corridor, broiling a group of obscenely large maggot-butterflies that were shedding a poisonous miasma. She was not alone. The Silent Antinium raced past her, half-invisible, disappearing from Belgrade’s sight. The sword-wielding clones of Klbkch formed a shield around Xrn as she cast spells. She planted her staff in the ground, and burnt a Crypt Worm to ash as the Custodium dueled a suit of enchanted armor, nimbly dodging and cutting at it, their enchanted blades slashing through the thick steel.

The Silent Antinium, the thin assassins with scythes for arms, brought down a group of the huge not-Gnolls, as Belgrade marshaled the Soldiers and Workers around him, sending them to reinforce Xrn’s position.

The transparent Antinium leapt from a wall where they had been waiting, practically invisible and beheaded two of the lumbering monsters before they realized what was happening. Their scythes were as sharp as any blade and in moments they were moving away from the bloody remains of the group.

“For the Armored Antinium! Flying Antinium, cover our backs!”

Someone strode down the corridor, shouting. Belgrade saw Tersk, for some reason unarmored and not holding his mace and shield, leading his Soldiers and a few of the Flying Antinium at a group of ghouls and zombies. Belgrade went to run after him, and fell.

It was the blood loss. Belgrade stared up at the dirt ceiling as Antinium raced around him. He expected to die, but again he was surprised.

“Belgrade. Hold still.”

Someone reached down for him. Belgrade felt a soft hand on his chest, and then the bleeding stopped. He felt something warm rush into him, something that felt like hope given form. He sat up, filled with…some kind of energy.

Xrn was looking down at him. She shone with magic. And when she pulled him up, Belgrade realized all his injuries had closed. He looked at Xrn, and she told him to follow. She led the way, forcing monsters back. And Belgrade stared at her.

Xrn. The Small Queen. [Thaumaturge]. Not [Mage]. Not [Wizard], or [Sorceress], or [Witch]. She didn’t practice just magic. What Xrn worked was something else.

Wonders.

They pushed the monsters back. Xrn raised waves of poisonous waters, flooded the tunnels, made the wind into swords and threw it at her enemies. Belgrade accompanied her, protected by a ring of silent Custodium, the equivalent of any Prognugators.

They found Pawn in the death corridor, still fighting. His Soldiers struggled with a group of the not-Gnolls until Xrn raised her staff.

“[Fear of the Mighty]!”

They fled. Belgrade rushed over to Pawn. The Worker was at the back of the group of Soldiers, sheltered by them. Belgrade halted when he saw the painted Soldiers. Their markings were barely visible under the coating of blood and flesh that covered them. Not a single Soldier was unharmed, but Pawn—

There wasn’t a mark on him.

Pawn turned to Belgrade. The gore had barely touched him, protected as he was by his Soldiers. He was holding something, someone in his arms.

A Soldier. Belgrade stared down at the huge Antinium. He could be held in Pawn’s arms, because there wasn’t any part of the Soldier below his chest. And yet, he was alive. Pawn held the Soldier as the huge Antinium struggled to clasp his hands. The Soldier’s mandibles clicked together, as if he wanted to speak.

But he never did. He died there, as Xrn cleared the passageway. Belgrade knelt beside Pawn. The other Antinium looked at him.

“We were fighting, but there were so many. We lost countless Soldiers and Workers. You were right Belgrade, they were everywhere. My Soldiers fought, but…”

“How many?”

Belgrade could see many of the painted Soldiers. So many, in fact! Compared to the dead monsters, there were so many Soldiers. For this many dead, Pawn should have been overrun long ago. But Pawn closed his mandibles, covered his eyes with one bloody hand.

“Twenty five.”

“Only twenty five?”

Belgrade stared at Pawn. The Worker nodded.

“I couldn’t do anything. My one [Tactician] Skill—they died, Belgrade! They died!”

“It was only twenty five. Pawn, your battle here was a tactical victory. It—”

Someone pulled him back. Belgrade turned and saw Xrn. She shook her head slowly. Pawn had covered both his eyes with his hands, but the other two desperately held the Soldier still. He shook. But he did not cry.

The Antinium could not cry.

Belgrade stepped away. Xrn was the one who knelt next to Pawn. There was the deepest blue in her eyes, a color more vast than the sea, darker than night. She touched the Soldier in Pawn’s arm and looked at him.

“I am sorry.”

Pawn did not reply.

 

—-

 

They did not bury the Soldier. That was not how the Antinium treated the dead. Instead, the Soldier was taken to be processed. He would be food soon enough.

Pawn knew it. He knew it, and he knew it wasn’t right. But the Soldier was dead. And there weren’t—weren’t enough pieces of the others.

He sat in the barracks, still bloody, as the Soldiers still able to move clustered around him. The Soldiers who hadn’t fought stood with their brethren, clumsily tending to their wounds. They were all wounded. And not enough of them.

Twenty five dead. Exactly a quarter of his command, of his people. Pawn had expected—he had known—

He hadn’t been ready. No.

He could still see the Soldier who’d died. He had a small five-pointed star on his upper right arm. That was all. He’d only taken that lone marking. And he’d died, protecting Pawn from a—a tendril that had reached out and cut him in two.

He was dead. It was Pawn’s fault. And there was nothing left of him to remember. Nothing. Just a memory. For all Pawn had done—

Pawn stood up. No. The Soldier couldn’t be forgotten. He stumbled past the Soldiers as they parted for him. He ran over to one wall of the barracks, to the spot that had been cleared. Pawn knelt by the cans of paint he’d bought, pawing through them frantically. Which color was it? This one? No. This one.

The Worker stood with a jar of paint in his hand. The other Soldiers stared. It was bright green paint, the same color the dead Soldier had used. Pawn slowly dipped his finger into the jar, and turned.

The walls of the barracks the Soldiers lived in were dirt. Not loose dirt, but hard-packed, as good as stone and unbreakable in most circumstances. Pawn found a spot along the wall. It didn’t stand out from any other spot. He dipped a finger into the bright green paint.

And then he pressed it against the wall.

Pawn slowly drew on the wall of the barracks. The other Soldiers watched as Pawn traced on the hard-packed dirt with green paint. He drew a star. The star that had been on the Soldier’s chest.

It was small. It was green. It was a tiny thing in the vast barracks. But it was there. Painted on the wall, marked. A memory. So long as no one damaged the paint, no one destroyed the wall, it would remain.

And if they did? If an earthquake happened, or Klbkch told him to get rid of it? Pawn would repaint the star elsewhere. Because he remembered. He remembered that star, and he would for the rest of his life.

And so did the others. Pawn turned as a Soldier moved. The Soldier found a jar of purple paint. Slowly, carefully, taking all the time in the world, he drew purple slashes down the wall.

Another Soldier moved. He took some paint and began to draw. The other Soldiers, wounded and intact, did the same. They did not have to speak. They did not have to confer. Twenty five Soldiers had died, but each living Soldier remembered.

So did Pawn.

When they were done, the barracks were not covered in paint. There were only a few, small places where the walls had been colored in. The symbols were small. But they were there.

A green star, a…cup of brown and silver. A clumsy number ‘7’ in turquoise. A speckled egg, white and blue and orange. A sun rising over a green horizon. A green flower. A rainstorm and clouds all in blue. A snowflake in purest white.  A black cat with orange eyes. A circle of red, mixed with yellow.

Five numbers, 46252, each in a different color. A picture of a bee on a plate, clumsily drawn. A smiley face. A stick-person with four arms. A word. ‘Winter’.

A map of the Hive. Eight lines and a curvy wave beneath it all. Two stones, one shaped like a face, the other like no stone ever seen. A question mark, drawn out of brown and a pale blue so bright it could have been white.

A line that looped and spun and dove. A cloud made of pink and yellow. A paw print in white. The memory of the first Soldier ever to be painted.

A cup running over with water. A sun and four moons.

A blade of grass.

Pawn stared at it all. Each Soldier was there, on the wall. Their bodies were gone, but there they were. He ran his hands along the dried paint, and felt something there.

Small things. Shapes and symbols, things that held meaning only the Soldier that had chosen them would know. Fragments of their soul.

It was not enough. It could never be enough. But it was something. It was something to cling to. Pawn looked at the Soldiers, covered in paint, in blood. He knelt as they clustered around him, putting awkward hands on him. Pawn could not look at them. He whispered the words.

“I am so sorry.”

They said nothing. But they held him, clumsy killers, people with no voices who wore their souls on their chests for all to see. Pawn looked at them and wept. His eyes shed not a tear. They were his. His Soldiers. His guardians. His friends.

His people.

He embraced them. Pawn wept again, without tears. Then he went to see Erin.

 


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4.14 L

Once upon a time there was a [Princess]. She was bad at being a princess. She never leveled, and she ran away from home, no doubt causing a lot of trouble because of that. She ran in a childish fit of anger, and ended up on another continent, where she caused more trouble because she was petty and small-minded and useless. Then she died.

The end.

That was how the story should have gone. Every day Lyonette du Marquin knew she should have died a long time ago, cold, alone, lying in the snow. She knew that, and so she tried to be grateful for the second—no, probably eighth—chance she’d been given.

It wasn’t hard to be grateful. Because Lyonette had everything she’d wanted. In some senses, she’d found exactly what she’d come to Izril to find.

She had a job, something to do that mattered. She had a duty, to protect Mrsha, to take care of the inn. And what was more, she had what she’d wanted for so long.

Levels. Classes. Skills. For the first time since she was seven years old, Lyon was actually leveling again. Not just gaining a level every few years. She was gaining levels rapidly. Not as a [Princess], true, but as a far humbler class. A [Barmaid]. Perhaps it was below her station, but Lyonette didn’t care. Because she had Skills!

[Charming Smile]. [Lesser Strength]. These were her two latest Skills, obtained as she’d reached Level 11 in the [Barmaid] class. They made her happy and slightly ashamed. Happy because they were Skills, and ashamed because the part of Lyonette that still thought of herself as royalty knew these Skills weren’t what she should be hoping for.

A [Princess] should not have a Skill that let her lift heavy objects, Lyonette knew. True, a Skill like [Charming Smile] was a very Princess-like Skill, although a [Princess] should not smile so openly for no reason. But these weren’t grand Skills, the kind that could aid her nation or inspire her people. They were just…Skills.

And yet, her entire life, all eighteen years she’d lived, Lyonette had only had one small Skill from her [Princess] class. Just one Skill while everyone else learned more Skills and leveled. This was better, truly.

Lyonette was grateful for it. She was a Level 11 [Barmaid], a Level 4 [Beast Tamer], a Level 6 [Carer], a Level 2 [Tactician], and…a Level 5 [Princess]. She knew she had far too many classes, that she should only have one.

She didn’t care. Lyonette was more grateful to Erin Solstice, the [Innkeeper] and owner of the Wandering Inn, than she could say. Erin was almost always cheerful, always helpful, brave, and kind. If she had one flaw, it was that she was also impulsive.

And that sometimes made trouble for Lyonette. Sudden party? Lyonette would be rushing around to fill orders by herself and washing dishes all next morning. Erin’s selling magical food to adventurers? Time to buy another five kegs of alcohol! Where did all the food go? Erin cooked it all? Back to the city.

Lyonette usually didn’t begrudge these decisions. However, this time she wished, just a tiny bit, that Erin had consulted her.

The younger girl stared at Erin’s beaming face and then her eyes slid sideways. It was just past dawn, and it was a bit too early for thinking. Cleaning and hauling water, that was okay. But this?

“You hired…all of them?”

“Yup! This is Safry and Maran, Selys’s friend Drassi, and a Gnoll that Krshia introduced me to—he’s Ishkr. They’re all going to be helping you out! Isn’t it great?”

Lyonette stared as the two young women Erin had pointed out, the yellow-scaled Drake, and a Gnoll with red-brown fur waved or nodded to her. She blinked a few more times and then turned her head.

Ryoka Griffin, the strange Runner with exotic features was eying the new staff with as much skepticism as Lyon felt. Mrsha was sitting on top of Ryoka’s shoulders, detracting from the girl’s poise as she chewed on a cracker and showered Ryoka with crumbs. Lyonette looked back at Erin and smiled weakly.

“Yes. Great, Erin!”

Erin never talked to her about her plans. One day she announced she’d be hiring the Antinium to add a third floor to the inn and that the Antinium named Bird would be living here from now on as a guard, the next…this.

In fairness, Lyonette had really respected hiring Bird. She’d never felt safe without someone who could fight. But these new people…Lyonette didn’t know anything about them. Erin clearly thought they were competent, but it was also clear after a few moments that there would be trouble.

“Alright, I’ll start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. You all can uh, well, clean up. And I need some water. Lyonette, can you show everyone how things work? Thanks!”

And like that, Lyonette found herself dealing with another one of Erin’s new ideas. The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] took a deep breath and then smiled at the people Erin had hired. They were all staring at each other with a bit of wariness, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad!

“Hello everyone. I’m Lyonette. I’m a Level 11 [Barmaid], and I’m very happy to be working with you.”

“Pleased.”

The woman called Safry smiled at Lyonette. She would have said something else, but Drassi spoke up. And kept speaking.

“Are you the [Thief] that got kicked out of the city? I was going to watch, but I was working and Selys said it wasn’t that exciting. And that’s the scary Gnoll kid right? Hi! I’m Drassi, a Level 8 [Barmaid]. Well, I was also working as a [Receptionist], but I like waiting tables more since you have to sit in one place as a [Receptionist].”

Lyonette blinked as a wall of words hit her ears. It was rather like listening to Octavia deliver one of her sales pitches, only Drassi was just talking. Chattering, rather.

The Drake cut off as the Gnoll, Ishkr, cleared his throat. He looked around.

“Hrr. I am a Level 16 [Waiter], yes? Honored Krshia recommended that I work here.”

That was it. Drassi opened her mouth, but it was Maran, the other Human woman who spoke up.

“Really? In that case, Safry and I are the highest-leveled workers here.”

Everyone stared at them. Ryoka and Mrsha had already gone off to play ‘don’t crawl on my head’. Safry smiled as Maran pointed at her friend.

“Safry’s a Level 21 [Barmaid] and I’m a Level 22 [Barmaid]. We’ll look after things and teach you all how things work. Lyonette, Erin said we’re cleaning, right? Where are the supplies? And what’s this about water?”

Lyonette stared at Maran. Wait, what had she said? They’d teach her? But—

That should have been the first clue. But then Lyonette heard Zel coming down the stairs, so she just grabbed a few of the dust rags, a bucket of soapy water and showed the others which tables were clean before hurrying out the door. Yes, looking back on it that was the start.

The start of a few truly miserable days for Lyonette du Marquin.

Two Human [Barmaids], a Drake [Maid], and a Gnoll. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

And it was. Upon getting back, puffing and panting with more water, the first thing Lyonette saw was chaos. Maran and Safry were serving food to the bemused Gold-rank adventurers who’d come down, Zel was waiting patiently for his food while Drassi cleaned and talked his earholes off, and Ishkr was waiting for instructions, standing at attention by the kitchen. Mrsha was sniffing at him as he tried to shoo her away. And Erin was shouting that she needed more pots to hold all the food she was going to make ahead of time! Lyonette nearly screamed.

 

—-

 

After half a day of work, Lyonette realized that things weren’t as bad as she’d thought, and they were worse than she could have imagined.

The inn was busy from dawn till dusk now, mainly due to Erin’s advertising her magical cooking to the adventurers in Liscor. You could stop by for a quick bite before going out hunting monsters or braving the dungeon, and you’d have an enchantment that would last for hours, at a fraction of a cost of a normal potion!

This amazing opportunity meant that Erin’s inn always had a steady flow of visitors, mainly adventurers looking for one type of magical food or another. Everyone was busy, and Erin had set up the schedules so that not all of the staff would work at the same time. Sometimes, like around dinner, all four of the new workers might be helping at once, but usually Lyonette would be working with two or three of the others at most.

That gave her time to relax and play with Mrsha, in theory. But Erin hadn’t accounted for the need to teach the new workers everything, and since she was busy ‘hanging out’ with Ryoka, an expression that meant going shopping, chatting, and generally enjoying herself in Celum and Liscor, the duties once again fell to Lyonette.

It gave her the opportunity to learn about the others. And what Lyonette learned was that she didn’t actually mind some of them. They had their negative qualities, true, but also good ones.

Drassi, for instance. She talked. No, she gossiped, no, she conversed with anyone and everyone nearby. She could chat about Drake politics and switch over to a serious discussion about the latest Human fashions in a second. But while that could be annoying, she was always chattering away while she cleaned a table, or served food. She didn’t linger.

That couldn’t be said for Maran and Safry. They worked, talked, and when they were done serving, they sat around and talked with the inn’s guests. At first Lyonette thought they were just taking a short break, but it became apparent that when there was no more food or drink to be served, the two [Barmaids] would just sit down and relax, rather than clean tables, wash dishes, or get more water or firewood from outside.

“We can do that later. After the inn closes. Relax!”

“The inn doesn’t close until Erin sleeps, and that’s after midnight!”

Lyon argued with Maran as the other woman sat with a drink. Maran looked slightly off put, and then shrugged.

“We’ll do it when more dishes pile up. There’s barely more than a few cups and plates.”

“But—”

Lyonette tried to think of how to insist without forcing the issue, but Ishkr beat her to a reply.

“I will do it, yes? I have time.”

He headed into the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of the uniform he was wearing up. Maran gave Lyon a smile as if to say, ‘you see, there’s no problem.’ By her side, Safry watched Ishkr go in and leaned towards the other two Humans and whispered conspiratorially.

“I hope he doesn’t get fur all over the dishes. How does a Gnoll wash plates anyways? With his tongue?”

Maran giggled, but Lyon gave Safry a look that wiped the smile off the other woman’s face.

“With his paws, I imagine.”

That was the issue. Not Ishkr. The Gnoll had been hesitant at first, but when he was told what to do, he did it without complaints. He wasn’t talkative, but he seemed to enjoy idle work, the kind he could get engrossed in without talking to anyone for good periods of time. Better yet, he didn’t have a problem with Mrsha’s white fur.

“I was born and raised in Liscor, yes? I do not know many of my tribe’s superstitions. Honored Krshia says the child is alright, so I will not mind.”

That put him in Lyon’s good books. No, Ishkr and Drassi weren’t the problems. The problem pair were Maran and Safry, by a long shot.

It wasn’t that they didn’t work as hard. Well, it was partly that. But Lyonette just didn’t like them as much. For a while, the girl had wondered if she felt threatened, but she realized it was because of how Maran and Safry seemed to regard Lyonette’s advice as suggestions and thought of themselves in charge.

Even when they didn’t have a clue of what to do. In the mid-lunch rush as adventurers came to eat magical food, normal food, or just drink, Lyonette saw Safry delivering one of Erin’s Corusdeer scrambles to a waiting Drake. She called out, but Safry didn’t pay attention until she was on her way back to the kitchen.

“What’s the problem Lyonette? I served him his food.”

“No, no! That’s the wrong Drake! He’s eating the wrong food!”

Lyonette hurried over to the Drake. When she came back, after apologizing profusely, Safry made a face.

“How can you tell the difference? That looks like the same Drake to me!”

“He’s not! Look at his scales!”

“They’re green. All of those Drakes have green scales too!”

“No!”

How could they not tell? Lyonette looked at the green-scaled Drakes that Safry had pointed out as proof, and saw an elderly Drake male with patches of grey scales, a Drake warrior with a speckled pattern across his far lighter green scales, and a Drake with darker green scales and some distinctively long spines along the back of his head. When she pointed this all out to Safry, the woman just looked confused.

“Where are you seeing all that? They still look sort of the same. Okay, the old guy I can see, but Drakes aren’t distinctive like us Humans.”

Lyonette bit her lip. She’d heard Drakes and Gnolls say the exact same thing. And to be fair, most of the people on this continent had light skin, whereas Drakes and Gnolls had all kinds of variation among their fur.

“How about this. Next time, why don’t you ask if this is his order? If you know his name, you can check to make sure. It’ll just take a second and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind—”

Safry’s eyebrows crossed, and she raised a hand to cut Lyonette off.

“Look Lyon, I appreciate the advice, but Maran and I know what to do. You just point out the right Drakes and Gnolls and we’ll do our job.”

Lyonette stared at Safry, but the woman turned away too quickly for her to respond.

That was the first big issue Lyon had. The second came when she noticed they were running low on water. They were always running low on water to cook with, boil for drinking, wash with, use for cleaning, and so on.

“Maran, can you go get some more water?”

Lyon was busy serving a group of Gnolls that the two Human [Barmaids] couldn’t tell apart. Maran stared at Lyon, then her eyes flicked to the Gnoll [Server].

“Why not Ishkr? He’s free, and he’s stronger than me.”

Lyonette paused feeling angry. It was true Ishkr was free for the moment, he had just worked his entire shift and Safry and Maran had just had lunch! Moreover, why was Maran’s first response to ask someone else to do the work?

“Ishkr needs to have his lunch break. You just finished yours.”

“But we still have some water left.”

“Some, but we’ll be out soon!”

The Gnolls sitting at the table eyed Lyonette as she went over to argue with Maran. They flicked their eyes at Ishkr, who made some motion behind Lyon’s back she couldn’t see. Maran clearly didn’t want to go.

“It’s cold out there. This isn’t a [Barmaid]’s job, you know.”

“Erin told you you’d be working here, right? This is what we do.”

“I want to talk to Erin about this. This isn’t what I was hired for.”

Lyonette’s patience was at an end. She felt like she was dealing with a child, not an adult.

“You can do it when she comes back. Just go now, please. And take two buckets!”

She thrust another one into the affronted woman’s hand and practically pushed her out the door. Lyonette got back to serving, apologizing to the Gnolls. She waited for Maran to come back. And waited. And waited…

Maran returned after twenty minutes, twice as long as it should have taken, just when Lyonette was about to go look for her. She was irate at having to have carried the buckets up the hill in the snow. And they weren’t fully filled!

Lyonette bit back her words when she saw Maran’s face and instead thanked her. Twelve minutes later, she wished she could have taken back the thanks when Safry began to complain about Mrsha.

“Hey, can you do something about her?”

She was pointing at Mrsha as the Gnoll tried to sneak up on the group of Gnolls. They were letting her do it, and one would turn to stare at her when Mrsha got ready to pounce on a tail. Thereafter Mrsha would run about excitedly. Lyonette saw nothing but pure fun in Mrsha’s game, but Safry was clearly displeased at having to watch to avoid Mrsha being underfoot.

“The kid’s cute, but we’re trying to work. Can’t you make her go upstairs or play outside?”

“Just ask her to move. It’s no problem.”

“She’s in the way every two seconds. Why not let her run outside if she’s so excited?”

Lyonette stared at Safry.

“There are monsters outside. She’s not causing that much trouble and she needs the room.”

Maran spoke up as she swabbed a table. She made a face as she held up a rag full of white hairs.

“She’s getting fur all over the tables and chairs we already cleaned.”

“So? Just clean them again? It’s only a few wipes of the rag.”

The two [Barmaids] looked at each other, clearly displeased. Lyonette had to turn away so they wouldn’t see the look on her face.

Small things. Small things that would go away. That was what she told herself, but then Bird came by and things got…awkward.

He wanted a drink, and he had some birds for Erin. Simple, right? Only Maran and Safry left him sitting until Drassi got a drink, and although Maran had a pitcher of refills, she kept seeming to miss Bird.

“Just fill his cup! What’s the problem?”

“He’s—don’t you think it’s weird? He’s one of them! One of the Antinium!”

It was only then that Lyon realized how clearly uncomfortable Maran and Safry were around Bird. They walked wide of the Antinium, not going near him if they could serve other customers. Drassi and Ishkr were far more relaxed around the Antinium, having seen them before, but Safry and Maran weren’t happy with him around.

“That Antinium in the Horns of Hammerad was one thing, but is he going to be here all the time? He just stares and talks about birds!”

Lyonette crossed her arms as Maran complained.

“Erin’s going to hire him permanently. He’ll stay here all the time as a guard.”

The woman looked dismayed. Safry shook her head.

“Maybe he’ll stay upstairs where we don’t see him. I’d hate to turn around and just see him there. Staring.”

Not once had Lyonette ever felt uncomfortable from Bird’s stare. He was just curious, and she never felt uneasy around him. She opened her mouth, and turned away.

When Erin came back, a few hours before dinner, Lyon had never been more relieved. She would have loved to chat with Erin, but dinner had to be made ready, and Erin was far too busy laughing with Maran and Safry for Lyon to pull her aside to talk about…Maran and Safry.

Indeed, while Erin was around, things suddenly began to work smooth as butter. Neither Maran nor Safry had a problem with the Gold-rank teams, the Horns of Hammerad and Zel in the crowd, mainly because everyone was distinctively, and largely, Human. Lyon rushed about until Erin pulled her aside. She was sitting with Ryoka, eating rather than cooking or serving for once and looking pleased as a cat about it.

“Isn’t this cool, Lyonette? I can take a break!”

“Um. Yes.”

Lyonette bit back the words she wanted to say. Erin smiled up at her.

“So how was everyone? Did Drassi talk a lot? Selys says she does that, but she swears Drassi’s a hard worker. Oh, and did Ishkr do okay with Mrsha? I was worried about that but he seems cool!”

“They both did great, Erin.”

“Awesome! So there were no problems?”

Safry and Maran were walking around, serving the tables and talking with the adventurers. Too near. And it was only day one, right? Lyonette felt she couldn’t say anything. So in the end she didn’t. She only mentioned Maran’s reluctance to get water.

Erin groaned aloud when Lyon brought that up, but she was already nodding cheerfully when Lyon was finished explaining.

“Oh, the water? I guess I didn’t mention that to them. I’ll talk with Safry and Maran about it, okay?”

And that was that. Erin had a word and then came back to assure Lyon that water wouldn’t be a problem. Lyon tried to take Erin at her word, but she really couldn’t. She just felt like something was wrong.

Then in the middle of the night, Lyonette woke up and realized what was wrong. Safry and Maran thought they were in charge. Because they were higher level. But Lyon was. Right? She’d been working here longer, so she should know what to do. Right?

But it occurred to her as Mrsha rolled over and Ryoka snored loudly from her corner of the room that Erin had never mentioned who was in charge while she was gone. Maybe Erin hadn’t thought about it. But it mattered. It mattered…quite a lot.

 

—-

 

The second day was no better than the first. It started out promising, with Safry and Maran turning up exactly when they were supposed to and cleaning last night’s dishes and the room cheerfully while talking with Erin.

The trouble started the moment Erin left to hang out with Ryoka in Celum. Lyonette missed her chance to ask Erin who’d be in charge while she left. She felt awkward just bringing it up—it felt as though Lyon was trying to get Erin to give her more authority, when it was really an important matter.

Either way, it meant there was no leader, and so the duo of Safry and Maran butted heads with Lyon over countless issues as the day wore on. It began with tips, and came to a head with buckets of water.

This time Erin had left the inn before breakfast had ended. She’d already cooked up days of food in advance, a handy suggestion of Ryoka’s that was convenient all around. But it meant that the Gold-rank adventurers and the Horns of Hammerad were eating at the same time as Zel. And wouldn’t you know it, but Safry and Maran seemed to serve food first to the Gold-rank adventurers and leave Zel for last.

“Hey, you’re not serving Zel first. Bring the sausages to his table—he’s been waiting the longest!”

Lyonette caught Safry’s arm as she went out holding a steaming plate of reheated sausage. The [Barmaid] frowned at Lyon.

“Why? He’ll get some in a minute. But the Gold-rank adventurers are sitting over there, Lyonette!”

“So?”

Safry rolled her eyes.

So, they might tip us!”

Lyonette paused. She looked accusingly at Safry.

“I thought you told Erin you didn’t get any tips!”

“Well, obviously not from normal folk. But Gold-rank adventurers throw their money around like water, especially for good service! If you smile the right way at some of the men, they’ll give you a gold coin just for serving their table!”

She moved away from Lyonette and to her outrage, served Griffon Hunt first. And indeed, both Safry and Maran flirted with Halrac, Ulrien, and Typhenous, who might have been twice as old as they were! Lyonette nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw that, but according to Safry and Maran, that too was customary.

“You don’t understand how being a [Barmaid] works, Lyonette. You need to pay attention to the most important customer.”

Safry’s arch tone made Lyon want to kick her. She pointed towards Zel, who was eating sausage with Mrsha, oblivious to the drama.

“Oh yeah? Well he’s a Drake [General]. Why don’t you shake your hips for him?”

Both Safry and Maran’s jaws dropped. They exchanged a speculative glance, and then Maran shook her head.

“Eh, I don’t want to flirt with him. What if he took it seriously?”

Safry nodded. Lyon ground her teeth together. It wasn’t the idea of Zel and Maran together that was upsetting her—that was pretty much impossible—it was how Maran had phrased her words.

“What’s wrong with him? What if one of Griffon Hunt took things seriously?”

“Well, that’s different. Obviously.”

Maran looked surprised Lyon had to ask.

“Ulrien and Halrac are fine, and so is the old [Mage], I guess.”

Safry made a face, but nodded reluctantly. Maran cast her eyes over to the other adventurers in the room and shook her head.

“But the half-Giant’s obviously no good, and neither is the fish man. Ugh. No way. And the others are all female…at least there’s that handsome [Mage] sitting with the Horns of Hammerad.”

She pointed to Pisces appreciatively. Lyon stared at Maran, and her dislike of her and Safry grew four times larger in that moment. She smiled bitterly at both of them.

“Who? Pisces? Go ahead if you want. He’s a [Necromancer], you know.”

She left the two horrified women and stomped away.

 

—-

 

Midway through the day, Lyonette paused to check how much water they had left. There was a good amount, but a fit of pique made her go and ask Maran to get more water. She expected the other woman to resist, but she wasn’t expecting an outright refusal. But that was what she got.

“There is no way I’m going out there. Neither is Safry.”

“Why not?”

Maran’s face was set.

“There are fish with teeth in the water. That’s what Erin said! And Rock Crabs? Shield Spiders? I’m not doing it.”

Lyonette stared at her, and realized Maran hadn’t been told of Liscor’s natural hazards before now. Drassi and Ishkr accepted the slight danger as a matter of course, but Maran’s face was white at just the thought of running into one of the monsters.

“Look, Maran, it will be fine. Just take a seed core and—”

“No!”

It was customary now for Lyonette to use some of the wizened, dried-up seed cores that Erin had stored from the blue fruits just in case a Rock Crab showed up. She’d scared one away twice by now, and knew they weren’t a threat if you had your eyes halfway open. But Maran was insistent.

“I’ll get some water from Celum instead.”

“What, from a well there? Fine. But if you’re going—”

“No! I’ll do it like civilized folk do and have it delivered! You can pay to have water barrels sent to your inn or home each day. It’s just a few silver coins—a few more for a fast delivery, but it’s safe.”

Silver coins for water? Lyonette gaped at Maran and then shook her head.

“You can’t do that. Just go and get some water!”

“I won’t. If you need them, get it yourself or get the other two to do it. But Safry and I won’t get water from now on. You can melt snow in the buckets if you want.”

That was it. Lyonette crossed her arms, too frustrated to let this go. She glared at Maran, who was staring hard at Lyon, mouth a firm line.

“We need water, and Erin told you this was part of her job. No one else is getting water, so until you go—”

“I’ll just pay for some water to be delivered here! Erin’s got enough money.”

Maran went over to the bar’s counter and to Lyonette’s horror, opened the lid of the money jar where Erin collected the day’s earnings. She went to stop Maran, but Safry got in her way.

“Erin’s not going to pay for barrels of water when she can just get it from the stream.”

“Well that’s too bad, because I’m not going to get some and risk my life.”

Maran marched over to the door leading to Celum. Before Lyon could stop her, she’d disappeared through with a handful of coins from Erin’s money jar. She came back thirty minutes later, and Lyonette watched six huge barrels of water come through the doorway with butterflies of panic and anger fluttering about in her stomach. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked right past Maran’s smug face.

Lyonette was furious Maran had wasted Erin’s money. But deep down she was also pleased. It meant that there would be trouble, and that both [Barmaids] would get what was coming to them. At least, Lyonette hoped that was the case.

“Hey Lyon. Get Mrsha off the table!”

Safry was trying to clear the plates off of one and Mrsha was happily trying to steal scraps. She flicked her hands at Mrsha, trying to shoo her off, but Mrsha just saw that as an invitation to play. Lyonette hurried over and pulled Mrsha away. Safry glared, and Lyonette glared back.

The other woman broke the stare-off by glancing towards the door.

“By the way, one of the Antinium things was here earlier. Not the Bird one…this one called himself Pawn or something.”

“What? Pawn?”

Lyonette dropped Mrsha in her excitement. Pawn was alive! Erin had been so worried.

“Where is he?”

Safry shrugged.

“I don’t know. He was looking for Erin, so I told him to come back later because Erin’s not here. We’re busy cleaning up breakfast, so—”

No!

Lyonette clutched at her hair. She screamed at Safry, right in the woman’s surprised face. How could she turn away Pawn, just because she was afraid of the Antinium? He was a guest, and she—

“We always let the Antinium in! Always! Is he still nearby? How far did he go?”

She rushed out the door before the woman could respond.
—-

 

Death. Pawn had known it would come to that. He’d known it, but not really known. There had been some stupid, foolish part of him that had imagined fighting with his Soldiers, triumphing over the monsters and not losing a single one.

What a fool he had been. The Antinium dragged himself away from Erin’s inn. She wasn’t there. And he was empty.

His Soldiers had died. Twenty five of them. But far more had died that weren’t his. He’d heard Belgrade give the report to Klbkch. Over two hundred Workers and about half the number of Soldiers had perished while they’d been fighting. Two hundred.

These weren’t devastating numbers. The Hive had suffered worse, and always come back. New Workers and Soldiers were always being created. That also meant each day they were also dying. If not by the hundreds, at least a dozen.

Each day. Each day, a dozen Soldiers like the ones who lived on the walls of the barracks in paint died. Each day. Pawn could barely fathom that. No—it was because he couldn’t imagine such a thing that he was still able to function at all.

Workers died. Soldiers died. They died and their bodies were turned to mush that other Antinium ate. Each day. If you dwelt on that, you’d curl up and die, like the Workers who never woke up and were carried away. Or worse—you’d become an Aberration.

That was how they were created, surely. Pawn had come close, once. He felt that had to be why. It was when you couldn’t make sense of it all, when the death and emptiness crushed you down and left not even loyalty, not even the shred of…of anything. That was when it happened.

He wanted to talk to Erin about it. But she wasn’t there. The strange Human who hadn’t met his eyes had said so.

So Pawn would go back. He’d go back and—

Pawn!

Someone called his name. Pawn looked up. He saw a figure running down the hill, waving her arms and shouting at him. Not Erin. But someone nearly as good.

Lyonette. She seized him, hugged him. Pawn stood still in the snow, wordless, as Lyonette sobbed in relief that she’d gotten to him before he’d gone back to his Hive.

“I thought you might be dead! Come on, come back to the inn. I’ll get you food, and your favorite bee, and you can wait for Erin—”

“But the Human female said Erin—”

“You can wait for her! Don’t listen to Safry! Come on!”

In no time, Pawn was sitting in the inn, Mrsha sniffing at his hands, a mug of hot honey milk in his hand, and a plate with a dead bee practically dripping with butter and honey wafting enticingly up at him. The bee was making two of the Human [Barmaids] scream and argue with Lyonette. Pawn listened and thought Lyonette sounded angry, until the door from Celum burst open and Erin and Ryoka rushed through.

“Pawn!”

Erin’s voice was like the sun. He rose as she ran at him. She threw her arms around Pawn and hugged him tightly. It was like finding his name again. Pawn hugged her back, carefully, and saw another girl he recognized standing behind her. Ryoka Griffin.

When Erin let go, fussing over Pawn, Ryoka approached.

“Pawn, right? I’m Ryoka. We’ve met before, but I haven’t talked with you.”

She held out a hand. Pawn stared at it, and gingerly shook it. Ryoka Griffin was nothing like Erin, but she was reassuring in her own way. She had spoken to Klbkch, Pawn knew, and Erin had always spoken highly of her. She was intriguing to him.

But now Erin was fussing about him, and telling him to tell her everything. Pawn looked at her, and felt the same pain, the helplessness, hurt bubbling up inside him.

“What happened Pawn? Was it bad? Why did Klbkch tell you to fight?”

“It was…”

He couldn’t talk about the Hive. Or how the Antinium were barely holding back the monsters. But the dead. Pawn closed his mandibles and looked down at the cooling bee.

“I let them down. They died to protect me. A quarter. They died, Erin. For me.”

“What? Who died, Pawn? Belgrade? Anand? Who?”

Erin leaned over Pawn, looking anxious, worried. That filled Pawn with something too, something bright, but also painful. He shook his head.

“Not them. My people. They…I put them on the walls.”

Erin and Ryoka exchanged a glance. Pawn knew he wasn’t making sense. He tried to explain as best he could.

“You were fighting? Monsters?”

“From where?”

Ryoka stared intently at Pawn, but he couldn’t answer. He told Erin how he’d drawn the symbols of his dead Soldiers on the walls when he started shaking. He couldn’t help it.

“I am sorry. It is just—”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Erin hugged him tightly, so tight that Pawn felt the shaking stop, as if she’d used a Skill. But her warmth was simple, plain. It was better than magic, more mysterious than a Skill. Erin stood up, looking angry and upset.

“I’m going to talk with Klbkch. I’m going to tell him he can’t make Pawn and his Soldiers do this!”

“Wait a second, Erin—”

Ryoka rose, grabbing at her friend’s arm, but Erin shook her off.

“Don’t argue with me, Ryoka! This is wrong! Pawn, you sit right here. You don’t have to worry about fighting and dying, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

She practically ran out of the door, despite Ryoka’s attempts to stop her. Cursing, the girl returned to her seat and looked at Pawn.

“Damnit, I hope she doesn’t try to storm the Hive.”

“Revalantor Klbkch is most likely on duty as a [Guardsman] in the city at the moment.”

“Oh? Who’s defending the Hive, then? I assume the monsters are still around.”

Pawn froze. Would it be Belgrade? But no—he was resting.

“I—I do not know. Perhaps Xrn?”

But that didn’t feel right. Who led the hive when Klbkch could not, and when Belgrade and Anand were out of commission? It had to be—

The Queen. Did she lead the Hive? She must. She must have ordered the Workers and Soldiers to do battle thousands of times before Belgrade and Anand had taken some of the burden away. She had to send them to their deaths, over and over. How could she? How could she not care? Did she know?

The storm of emotions was hidden behind Pawn’s face. Ryoka stared at him.

“I think Erin will get Klbkch to take your unit off the front lines. Erin’s persuasive like that and Klbkch…will probably listen to her. Even if he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.”

Pawn shook his head.

“I wish she would not do that. Revalantor Klbkch…had his reasons for ordering my unit into combat.”

Good ones too. He was right. Pawn’s group of one hundred Soldiers had suffered least out of the groups assigned to combat, and his had fought in one of the most hotly contested areas. His Soldiers were stronger than normal ones. But they had died.

How could he ever ask the Soldiers to fight again? How could he face them? But Ryoka didn’t seem concerned with that. She was staring at Pawn and clearing her throat. He looked at her. She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment.

“Look…Pawn. I’ve wanted to speak to you for a while now. Since Erin’s gone, now’s the best time. I know you’re upset, but you and I have to speak now about your…beliefs.”

Pawn froze. He looked cautiously at Ryoka.

“What do you mean by that?”

She met his eyes levelly.

“I mean, I heard from Erin about how she told you about Christianity. About…God. And I had a talk with Klbkch and he says you’re a believer. And you have a class. Is that true?”

If she’d talked to Klbkch, then he could speak to her, right? Pawn hesitated, and then nodded. He lowered his voice, without knowing why. It seemed like something Ryoka would want.

“That is correct. I am a Level 6 [Acolyte]. I received the class after I…prayed and was told of religion and heaven by Erin.”

Why did Ryoka freeze up at that? Her eyes flicked to Lyonette, who was arguing with Safry about a plate Mrsha had accidentally knocked over. Then she looked back at Pawn, seemingly worried.

“An [Acolyte]? Damn. Uh, has Klbkch told you why that’s not a good thing?”

Pawn nodded. Klbkch had indicated it was not, in action as well as word. He’d told Pawn not to speak of gods to anyone. After he’d tried to kill Pawn for knowing about gods in the first place.

“He has expressed his desire to keep such knowledge private. I have done so, and only told you of my class outside of my Hive. However, I do not understand the reason for his distrust of gods.”

“Yeah, well, that’s complicated. If he didn’t tell you, I don’t think I should either.”

Ryoka traced patterns on the table, thinking hard. She hesitated, and looked at Pawn again.

“I uh, can’t say why Pawn, but this faith business is trouble. Klbkch, your Revalantor, agrees with me, and so does your Queen, I think. So…why don’t you just stop praying? It…really doesn’t do much good. Or rather, there are other ways you can help your people.”

Pawn stared at Ryoka. He felt shocked, stunned by the words coming out of her mouth.

“Stop…praying? Stop believing?”

She nodded and leaned over the table.

“Look, it’s not something your people need. A god is important, sure…faith, hell it’s meaningful, but the people of this world have gotten along fine without one for this long. Can’t you, I don’t know, just forget about it?”

Just forget about it. Just forget about Heaven. Forget about god. Forget about—

Something blazed in Pawn. He closed his mandibles, leaned away from Ryoka. When he spoke, his grief was forgotten. It had been replaced by the anger of indignation.

“No.”

Ryoka sighed and scrubbed at her hair.

“Come on. Why do you need to believe? Like I said, it’s really dangerous if it spreads—”

“It is necessary for the Antinium.”

She looked blank.

“Why? Why would believing—”

“You do not know what it means to be Antinium.”

Pawn cut Ryoka off shortly. She did not understand. He tried to tell himself that. And then he realized that was it. She really didn’t understand. Pawn looked at Ryoka, who seemed to be growing more annoyed. She was ignorant.

“Look, I’m trying to be nice, but Klbkch and I agree—”

“What would you give someone with one day to live?”

Pawn stared at Ryoka. She blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“What would you give someone with exactly twenty four hours to live before they died? Someone who knew their death was imminent?”

She stared at him. But unlike Erin, she didn’t question Pawn’s words, but took the query at face value.

“One day? Well, I guess I’d give them what they always dreamed of. Time with their family if they have any, money to do what they wanted…uh, maybe a chance to—”

“No.”

She broke off.

“What?”

Pawn shook his head deliberately. She still did not understand. He spoke carefully, choosing each word to make her comprehend.

“You are misunderstanding my question. I said, what would you give someone who had one day to live? Not years. Not decades. One. Day. One day total. Someone who came into existence and will die within hours of waking.”

Ryoka’s eyes widened.

“You mean—a Soldier? A Worker? One of the Antinium?”

“Yes.”

The word was bitter on Pawn’s mandibles. He broke off a leg of the dead Ashfire bee, stared at it as he spoke.

“You Humans live for years, do you not? In most cases, you live at least until you are ten, many twice that age. Some live for nearly a century. Other races live longer, others shorter. But the lifespan of an Antinium may be a single day. Or less.”

“You mean they’re born and are fully cognizant the instant they come out?”

Ryoka seemed fascinated, but she was missing the point. Pawn nodded.

“The instant a Soldier emerges, he is expected to fight and serve his Hive. He may be sent into battle minutes after he is born. What can he have in those minutes, if not faith that he is dying for a reason?”

“For his Hive, you mean. For his queen.”

“Yes. But it is not enough. If the Soldier lives, he will fight every day for his Hive. Fight and die, Ryoka Griffin. That is his fate. Fight and die. What can you give him? Money? He has nowhere to spend it. Family? He will never reproduce, and his brethren die with him. An experience? He has never seen the sky.

The young woman sat across from Pawn, staring at him as if she were looking at something horrible or tragic. Pawn felt something surging in his body, something dark, but also…

“You tell me faith is not needed. I disagree. When Erin told me of God, of Heaven, it was important. It was necessary. Because what else can the Antinium cling to? What can I give the Soldiers who died for me, if not hope of a place to rest? What can I give a Soldier who will die in moments, if not faith? Tell me, Ryoka Griffin. Why is faith meaningless to the Antinium?”

She had no reply. She sat back, looking stunned, and then ashamed. When she did speak, minutes later, it was humbly.

“I’m wrong.”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes. You are.”

She nodded as well.

“I didn’t know about how the Antinium lived. I guessed, but…I’m sorry about that. I’d change it if I could, how your people live. And you’re right—religion is important. Especially to your people. I…think I’d forgotten that. If I ever knew. But it doesn’t change the fact that faith is dangerous in this world. Faith in a god is dangerous, Pawn. Can you understand that?”

He reached for his mug and drank slowly.

“I understand that you and Revalantor Klbkch fear Gods. You fear one of them. Are there living Gods in this world, then?”

Ryoka jumped and looked around. Pawn lowered his mug.

“It is not a difficult thing to surmise. But it is curious. I believe in Gods…but you and Revalantor Klbkch know one exists.”

“So you do believe.”

The young woman was intent on Pawn.

“Are you a believer in Christianity, then? Are you…spreading the word of the Bible?”

Pawn paused. He shook his head.

“I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe he was born of the Virgin Mary. I believe he suffered under Pontius Pilate. I believe he was buried. I believe he descended into hell and returned. I believe he is a God. But I believe he is not my God.”

Ryoka’s jaw dropped. She struggled for words.

“How? If you can believe…how?”

Pawn shrugged.

“It is simple. He is not my God. He is yours. When God created the earth, he created animals and Humans, the earth, the sky and stars and sea. But he did not create the Antinium, Ryoka Griffin. I know this. Because we created ourselves.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. Your God cannot be ours. No matter how much we wish for it. Thus, I believe. I am an [Acolyte]. I have faith.”

“But how can you be if—”

“I believe in the Antinium. I believe in Heaven. I believe there is an afterlife, that miracles are possible, and I believe in Gods. Just as I believe the Antinium have none.”

Pawn said it simply, and spoke the truth. He believed. He believed the Soldiers who had died would not be swept away into ash and dust. He had to believe in that, because he could not trust a God to do it for him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Ryoka seemed breathless, caught between laughter and tears, incredulity and wonder. She shook her head, half-smiling.

“If I could bring you back to my world and introduce you to the Pope, or the Dalai Lama, or…or…a Jehovah’s Witness…I can’t do this. I’m not qualified to tell you anything.”

She looked at Pawn, a bit sadly, regretfully.

“I don’t believe, Pawn. I don’t, although I think there is a…a God in this world. But I would refuse to believe in him or her or it. And yet…I can’t tell you you’re wrong. I think you’re right to believe. I’m just worried.”

“Because belief is dangerous.”

“Of course.”

Ryoka Griffin sighed. She seemed old, tired. She looked at the ceiling as Mrsha slunk by her feet, chastised by Maran. Ryoka bent down to pet Mrsha, and the Gnoll stared up at her and Pawn. A child. But not a dog.

At last, Ryoka reached a decision. She took a breath and nodded, and then looked at Pawn.

“I think…yeah, I think I should tell you all about it. It’s only right, and it might help. I’ll tell Klbkch the same.”

“Tell me what?”

Ryoka smiled crookedly.

“Religions, Pawn. Not just one. Erin told you about Christianity, right? Well, I’ll fill in any gaps she might have missed and…let’s call it context. I read the Bible back to front. And I know…well, I know a bit about other religions, too. Buddhism, Sikhism, Shinto, Zoroastrianism…not everything, but I can tell you more than Erin did. If you’ll let me, I’d like to tell you about other religions, the good and the bad.”

Pawn looked at her. For the first time that day, his heart lifted. His mandibles parted, and raised in a slight smile.

“Truly?”

“If you’re going to be the first religious Antinium…you might as well be the most informed. Sure. Let’s start with Christianity.”

“I know much of what Erin has told me.”

“Yeah, I know. But did you know Christianity is only one interpretation of, well, everything? It’s part of what’s known as the Abrahamic religions—that is to say, Abrahamism. That encompasses all religions who worship the God of Abraham. But there are many religions within that definition, who believe different things. For instance, there are two other major religions—Islam and Judaism—that believe Jesus Christ was not the Son of God.”

Pawn’s mandibles opened wide, the equivalent of Ryoka’s jaw dropping. She nodded, smiling.

“For instance, in the Islamic faith, they use the Quran, another holy book instead of the Bible and believe that Muhammad was the last of God’s prophets. Now, they differ from Christianity on several fundamental issues, but have several similarities, beginning with…”

The skies opened. The snow stopped. The world warmed, and Pawn felt himself standing on the edge of the sky, looking past the horizon at something like stars. It was something vast, something distant—

But all so familiar. He wanted to reach out and touch it. That was how he felt as he listened to Ryoka. She told him about Islam, about Judaism and the difference between Catholics and Protestants, Mormons and Quakers.

And then she told him about what each religion did, how they differed. Erin had told Pawn about people eating Jesus in the form of bread—Ryoka explained the difference between transubstantiation and consubstantiation. But what was far more important than terms was how each religion worked.

“They eat braided bread instead of wafers?”

“Braided bread. Yes. That would be…challah. I think that’s what it’s called.”

Ryoka frowned, nodding to herself.

“It’s more of a food than wafers, you understand. The Jewish people will eat it on special occasions, not just before communion.”

Pawn nodded. Ideas were flashing through his head like the stars in the sky.

“Do you know how to make it?”

“Make it?”

Ryoka blinked, astounded. Pawn nodded seriously.

“I should like to try some. And…yes, perhaps I can speak to Lyonette or Erin about obtaining honey. It is not the same as wine, but I believe it may be cheaper and more palatable to the Antinium. A tiny bit of bread will not upset our systems.”

“Wait. You want bread and honey? For a communion?”

The Asian girl was blinking and frowning.

“I thought you didn’t believe in the Bible. Why adopt a religious service like it?”

Pawn looked blankly at Ryoka and shook his head sadly. She was so knowledgeable, but she did not understand.

“Because it is a religious service. Clearly, there is merit in it. So the Antinium must have the same. Not the exact same of course, since we will not worship that God. But it is a good idea.”

Ryoka was doing the open-mouthed thing again. She spoke slowly.

“You’re going to…steal the ideas of Judaism? Wait, not steal, but copy?”

Pawn nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course. And I would like to hear of non-Abrahamic religions, please. If Christianity is not the only religion, then I must hear of them all. All Human religions. Because there is so much wonder in the stories Erin told me, of God and his people. Surely there must be similar wonders in every religion. I wish to hear of it all. So I can take what the Antinium can use.”

She blinked at him. And then laughed.

“The Antinium really don’t mind about plagiarism, do they?”

Pawn lifted his mandibles in a smile.

“I do not know what that word means. But we do not shy away from copying what is glorious, what works.”

Ryoka shrugged, cracking her fingers together and making Mrsha jump underneath the table.

“Well then. I’d better get to work.”

 

—-

 

In the end, she spoke for two more hours, until Erin got back. By that point Ryoka was drinking honey water for her throat, as hoarse as she was. But Pawn had heard many good things. Chiefly among them were a few ideas.

“A shrine. Shinto. Buddhist prayer beads. And a Catholic…what did you call it?”

“A censer.”

“Hey Pawn, I talked to Klbkch!”

Erin looked triumphant, but Pawn and Ryoka didn’t glance twice at her.

“Thank you, Erin Solstice.”

“Yeah, thanks Erin. Wait, why do you want a censer, Pawn?”

Crestfallen, Erin stared at Pawn and edged slowly into the table as they kept talking.

“A censer is a powerful tool, or so it seems to me. It is different from a cross in that it has a physical presence.”

“From the incense.”

“Yes. I would like to have one, possibly on a chain as you described. That would be very convenient.”

“Uh…technically, that’s a thurible. If a censer has chains, it’s called a thurible. Sorry.”

Ryoka looked embarrassed to have contributed the detail, but Pawn nodded his head gravely.

“I will commit that to memory. Do you know how to make one?”

“Make one? Hell, it’s not hard…the trick would be describing it. Look, if you’ve got some parchment and a quill I could—”

“I’ve got one!”

Erin leapt up, surprising Ryoka and Pawn. She ran into the kitchen and came back with the items.

“Here! Draw!”

Ryoka carefully sketched out a censer, and Pawn noted the holes on the top and bottom where the burnt incense’s fragrance would drift outwards. Yes, it was just what he’d imagined.

“I would like to have one. If you will assist me with the plans, I believe I will go to a [Blacksmith] and have one commissioned.”

“If you like…”

“Hey! What about me? I could build one for Pawn!”

Erin interrupted the two, beaming. They looked at her incredulously.

“You could do it, Erin?”

Ryoka was skeptical. Erin blew out her cheeks, exasperated.

“I do have [Advanced Crafting], Pawn. I could build parts of my inn myself but…well, that’s a lot of work. The least I can do is help you build a censer.”

“Thurible. This one has chains.”

Ryoka grinned as Pawn corrected Erin. Erin rolled her eyes and then looked at Ryoka.

“So Ryoka…what does a thurible look like?”

To Pawn’s surprise, there were all the parts Erin needed at hand already. The censer was made, according to Ryoka, to allow the incense to burn and waft out of the container. It required holes, in short, which would also make it ‘holey’ according to Erin. That was apparently a joke that neither Ryoka nor Pawn laughed at.

To build the first prototype of a censer, Erin took to colanders which had been used to strain spaghetti, and put them together. She added a basin to catch the incense and ash that would fall from the bottom colander, and added a chain around the top.

“What do you think? Is that it?”

Ryoka eyed the impromptu thurible skeptically. Erin had used string to tie the basin of the colander to the basin, and she’d put a coal and some sticks of ground-up cinnamon into the colander. Now she picked up the entire affair with another bit of string and swung the censer around gently. Smoke began to drift out of the holes on the top and bottom, bringing a sweet smell that Pawn inhaled slowly.

The Runner coughed as Erin wafted the thurible at her. She waved smoke away from her face.

“It’s…sort of like a thurible, Erin. The real thing would be smaller, and less…unwieldy. Are you sure you have…[Advanced Crafting]?”

Erin glared at Ryoka as Pawn inspected the thurible.

“Hey, I don’t have [Advanced Metalworking] or whatever you need. And I don’t know what a thurible looks like!”

“Well, it’s a good start.”

Ryoka eyed the contraption with quite a bit of reserve, but Pawn shook his head as he carefully lifted the thurible up and examined it. He addressed Erin.

“I believe I can commission a smaller version later, and I will return the colander to you at another time. But for now…this is perfect.”

She beamed at him, and then tugged Ryoka away to whisper to her.

“Psst, Ryoka. What’s a colander?”

“A strainer, Erin. You’ve been using it every time to drain pasta.”

Oh. Why don’t they just call it a strainer?”

Ryoka sighed, and didn’t bother replying.

By this point, the hours had worn on and it was approaching dinner. Pawn sat at his table, feeling better. A thurible. And there were all sorts of things Ryoka had mentioned. This might help—

He paused. It would not help the Soldiers. They would still fight and die. His prayers…could not change fate.

And yet Erin had done just that. They wouldn’t have to fight! There was relief in Pawn’s heart as he considered that, and joy as he thought of sharing the thurible with the Soldiers. The other religious artifacts Ryoka had mentioned would be of interest to them too, surely. Perhaps Pawn could conduct a mass? They could enjoy themselves.

And no one would die.

He barely saw Erin get intercepted on her way to the kitchen, but Pawn’s attention was attracted when Maran, one of the [Barmaids] began pointing out the six water barrels stacked up against the wall. He heard Erin exclaiming over them, and then her cheerful voice.

“Hey, that isn’t a bad idea! It might save some time…sure, why not? We can try it out tomorrow as well. Thanks, Maran!”

She hurried back to Ryoka and Pawn.

“Guess what, guys? Maran had this great idea to buy water barrels from Celum! We can just get them filled up each day and it’ll be a lot easier than going out for water, she says! Isn’t that cool?”

Pawn nodded obediently, having no input on water barrels. But sitting across from him, Ryoka frowned.

“How much would that cost, Erin?”

“Oh…I dunno. Maran didn’t say.”

“It seems like a waste to me.”

“Yeah, but if it saves time—”

“Erin!”

Someone hurried across the floor towards them. Lyonette. Pawn sat up upon seeing her. He opened his mandibles to greet Lyonette. He had a lot of affection for all the times she had helped him, but she was focused on Erin.

“Erin, did you tell Maran you’re going to buy more water barrels tomorrow?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Lyonette! It’s a great idea, don’t you think? Maran told me she thought it would really help the inn, so I—”

“She didn’t do it to help the inn! She did it because she was too afraid to go outside and haul water!”

The anger and frustration in Lyonette’s voice made Pawn sit up. She was furious, but hissing at Erin while the other workers served the Gold-rank adventurers filing into the inn. Erin froze. Her eyes swiveled to Maran, who was busy flirting with an impassive Ulrien.

“But she said—”

“I asked them to get water from the stream and they both said no. Maran took money from your jar and went to buy six barrels! It must have cost at least twelve silver coins, and we could have gotten fresher water if we’d hauled it ourselves!”

The entire story came out quickly, Erin blinking in shock and Ryoka grimacing. When Lyonette was done and breathing heavily, Erin nodded seriously.

“Okay, that was wrong. Taking money and not listening to you? Yeah, I’ll tell them they can’t do that again, Lyon.”

Decisively, Erin walked past Lyonette. The girl looked relieved, but that relief changed to panic in a moment when Erin spoke.

“Hey Maran, Safry! Lyonette told me that earlier, you two didn’t want to haul water. But you said…”

The two [Barmaids] blinked and came over as Erin began to talk with them, frowning hard. Meanwhile, Lyonette was staring at Erin as the [Innkeeper] pointed back several times to her as she talked to the other [Barmaids].

Lyonette hurried away, taking over serving drinks while Erin scolded Maran and Safry. Ryoka and Pawn looked and saw the two barmaids were glaring daggers at Lyonette as Erin spoke with them. Ryoka covered her face.

“That moron. You don’t dress down workers in public like that. And she told them to their faces that Lyonette was…”

She was grinding her teeth together. Pawn looked at her quizzically.

“I do not understand the full context of what is happening, Ryoka. Is Erin’s hiring new employees objectionable to you?”

“No, but it looks like there’s a problem. It’s a staffing issue and Erin’s making a mistake. At least…she might be. Lyonette could be lying, or exaggerating the problem, or there’s something else at work here.”

Ryoka chewed at her lip distractedly. Pawn listened obediently, since she seemed to know what she was talking about.

“No one’s impartial in a pissing match…and office drama is always ugly, so why not [Barmaid] drama. Damnit.”

She thought for a second and then looked at him.

“Hey Pawn, how much do you trust Lyonette? I mean, how much would you trust what she said? One hundred percent?”

Pawn didn’t have to think to answer.

“She fed my Soldiers and I. She gave us honey, and offered us food when no one else would. She helped paint my Soldiers. She gave them respite and shelter. I do not know Safry and Maran. But I would trust anything Lyonette said.”

Ryoka nodded grimly.

“That’s what I thought. She’s changed. And Maran and Safry, well, they did come from Agnes’ inn…maybe I should do something about this.”

Pawn had no idea what that meant. But he felt relieved and tired. It was over. His Soldiers were safe. He could pray, and know they would be safe. Prayer was good, but knowing was better. He sagged in his seat.

“I am going to sleep.”

Ryoka blinked at him.

“Wait, what?”

But it was too late. Pawn, exhausted by fighting and grief, slowly drifted off into slumber. All would be well. He believed that.

His dreams were still filled with death. The Antinium he held in his arms had no paint on his body.

But he was still dead all the same.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.15 L

When Lyonette woke up on the third day, she didn’t want to get out of bed. For the first time she felt uneasy about working.

It was all wrong. Everything last night was supposed to go well! Erin was supposed to kick out Maran and Safry, or make it so they wouldn’t cause trouble. That was all Lyon wanted. She just wanted the other two to do their jobs without complaining, or refusing to do something.

But instead Erin had told them Lyonette was the one who had an issue with them and just lectured them! Lyonette had felt the other two [Barmaid]’s eyes on her all night. And when they’d left…

Lyonette was relieved to find it was Ishkr and Drassi who had been selected for the morning rotation. She greeted the two with a smile.

“Hello Drassi, Ishkr!”

“Hey Lyonette! Hey cute Mrsha! What’re we doing today?”

“Hrr. Morning Lyonette. Should I fetch water today to start with?”

It was strange, but Lyonette knew what to do. It was easy to assign Drassi to wait the tables since she was naturally inclined to it, and Ishkr actually seemed to prefer the trek to get water and clean the outhouses.

In the case of the outhouses of course, the trick wasn’t so much to empty them, which was a horrible thought to contemplate, but toss down some hay and dirt, hang some scented herbs up, clean the wood if it needed it, and so on. If it got full…well, Lyonette had spoken seriously to Erin about that and the solution Erin had come up with was find some kind of spell to blast the hole deeper or vaporize the mess.

Regardless, it was a joy to work with the two because Lyonette just had to tell Drassi to wait the tables, and give Ishkr a list of things that needed doing and they did them. It left Lyon with time to play with Mrsha, help out Erin in the kitchen, and in general, relax.

But the bowl-clenching and the stiff-muscles came as soon as Lyonette checked the schedule Erin had drawn up and realized she’d be with Safry and Maran for the rest of the day. It was the weekend, so the two Human [Barmaids] would be coming in to help deal with the increased traffic soon enough.

Lyonette prayed nothing bad would happen, but she remembered the look the two had given her. She consoled herself with a bit of righteous anger. It was their fault they’d refused to get water and bought things with Erin’s coin.

Trouble started when Safry came in for her first shift, just before noon. At first things were, well, not ideal, but workable. Erin had left once again, mainly to talk seriously with Ryoka about ‘stuff’ that happened to include the words ‘bicycle’, ‘light bulb’, and ‘antibiotics’, all of which were a mystery to Lyonette.

Despite that however, Safry didn’t antagonize Lyonette. She just ignored the girl. She had a job, and Lyonette had a job. All they had to do was do it and not get in each other’s way.

Still, there was no denying that Lyonette clenched her jaw and a little spasm of intense dislike flared up in her stomach every time she met Safry’s eyes. It was an unpleasant feeling, but Lyon could live with it. For today, at least.

No, the problem came from Mrsha. Lyonette hadn’t realized it, but the young Gnoll was still a very intelligent child, for all she didn’t speak. She could read subtext, and probably smell it as well. She’d had her own brushes with Safry and Maran, mainly getting in their way, and she knew Lyonette didn’t like them.

That was probably why she started her mischief. Mrsha would leap up onto a chair or table right after Safry had finished cleaning it, or pause to get in the woman’s way while she worked. The first few times Lyonette caught her and scolded her, but to no real effect. Mrsha just did it again, until Lyonette threatened to put her upstairs in her room.

“Can’t you control her?”

Safry snapped at Lyonette after the last warning. Mrsha’s eyes narrowed, but Lyonette bit back her retort and apologized for her.

The door to Celum opened and Erin and Ryoka came through. Erin was laughing happily and holding something mossy in her hand. Lyon recoiled from it, but apparently it was a useful…moss?

“It might work. If Octavia’s done her job, it’s got potential. I didn’t know you could boost the growth of fungi with mana potions, but Erin, be careful. We don’t know how other species react to it, and there might be side effects—”

“Got it! I got it! But if I try just a bit on Brunkr—okay, I’ll be careful! Don’t glare! And we’re back on time like you said.”

“Yeah.”

Ryoka glanced around the inn, looking at first Lyonette, then Safry. She frowned.

“Anyone seen Pisces?”

“I think he’s still sleeping in the basement. Or practicing magic.”

The [Mage] often woke up late, still poring over the spellbook Ryoka had bought or mumbling about proper craftsmanship and magic. Ryoka nodded. She went down into the basement and came up in a minute dragging Pisces. She shoved him into a seat and had a word with him.

She vanished after that. Pisces left too, grumbling about finding the rest of the Horns of Hammerad, and Erin was long gone into the city to give the mold—it wasn’t a moss—to Brunkr for some reason. That left Lyonette alone, well, not alone, but with Safry.

It went well for five minutes. Then Lyonette noticed Mrsha leaping up onto a table in the corner. She seemed intent on something, although there was nothing there. Someone had probably spilled a drink, but the Gnoll kept sniffing and then backing away.

And she happened to be right in the way of Safry as she was collecting dishes.

“Out of the way, Mrsha.”

Mrsha glanced up at Safry, but didn’t move. She circled the table and Lyonette called out to Safry, exasperated.

“Just leave her. If she stays there, she won’t bother anyone.”

Safry ignored her. She pointed down at the floor, and raised her voice, as if speaking to a dog.

“Down. Down.

A glance up, and then Mrsha deliberately turned her back on Safry. The [Barmaid] lost her patience. She pushed Mrsha off the table and onto the floor.

The Gnoll landed with a yelp. Lyonette dropped the dust rag she was holding as Drassi and Ishkr looked up. Safry glared down at Mrsha.

“Down. Understand?”

The Gnoll cub stared up at her. She wasn’t injured from the small fall, but she was hurt, and surprised. Lyonette lost her temper.

Stop that!

She advanced on Safry, hands balled into a fist. Safry whirled and snapped at her.

“If you’d control her better, I wouldn’t have to teach her proper manners!”

“She’s just a child! She can play wherever she wants. And if you push her again I will make sure you don’t push anything again.”

Lyonette was ready to do violence, and Safry was clearly ready for a fight. She advanced, but Drassi leapt forwards and Ishkr dragged Lyonette back.

“Hrr. Hold still Lyonette. It is not the place to fight, no? Hold!”

He was far stronger than she was, even with [Lesser Strength]. Lyon struggled a bit in his grasp, but then Mrsha was between her and Safry. The other [Barmaid] struggled out of Drassi’s grip, and Ishkr let Lyonette go after a moment.

“Keep her out of the way.”

“Touch her and—”

Lyonette went to Mrsha, still glaring at Safry. She told Mrsha to play upstairs for today, and the Gnoll agreed, sensing the air in the room. But that was it.

Lyonette was going to kill Safry.

She’d grab one of the seed cores Erin kept in the kitchen and shove it down the other woman’s mouth. Or she’d stab her from behind. Or—

These were the thoughts that filled Lyon’s head as she began working and people began coming in for the midday rush. Murder. Violence. They were comforting feelings, even if she couldn’t act on them.

But she would do something. Oh yes. Erin would hear about this at the very least! Lyon wasn’t working another day with Safry! Or Maran! When Erin came back she’d—

Erin did not come back, busy as she was with Brunkr and molds. But Maran came in for her shift soon after, and then trouble really started. Safry told Maran what had happened, and as far as the inn was concerned, there were now two mortal enemies sharing the same roof. Well, three, mortal enemies but two sides.

Safry went back to the table Mrsha had been on, cleaning it and muttering about Gnoll hair everywhere. She was just going over to wring the cloth in the bucket when her feet went out from under her.

She’d tripped. Something had struck her foot, and Safry landed hard on the ground. She looked back, enraged, thinking it was Lyonette—but the girl was across the room, teaching Ishkr where Erin kept her supply of emergency potions.

Suspiciously, Safry looked around. There was only an empty chair next to a table. Angry, having no one but herself to blame and angrier still that that was the case Safry stood up and got back to work. She ended up tripping three more times throughout the day, each time when she passed by that table.

 

—-

 

[Acolyte Level 8!]

[Skill – Mass Prayer obtained!]

 

Pawn woke up with the memory of those words ringing in his mind. He smiled as he sat up in the darkness. In his four hands he still held the thurible, missing an ember and proper incense, but perfectly workable.

He was leveling. He was on the right path. And his Soldiers would not die.

He was also in the wrong place. Pawn had thought he was in his dirt cubicle, but instead he was in a dark room, and there was a blanket covering him! He looked around, and realized he was in a corner of the Wandering Inn’s basement.

He’d fallen asleep here, and slept the night away! Dread filled Pawn and he scrambled up the stairs.

“Pawn!”

Lyonette greeted him with a strained smile, but Pawn was in too much of a hurry to notice.

“I am sorry to intrude. Is Erin here? I wish to thank her.”

“No, I think she’s out.”

“Ah. In that case I must go. I must report in to my Hive!”

He fled, hurrying down towards Liscor. Even if Klbkch did not order him into combat duty, he still had to attend a debriefing meeting with Klbkch about his Soldiers’ performance.

But he wouldn’t be ordered into combat, right? Erin had said. She’d promised. His Soldiers would be safe. They wouldn’t die.

Part of Pawn’s dream of last night nagged at him. He’d been holding a dead Antinium, one without paint. He banished the memory. That was just a dream. He would be—

The Hive was busy as ever. Pawn navigated the streams of Workers and Soldiers, looking for Klbkch.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Have you seen him? Where is he?”

Workers pointed him onwards, towards one of the areas closest to the dungeon. Apprehensively, Pawn hurried down that way, pausing to let Soldiers rush by, alert for monsters. But he found Klbkch a good ways away from the actual front.

Because Klbkch was wounded.

Pawn halted as he suddenly came to the Revalantor. Klbkch was surrounded by a wall of twenty Soldiers, all injured, some missing limbs. Klbkch was leaning against a wall, bleeding profusely from his side.

Something had torn it open. The Antinium dropped one of his silvery swords and was fumbling with a healing potion. Pawn rushed over as Klbkch got the stopper out.

“Pawn.”

The other Antinium had noticed Pawn’s arrival. He parted his mandibles weakly as Pawn stared at the green fluid rushing down his side. He had a deep cut down one shoulder as well, a blow that had split his chitin, and more, smaller cuts down his legs.

“A moment.”

Klbkch poured the healing potion over himself, carefully sprinkling it without wasting the precious liquid. The wounds closed quickly. Klbkch staggered, and then looked at Pawn. He stoppered the nearly-empty potion bottle with one hand and put it in his belt pouch.

“Pawn. I was wondering as to your location. You spent the night outside of the Hive.”

Pawn was still staring at Klbkch, at where the wounds had been. They’d closed just like that. In an instant. Of course, that was how healing potions worked, but now you couldn’t tell Klbkch had been injured. You’d never be able to tell, come to that. So long as he didn’t die, he could have been fighting a moment ago and you’d never notice…

“Yes, I—I fell asleep in the inn. My deepest apologies. I had not rested since my assignment and—”

“It is fine.”

Klbkch cut him off shortly. The Antinium hauled himself up and snapped at the Soldiers.

“Return to battle.”

They immediately dispersed, running back down the corridor. Pawn could hear a monster screaming in the distance. That left Klbkch and Pawn alone. The Revalantor nodded at Pawn.

“I was visited by Erin Solstice yesterday. She had words for me regarding your deployment.”

“Yes, I—”

Suddenly Pawn’s jubilation was gone. He felt ashamed. But Klbkch shook his head.

“Her concerns had merit. I agreed with her proposal. Your unit displayed extreme efficacy in battle, despite the dangers. Your losses…depleted a valuable resource to the Hive. In light of that, and remarks made by Xrn—”

His mandibles lowered in an Antinium grimace.

“Your unit may resume patrolling above. There is no need to report for combat duty in the Hive in the foreseeable future. We will handle matters below now that Xrn has agreed to lend her abilities when needed.”

Pawn nodded numbly.

“I understand.”

Klbkch nodded as well. He straightened and picked up the other sword he’d dropped.

“Continue training your Soldiers, Pawn. Do not worry about Belgrade or Anand. They will recover. In the meantime, I will coordinate my efforts with my Queen and Xrn to maintain the defense of the Hive.”

He turned away. Pawn watched him stride back towards the sound of battle. He wanted to say something, anything. But he couldn’t.

Suddenly, Pawn realized a hole had opened back up under his feet. He’d been thinking for so long about what had happened. He’d led his Soldiers in a battle, something he thought Klbkch wouldn’t do, couldn’t understand.

But of course the Revalantor fought. He had put himself on the line. And the Workers and Soldiers—were still fighting. Why would that stop? It was just Pawn’s unit that had been granted a reprieve, safety. Suddenly, Pawn felt as useless as before. No. Worse.

What was he doing?

What had he done?

 

—-

 

Trouble had two names. Maran, and Safry. Trouble also had a Human’s face, and was multiplied about two dozen times.

Suddenly, a huge amount of Humans had come through Octavia’s door into the inn. It had happened around one, and although it had surprised Lyonette, it hadn’t come as a shock to Maran or Safry. Now these Humans laughed and ate and did all the things guests were supposed to do…but they were Human.

And Lyon had the feeling that was just the way Safry and Maran liked it.

“I had a word with some of my friends and regular customers. I told them they should eat here. It’ll balance out the inn.”

“You mean add more Humans.”

Lyonette glared as she confronted Maran over the issue. The [Barmaid] laughed.

“So what? They’re customers. Erin will be happy. Anyways, they’re guests, and probably hungry. You can take their orders. I’m going on lunch and so is Safry.”

“What?”

Ishkr and Drassi had already gone on their break, but suddenly Maran was finding a seat and Safry was bringing over some of Erin’s magically fresh food, heated up and piping hot. Lyonette protested.

“You can’t do that!”

“We get a break. That’s the Innkeeper’s Guild’s policy and Erin agreed. We’re having lunch now. We’ll be done in thirty minutes. You can handle things until then.”

Suddenly, there were over twenty hungry people all demanding drinks and food at the same time. It was like the bad old days, but worse, because there were two [Barmaids] having a grand time watching Lyonette hurry around.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m going to feed Safry to a Rock Crab and let Maran walk into an Ashfire Bee hive…”

Lyonette was cursing under her breath, struggling to open another keg when someone held it steady for her.

“Don’t bother with monsters. Let’s just push them down the outhouse hole and put the lid down.”

Drassi grinned toothily at Lyonette as the girl stared at her. She offered a mug as Lyonette finally got a dark, amber-colored liquid to come forth and the girl hurriedly filled it.

“Thanks. I know you’re on your break.”

“Don’t mind a thing. I had to help out once I saw those fleshbags lazing about. Not you, them, I mean. I don’t know why Erin hired them.”

Lyonette made a face. She hurried over to the table and spoke as she grabbed the other two mugs Drassi was quickly filling.

“I think they thought they’d be working a lot less over here. And they’re not used to Drakes or Gnolls. I wasn’t—I learned, but it took time.”

“Think they’ll quit?”

“I’m going to talk to Erin. They’d better quit, or I’ll kill them myself after Safry bullying Mrsha.”

Lyonette’s face was a thunderhead. Drassi nodded in complete agreement, and then flicked her tail to the two [Barmaids].

“I might quit. Because if I have to listen to them ask me which Drake is which when one’s an old guy and the other one’s barely hatched—

“Don’t do that! Erin will sort things out.”

“I hope so.”

“Hrr. She had better. Or I might take up your offer with the outhouse as well.”

Someone else came to join them. Ishkr had some food ready for the Humans. He nodded awkwardly at Lyon, not as comfortable as Drassi at socializing.

“I am not cleaning myself each time I get wet walking through snow. I do not smell. I have a good sense of smell, and it is not problematic.”

“You smell wonderful.”

Lyonette smiled at him and got a wide grin in response. She felt better after that moment, and once the Humans were fed and given something to drink, she had a chance to have a short break herself.

The knowledge that Drassi and Ishkr felt like she did was a relief. It meant Lyonette wasn’t prejudiced, that she was right, and that Maran and Safry had better watch themselves around the outhouses from now on. But it didn’t solve the problem.

More guests arrived from Liscor. Erin’s inn was developing a reputation as a hangout for adventurers, and also as the only place you could get good, cheap honey, aside from buying it from a certain Gnoll. Lyonette hadn’t gone on a run to the Ashfire Bee hive in a while, and she worried she might run out.

But there were bigger problems to deal with at the moment. Drakes and Gnolls had come into the inn, some to play chess, others to enjoy an inn not completely full to the rafters, as many inns were in Liscor at the moment. Some wanted to go through to Celum. In any event, the inn was bustling before the sun had yet to fall far in the sky.

By now there was an invisible line across the inn. Maran and Safry circulated the tables where the Humans sat, chatting, laughing with them, while Lyonette, Ishkr and Drassi tried to cover all tables equally. But because the two Human [Barmaids] were focused only on half of the room, the non-Human staff and Lyonette had to focus more on their side. And the guests noticed.

They weren’t idiots. And they had eyes. More than a few Drakes glared and some of the Gnolls sniffed and muttered quietly under their breaths, words only they and the other Gnolls could hear, which made Ishkr bare his teeth.

“Hey yo!”

Erin came back at the best and worst time possible. The best time because things were really heating up and every hand was needed. Safry and Maran’s pull for humanity had resulted in more people coming through via the group effect—if everyone was here, something good had to be happening—and that was on top of a weekend crowd!

It was also bad because Lyonette didn’t have a chance to pull her aside and talk about Safry and Maran. Oh, but it was going to happen soon! At any moment! As soon as she got more water, filled a few drinks, served five plates of piping hot pepper Corusdeer steaks—

“Drassi, you serve drinks, Ishkr, can you see if we have more of the Fireshot kegs in the basement? Safry, I need you to serve the Drakes. Just memorize where they’re sitting and—”

Lyonette was ordering everyone around, backed up by the knowledge that Erin was watching. However, Safry balked when she realized Lyonette hadn’t given herself a task at this busiest point.

“What are you going to do? I’ve got my hands full!”

Lyonette pointed to the stairs where she’d seen a furry white Gnoll head giving her imploring looks.

“I’ve got to feed Mrsha. She’s hungry and she needs a snack.”

“Her? Let her wait! Half of the room has an order.”

That was a good suggestion, a decent one. And because it came from Safry, Lyonette refused to consider it.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“You can’t just—”

“Hey, what’s the problem?”

For the first time, their argument had attracted Erin’s attention. Or it would be more accurate to say, this was the first time she’d been in the inn while a disagreement took place. And it was hard for Erin to miss the two [Barmaids] scowling at each other as the room heaved with work to be done.

Lyon opened her mouth to explain, but Safry beat her to it.

“Erin, Lyonette told me she’s going upstairs to take a break!”

Erin’s mouth opened. Lyon was faster.

“To feed Mrsha!”

“Oh, well then—”

“She can do that later, surely. And she’s been giving us orders all day!”

“Why’s that—”

“I’ve been trying to work with Safry and Maran, but they—”

We haven’t been the ones letting that Gnoll run around—”

Safry was jabbing a finger at Lyon and Lyonette was trying to speak to Erin and butt Safry out of the conversation. Erin looked helplessly between the two and then raised her voice.

Enough!

The entire inn went silent. It felt as though someone had clapped a huge hand over Lyon’s mouth, knocking all the words she’d wanted to say back in. Erin looked around.

“Oops. Sorry everyone. I uh, may have used a Skill. [Crowd Control]. You know. Sorry about that.”

And then in the silence she turned back to Lyonette and Safry. And folded her arms. Lyonette gulped, because Erin was looking unusually peeved.

“Okay, what’s this about? Why is Lyonette giving orders so bad? Safry first.”

Was there a flash of triumph in Safry’s eyes? Did her speaking first mean she’d get more of say? Fear ruled hot anger and determination to be proven right in Lyonette’s bowels.

“Lyonette’s a lower level than we are. But she acts as if she’s in charge while you’re gone.”

Erin nodded.

“Right.”

She paused.

“So?”

Safry faltered.

We’re higher level! Both Maran and I are twice Lyonette’s level—”

“Okay, I get it. And Lyonette?”

Erin turned to Lyonette, cutting Safry off. Lyonette suddenly felt afraid. She couldn’t just list off all the things Safry and Maran had done, not with everyone watching! But it was now or never. She took a deep breath, and steeled herself.

“Maran and Safry don’t listen to my orders. They prefer serving Humans, and take more breaks than they should. I don’t think I should be in charge—”

Something in Lyonette squeezed tightly on that last word. That wasn’t what she should say. No, that was what part of her wanted to say, but another part, a part of her that was royalty, rebelled.

“—Actually, I do think I should be in charge. I know what’s best, and I think Maran and Safry need to listen to what I say.”

Both Safry and Erin stared at Lyon, surprised by her statement. Lyon was surprised too, and worried, but another part of her knew she had spoken her mind, and spoken the truth as she saw it.

In the silence, all eyes fell on Erin. She seemed used to that, and took only a minute before nodding to herself.

“Okay, I’m resolving this. Safry, Maran, Ishkr, Drassi, and Lyonette, everyone listen up.”

All the staff looked at Erin, worry reflected in some measure across every face. Erin met their eyes and then turned.

“Lyonette? Uh…she’s in charge.”

Relief followed vindication followed vindictive joy in seconds. But Lyonette didn’t have time to smile before Maran burst out across the room.

“But we’re higher level. That’s not right!”

Erin turned towards Maran, and Lyon saw she was frowning.

“Higher level? So what? That might be how you people do things, but not where I come from. Lyonette ran this inn while I was away. She’s got more experience.”

“But she—she hasn’t worked half as long as a [Barmaid] as we have!”

Safry burst out, but Erin was unmoved. She pointed at the floor.

“Yeah, but Lyonette’s been working here longer. She knows what’s important, and I trust her. So…you and Maran listen to her now, okay? Problem solved!”

Erin smiled and clapped her hands together. No one else moved. Safry and Maran exchanged looks, and then Safry sighed.

“Okay. I quit.”

“What?”

Erin and Lyon stared at her, wide-eyed. Safry threw up her hands.

“I’m not dealing with Lyonette! She’s impossible and I—I deserve better treatment than this! I’ve worked at Agnes’ inn for over eight years, and I know my job better than some arrogant girl who thinks she can push me and Maran around.”

“That’s right. If Safry quits, I quit too!”

Maran spoke up. Lyonette felt the purest element of rage settle into her soul. She felt she could harness that fury into some kind of incredibly destructive spell, it was that fierce. She was the problem? She was pushing them around?

But what was worse than the two [Barmaid]’s stupid dramatic exit and accusations was that it worked on Erin. She looked worried and chased after Safry as the other woman walked towards the door, but not too fast that Erin couldn’t block her way.

“Hold on Safry, let’s talk about this.”

“Either Lyonette stops or—”

“Okay, okay, let’s talk about this. Why don’t you take a break and—”

“Go ahead and leave. It’s for the best.”

Someone spoke up across the room. Heads turned as Ryoka appeared at a table, as if by magic. The watching guests murmured as she stood up and strode over to where everyone else was standing. As far as the inn’s patrons were concerned, the current tableau had turned into a better piece of live theatre than an actual play.

“Ryoka? Where did you come from? I’ve been looking for you all over!”

Ryoka pointed at an empty chair and a table that had somehow remained empty despite the full room.

“I asked Pisces to put his [Invisibility] spell over me. I’ve been hanging around here all day.”

Ryoka rubbed at her backside.

“It was a pain in the ass, and I kept having to deal with assholes trying to sit on me, but I saw what I needed to. Lyonette’s not the problem, Erin. Those two are.”

She jerked a thumb at Safry and Maran. The two [Barmaids] looked suddenly apprehensive.

“We didn’t—”

Ryoka rode right over them. She seemed to be enjoying the moment, in the way only the detective unveiling the mystery at the end of a case, or a judge handing down a sentence could be.

“I watched everything, Erin. Safry and Maran brought in humans so they wouldn’t have to serve Drakes and Gnolls as often, they can’t tell non-Humans apart, neither of them will go get water, and they take breaks when things aren’t busy. Oh, and they’ve been grade-A assholes towards Lyonette all day.”

Lyonette’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected this! But it was a relief to hear Ryoka say all of that. More than a relief.

Erin stared at Ryoka. Her eyes slid sideways to Safry and Maran, who were both looking uneasy. Erin thought, and then looked at Ryoka.

“Okay, they’re in the wrong. But—”

“Safry pushed Mrsha.”

It was just a little detail, slipped in. Erin was still formulating her next word when it hit her ears and reached her brain. She stopped.

“What?”

“I didn’t—”

Safry backed up as Ryoka turned to her. Ryoka was grinning, but it wasn’t really a grin, more like a rictus of bad feeling.

“Right, it was just a little push. And you were angry. Well, I’m just a little angry. So how about that?”

Ryoka cracked her knuckles, and Safry backed up fast. The Runner eyed her and Maran and nodded to the door.

“If you leave now, I won’t get a chance to break something. Go ahead and stay, I dare you. We’re in Liscor, and I bet Zel wouldn’t bat an eye if I broke your nose for bullying Mrsha.”

“I—”

“Okay! Stop!”

Erin grabbed Ryoka’s shirt and pulled the girl back. Ryoka nearly fell backwards as Erin dragged her away. Erin got between Ryoka and looked at Safry and Maran.

“No one’s beating up anyone. But I’ve heard enough. Safry, Maran, I don’t like to say it, but I believe Ryoka and Lyonette. So you’re both fired. Get out of my inn.”

The two [Barmaids] looked horrified. Lyonette suspected neither had been serious when quitting before, and now they protested loudly.

“You can’t just fire us!”

“I did. Just now.”

Erin crossed her arms, looking uneasy, but also deeply upset. Safry glared at her, turning her ire over the entire situation into unrighteous fury.

“You can’t take away our jobs!”

“You just quit.”

“What are we supposed to do without jobs? Agnes won’t have us back! You owe us pay if you’re going to fire us. The Guild says—”

“I’m not paying you for today. Lyonette says you were miserable, and you pushed Mrsha so just—just go away! I paid you yesterday, so be happy you got that!”

Erin was clearly unhappy, but she stood her ground as the two protested. Ryoka kept trying to edge around her, and Erin was busy pushing her back. Maybe that was why Safry and Maran took a stand.

“We refuse to leave! This isn’t fair! You promised us paying jobs, and now you’re taking them from us! You told us we’d be working in an inn, not hauling water and avoiding monsters, or dealing with [Necromancers], or Ants—”

None of it was true. Some of it was true. It didn’t matter. Because while Ryoka had lost her temper, Lyonette had blown her lid, and Safry and Maran had been furious, it was when Erin got angry that things got scary.

Mrsha was tangled around Erin, Ryoka was fighting to get towards one of the [Barmaids]. They were shrieking at her, and Lyonette saw the world start to shimmer around Erin.

Something changed. The air became hot, and turmoil leaked into the room, grabbing at the hearts of those within. The floor shook as the inn rumbled, and the oppressive menace seeped upwards, grabbing, clutching—

Leave.

Erin Solstice was a thing that stood in the dark hallways of fury, watching, waiting, arms folded. Mrsha was a beast of claws and teeth that reached out to engulf and consume.

It was an illusion, but it still frightened Lyonette. And she wasn’t the target. The [Inn’s Aura] Skill sent Safry and Maran running screaming towards the door. They vanished into Octavia’s shop with a crash of broken glass and the [Alchemist] shouting and the air of menace faded.

And then it was over. The room cleared, and Erin turned around, looking embarrassed. She found half of her patronage on the floor, the other half frozen with hands on swords. Her cheeks went red, and then she looked at Lyon.

“Why did all that happen, Lyon? I thought you said things were good.”

Lyon had no reply. Now that the two were gone, shame and regret was the menu of the day. She choked on a reply.

“I—”

“It wasn’t her fault, Miss Erin.”

Drassi peeked out from under a table and crawled out. She looked at Lyon.

“Lyon was doing her job, but the other two were…well, they thought they could do less. They just didn’t work as hard as she did, and it was obvious they weren’t at home with our kind.”

“Or ours. One Gnoll is fine, but six is too many, no?”

Ishkr came over, hair slowly settling back down all over his body. Mrsha still looked poofed up to twice her size. Erin sighed, looking helplessly at the floor.

“But they were so nice. I worked with Maran and Safry and I never had a problem once!”

“I guess they were a bit like Agnes. Good, but not great. Nice, but not adaptable. Flawed.”

Ryoka shrugged when Erin glared at her. Erin sighed and muttered as she kicked at the ground.

“Why are things so hard? When Toren was here I never had to worry about him working. Now I hire friends and it turns out they were bad all along.”

When Toren was here. Lyon heard a ringing sound. She didn’t realize she was striding up to Erin before she was shouting in her face.

“Toren? He was horrible!”

“Wha?”

Erin blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden anger. The crowd ducked back down as the shouting entered overtime.

“Toren was a nightmare! He was the worst!”

“He wasn’t that bad—he was good before he abandoned me and went crazy.”

No!

Lyonette screamed the word in Erin’s face, shouting for the first time in…it was all the pent up emotions, all the things she’d wanted to say spilling out at the wrong time in the wrong place.

“He wasn’t ever good! He was always a monster! He’d push me into Shield Spider nests, make me run for miles without rest, hit me, abandon me in the middle of nowhere for hours…he was your skeleton, but you never controlled him! At all!”

Erin was staring at Lyonette, and slowly the girl realized she was screaming at her employer. She went white, but kept speaking. The words had to be said.

“You never noticed. You never believed me. That was my fault. But you don’t listen to me, or trust me. Even now.”

She looked into Erin’s eyes. The girl stared back shocked, hurt, and guilty. It was everything Lyonette had wanted to say. Everything. Now it was over. Lyonette turned, and ran out of the inn.

 

—-

 

Pawn walked through the corridors of his Hive in a daze. He felt confused, despairing, lost.

He’d made a huge mistake. The biggest. No one was better off now that he and his Soldiers weren’t on the front lines. The Antinium were still dying. His people were still dying.

The only difference was that Pawn was safe from it all. Safe, to play with faith and lead his Soldiers around as if nothing was happening.

Pawn stormed into the empty barracks where he slept. He hurled the thurible into his cubicle and hit the Antinium sleeping there. A Worker jerked awake. He was sleeping in Pawn’s spot.

Of course. A second shift. Pawn hurried over.

“I am so sorry. Accept my deepest apologies, please—”

The Worker got up and bent to help Pawn pick up the thurible which was still somehow intact. He bowed to Pawn as Pawn tried to apologize and said one word.

“Individual Pawn.”

It was a word that crushed Pawn. The Worker was acknowledging his status. He, Pawn, was an Individual, someone of unique value to the Hive. A Worker’s life was dust compared to that. Pawn could have hurled the thurible into the Worker’s face, told him to leave the cubicle so Pawn could sleep, and the Worker would have done just that.

Because he didn’t matter. He might be sent to combat duty right after this, but Pawn was safe. Because he was special. Because Erin had talked to Klbkch. So his Soldiers would be safe. But the other Soldiers without paint would die.

Nothing was better. Pawn stumbled away, clutching the thurible.

He was useless. Worse than useless.

He was a coward.

 

—-

 

Ryoka found Lyonette sitting on a patch of cleared grass, about five minutes away from the inn. The Runner noticed that despite Lyonette being hunched over in a ball of misery in the snow, she’d still put two of the dried seed cores in the snow by her side.

She also looked up when she saw Ryoka approach, and then quickly looked away. It was all sensible, even in her grief. That was what Lyonette was, in a way. More sensible, more adult.

But still young.

And now she had no job. Lyonette didn’t raise her head when the crunching stopped and she sensed Ryoka standing next to her. She waited for the Runner to speak, but when Ryoka didn’t, Lyonette spoke up so the silence wouldn’t consume her.

“How did you know?”

“Mrsha and Ishkr showed me the way you’d gone. Gnoll noses are handy.”

Lyonette looked up. Her eyes were blurry and her nose was running horribly, so it was hard to see.

“Is Mrsha—”

“She’s back at the inn. Moore’s levitating her so she can’t run off.”

Slowly, Ryoka sat down next to Lyonette. She patted herself down for tissues, cursing over leaving her belt pouch in the inn. Lyonette just wiped her face on her sleeve, which was disgusting, but effective.

“I’m gone, aren’t I? Erin’s going to fire me.”

“No she’s not. She’d never do that.”

“Really?”

“If she did, I’d have to kick her ass, or try, and Mrsha would bite her all over. You were right to shout at her back there. Okay, maybe you screamed a bit, but I think you deserved the chance.”

“I didn’t mean all of it. It’s just—”

Lyonette wiped at her eyes. Her tears were hot, but they froze so quickly in the cold. Ryoka silently pulled off her coat. She had a second one on, and Lyonette had run out in the cold. She winced when Lyonette buried her face in the soft fabric rather than put it on.

“Sounds like you really had it rough with Toren. I’m sorry. I didn’t know either, and I was there for part of it.”

“I thought—I thought he’d kill me if I told, sometimes. Other times I didn’t care, but no one listened. Because I always complained. When he was gone…at first I was the happiest I could ever be, until I realized Erin was gone too. And then you left…”

Guilt passed over Ryoka’s face like a shadow.

“Yeah.”

“But.”

Lyonette raised her face wretchedly. Her tears were drying up.

“I think I was happiest when Erin was gone. Really. I was. It sounds crazy, but after I started working—when I had to do everything myself, I started being happy. Because I was doing it all! I was actually keeping the inn running, and feeding Mrsha, and getting guests—I did it. All by myself.”

“Huh.”

Ryoka sat with Lyon in the snow as the other girl shivered and cried a bit.

“I did it. I got honey, I helped Pawn. I did it all. Then Erin came back and she did so much I couldn’t dream of! She had a magic door, magic food, she knows all these recipes, and she can cook…

“But she wasn’t the one who got all the Gold-rank adventurers and Zel Shivertail to stay at your inn, right? She didn’t keep Mrsha happy. Neither did I.”

“I know it’s silly, but I just thought she’d trust me after that!”

Lyonette sobbed into her coat. Ryoka paused.

“She should have. But Erin…I don’t think it was about trust. She just did what she thought was best and, well, it backfired for once. Only it looks like you had to deal with it.”

“It’s not her fault!”

“It really is.”

Ryoka sat next to Lyonette as the girl gulped down air.

“I just don’t know why I feel so unhappy sometimes!”

She confessed to Ryoka, shivering as the wind blew.

“I want to do more, make more decisions even though it’s Erin’s inn. But I know it’s hers. I was just managing it. I know that, but I still want…to be an [Innkeeper] too. Or be something else. I know it’s bad.”

“It’s not bad.”

Ryoka’s voice was soft as she poked at some ice-crusted snow. She glanced at Lyonette. The girl was wiping at her face again.

“I don’t know why I feel this way. I should be happy. Mrsha’s here, I have a good life, I get paid, no one’s after me or angry with me…”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s because you’re a terrible [Barmaid].”

Ryoka sensed the other girl looking up. She coughed delicately.

“What I mean by that is that you’re not meant to be serving people drinks. You’re good at your job—too good, in fact. A decent [Barmaid] is someone like Safry, who works hard but not too hard. She’s a lazy, prejudiced, arrogant bitch at times too, but she does her job and that’s it. If she were a great barmaid, she wouldn’t have all those qualities. But you—you’re different.”

She looked over at Lyonette and saw the girl staring at her, red-eyed, shivering. It wasn’t a glamorous face, but the owner of it had the courage to walk into a nest full of bees big enough to put a stinger right through her skull. Looks were deceiving.

“Erin’s perfect as an [Innkeeper] because it seems like she can make her inn do whatever she wants. But you have too many ideas to just serve drinks for her. You’re too capable. You should be an [Innkeeper] yourself, at the very least. But then, you’re not meant for that either, are you? You are a [Princess].”

An indrawn breath. Ryoka nodded.

“Thought so. Let’s keep that a secret between us, huh?”

“How did—”

“It’s not exactly hard to guess, at least, back when you were screaming about how important you were. Look, it doesn’t matter to me, although I’d keep it a secret. But I think it means you can do more than just serve drinks, that’s all. You were managing those other two pretty well when Safry and Maran weren’t getting in the way.”

She nodded back in the direction of the inn. Lyonette didn’t know what to say.

“But I’m a failure. I never reached more than Level 5 in my [Princess] class.”

“Really? Level 5? That’s interesting. Maybe the you back then didn’t have a chance or you were…spoiled rotten and bratty. But now, I think if you put your mind to it, things might change.”

Ryoka grinned. Lyonette stared at her, parts of her chest lighting up from within.

“You think so?”

“It’s worth a shot. Being a [Princess] isn’t just about where you are or what you’re wearing. It’s what you do. And I think the most princess-like thing you did was stand up for Mrsha back then. Which reminds me, you know magic, don’t you?”

“Yes. I was tutored a bit, but I never learned much. Just a few spells like [Light]. Hardly anything.”

“[Light]’s the most basic and useful thing in the world. Don’t knock it. For instance, light can do this.”

Ryoka raised a finger, and in the desolate landscape, light flashed. Lyonette cried out and shielded her eyes. When she could see, Ryoka looked abashed.

“Sorry. But now you’ve seen it, you can copy it. I call it [Flashbang]. Well, that’s only half of it. You also make a sound like this—”

This time Lyonette clapped a hand to her ears, but the bang was still deafening. Ryoka nodded at her as she took trembling hands away from her ears.

“You could probably learn that in a bit.”

“But how—I never knew a spell like that existed!”

“There’s probably some version of it out in the world. Pisces might know it. But I invented that myself. It’s just a bit of protection magic. If you’re gifted enough, you should try learning that and a few more spells. Typhenous or Ceria might teach you. And pick up a sword while you’re at it.”

“You think I should do all that?”

Learn to use a sword. Learn to use magic. More classes. The idea burned in Lyonette like a flame built of tinder, burning hot but quick to be extinguished. But Ryoka nodded as if that were natural.

“A princess should know how to do all kinds of things. I know it’s not good to have too many classes, but…well, it’s just a hunch. If a princess really knows her people, then she should know what they do, at least a bit.”

She smiled at Lyon, and the girl smiled back.

“No one in my family would ever think that way.”

“Yeah? What level are they?”

Lyonette was speechless. Ryoka sighed, and stood up.

“That was probably rude of me. Sorry. But you look like you’re feeling better.”

That was true. Lyonette felt better. She was still unhappy, but that was because all that had just passed, not because of the future. Ryoka smiled at her, awkwardly. She was a bit like Ishkr. If she worked at the inn, Ryoka would probably let her gather Ashfire Bee honey and go shopping by herself.

“I’ve got to go. I’m taking Mrsha to visit Garia’s family tonight and staying over for a day or two. Don’t worry; I think it’ll be fine when you return. Erin’s falling over herself trying to find ways to apologize, and those other two seem to think you’re worth listening to.”

“I’ll go back and apologize—”

Lyon stood up, but Ryoka held up a hand.

“If I were you, I’d keep Erin sweating just a bit longer. She needs to think more about other people sometimes.”

She winked as Lyonette stared up at her and jogged off. Lyonette watched her go, and wondered if Ryoka had been like her once. Or maybe she just understood what Lyon was going through.

It was a [Barmaid] that left the inn, sobbing, guilty. But it was a [Princess] that trudged back. A princess wearing a coat with snot and tears all over it, and a [Princess] whose eyes were red and whose nose still ran, but a [Princess] nevertheless. She couldn’t forget that.

She was a [Princess].

With levels in the [Barmaid] class.

 

—-

 

Pawn waited until his shift and slept. He didn’t know what he’d done in the meantime. He just…existed until the point where he could consign himself to oblivion for a little while. Then he woke.

He felt like a zombie, lifeless, shambling along. The exhilaration that had filled him yesterday was gone.

How could he have been so blind? His people died no matter what he did. How could he be so happy over a useless Skill, two level ups?

[Mass Prayer]. What good was that? What good was praying, together or alone? It did nothing. Pawn turned, and punched the dirt wall of his sleeping area.

“Useless.”

He would have slept there, letting other Workers file in and out if someone hadn’t approached his hiding place. Pawn looked up when the light filled the dark room.

“Pawn. I have been looking for you.”

Xrn, the Small Queen, bent over Pawn as he clutched the thurible to his chest. He stared up at her, radiant, her eyes shining with magic.

“Go away.”

“I cannot do that, Pawn. I am told you have not visited your Soldiers in days. They are waiting for you. They are restless. They need you to lead them.”

“I deserve to lead no one. All I did was get them killed. Protecting me.

“Fighting. They fought for the Hive.”

“At my command. They did it for me. It was my fault.”

A pause. Xrn bent down next to Pawn, scrutinizing him curiously.

“But they are Soldiers. They are made to fight. What else would they do?”

“Live.”

Pawn whispered the word.

“I don’t want them to die. I want them to live.”

“Some may live if you command them. If not, what do you think will happen? Refuse, and they will be put on the front lines. Forced to fight. Without you.”

The knowledge was bitter, undeniable. Pawn didn’t respond. He heard Xrn sigh.

“What if one of the other Individuals led them? Your friend Belgrade, or Anand.”

“They’re [Tacticians]. They can do it. They know how to lead.”

“Pawn.”

“Go away. I am sulking.”

“I will not go. I am going to convince you to get up, Pawn. You see, I am no [Leader] either, Pawn. I am a [Thaumaturge], a class derived from [Mage]. I did not choose to lead either.”

Pawn shook his head, denying Xrn to her face.

“That is a false argument. You were created for the role. You are one of the Centenium, a Prognugator. You are a leader. I am not like you. I cannot do what you do. I cannot…lead an army. I cannot lead a single Worker.”

“But you are a [Tactician] as well, are you not? Like Belgrade and Anand. If they lead, why will you not?”

“Because a [Tactician] orders Soldiers to fight and die! I cannot do that. I can only stand and let the Soldiers fight themselves. But I cannot—I am not like Belgrade or Anand. I do not see the link between the chess board and reality! I have no talent for it, do you understand?”

Pawn cried out. He uncurled from his ball and stood up, shaking.

“What kind of a [General] sits and hides behind his Soldiers and does nothing. What kind of leader would do that?”

Xrn stared at him. Pawn was breathing heavily, his mandibles closing and parting.

“I cannot fight. If I did—my Soldiers would die protecting me. I have no talent for it. I cannot lead. I cannot order them to battle. I have no talent for that either. I can only ask them to die for me. I can do nothing else. What can I give them?”

Something in Pawn whispered. Faith. Hope. Identity. He forced the feeling down. It wasn’t enough. It was enough to live for, but not enough to ask them to die for. Xrn shook her head. She did not know either. The part of Pawn that had hoped she would curled up in despair again.

“I have no answer. But you cannot hide from your duty forever.”

“Why? What is my duty? Is it to my Queen? My Hive?”

Xrn nodded.

“Partly. But you have a greater duty still, Pawn of the Free Antinium. The duty all Antinium share.”

“What is that?”

“The duty of the Antinium, Pawn, is to survive. We go to war, we struggle, and we die, all for the same purpose. That some may live. That one may live. All this time, across thousands of miles and an ocean, we have come for one reason. To survive.”

It was the same phrase, the same idea, wrapped up differently. Pawn turned away, bitter.

“At what cost?”

“Anything less than the whole of our species is acceptable.”

“Not to me. Go away.”

He turned back to his cubicle. He felt Xrn’s eyes watching him. Eventually she left. And once again, Pawn went to find Erin.

 

—-

 

He didn’t find her. Erin was in the city, screaming at and being screamed at by a Miss Agnes and other people named Safry and Maran, according to the Drake who greeted him at the door. He sat miserably in the inn, not touching his food until Zel found him.

“You look like chewed up Creler bait. Pawn, right?”

He didn’t know why, but the Drake [General] sat with him, waiting for Pawn to speak. Pawn wanted to and feared to at the same time. He looked sideways at Zel.

“I thought you did not like Antinium.”

The Drake coughed a few times.

“True. But Erin and Lyonette happened to mention you led some soldiers into battle for the first time a few days ago. I’ve been there. I thought I might…listen. That’s all.”

Pawn stared at him, at Zel Shivertail a [General], a Drake hero. The words tumbled out too fast for him to stop.

“I let them die. They were defending me and—”

“Stop.”

Zel made Pawn stop and repeat the story from the start. The Drake shook his head.

“Sounds like every story I’ve heard. You went in, you fought. And some of your soldiers died. There’s not a commander on the continent that hasn’t felt like you have.”

“Really?”

Pawn sat up a bit. Zel nodded seriously.

“The key is knowing that they fought for a reason. If it was a bad reason, well, that’s a problem. But they fought because they believed in you, Pawn. Honor that, and keep leading them, or what was the point?”

Pawn sagged.

“That’s not the problem. It is that I cannot lead them.”

“Why not?”

“I keep telling everyone, I am no leader. I cannot order them in battle. But if I do not—”

“Who will?”

Zel was nodding. The Drake seemed to understand Pawn’s dilemma more than most.

“And if you don’t, who will? If you don’t, folks still die. Blood’s on your claws either way.”

“Exactly.”

Pawn shivered.

“Is there a good answer for this, Zel Shivertail?”

Zel paused, and the Antinium knew the answer already. Then the Drake spoke.

“You know, hearing what you’re going through reminds me of what I used to hear from Sserys all the time.”

“Who is that?”

“Oh, no one special. You wouldn’t remember. Anyways…”

The Drake trailed off and then shook his head briskly. He looked at Pawn.

“He told me to keep looking around, at my officers, at my soldiers. In each battle, in war, in peace, look for someone who can inspire others. Someone with talent, courage, a spark. And then to nurture that spark until that individual can surpass me. Only then would I step aside.”

“If no one else can command, you must.”

It was a very Drake-like thing to think. Pawn understood. Zel nodded, swishing his tail slowly across the floor.

“How about it? Do you see anyone in your command who could lead better than you? Or are you the only one who can do what’s right?”

He looked at Pawn, gingerly resting his claws on the Antinium’s shoulder. Pawn realized what he was supposed to say, that there was no one else. This was his duty. But that would be a lie.

“Every single Soldier under my command knows war better than I, General Shivertail. Any of them could lead. I cannot.”

It wasn’t the right answer. But it was in Pawn’s heart. Zel sighed and turned away.

“I understand. But your Soldiers have no command, Pawn. I’ve fought them long enough to see that. Some might gain a high [Soldier] class, and they’re a terror to fight on the battlefield. But in the end, a [Soldier] is just a soldier. He cannot lead. You can.”

He left Pawn then, because he’d said all he could. Pawn sat there, waiting for nothing, waiting for Erin, when someone spoke his name.

“Pawn?”

It was Lyonette. She sat with him as a Gnoll covered for her. Pawn stared at Lyonette.

“Hello.”

“You look terrible. What’s wrong? Are you…it’s the Soldiers, right?”

She knew. Pawn didn’t have to explain. He felt relieved. But some part of him kept talking, kept explaining anyways.

“Everyone tells me I should lead, should bring my Soldiers back into battle. But I cannot be a leader. I tell everyone this. There is no [General] who is useless. Belgrade, Anand, Klbkch…they can all fight, and tell Soldiers how to do battle. Even Bird could inflict damage if he led a unit. But I…I am not a warrior. How can I lead Soldiers who will fight for me?”

He expected Lyonette to come up with some sage advice like the others. But she just shrugged.

“I don’t know. If you think you can’t lead them, then you can’t. But they still trust you, right?”

Pawn nodded. His painted Soldiers would follow him to the ends of the earth. They would fight any foe for him; sacrifice their lives if they had to. He was not worthy of that.

“In that case, maybe you’re not like a [General], then. Maybe you’re like me.”

Pawn paused. He looked over.

“Like you? I am not Human. I am not female. I am not a [Barmaid].”

“But you are bad at fighting. So am I. And I…am a [Princess].”

He stared. Lyonette smiled as she looked around conspiratorially.

“What you’re facing sounds like what I’d do in war. [Princesses] and [Queens] don’t lead armies. Most of them don’t, anyways. Back home…no one would dream of it. I hear it’s different in Chandrar and Rhir, but Terandrian nobility don’t let women fight.”

“Then what do you do if a battle occurs?”

“Nothing. We just sit behind our warriors. But because we’re there, it matters. You see?”

“Not at all. Please explain.”

Lyonette sat with Pawn at the table and drank from his mug, since he wasn’t thirsty. She slowly began to speak.

“There was a story my mother used to tell me, of a [Queen] who was ambushed while her nation was at war. Her protectors fought while she sat on a chair in the middle of the battlefield, not moving, not trying to run.”

“But if she had run—”

“Her warriors would have to protect her, and they might get hurt trying to shield her. She might do more damage running, get it? But since she stayed still, they could fight knowing she was protected by them. In my mother’s story, the battled raged on and the Queen’s soldiers were falling back, but then she said one word. ‘Fight.’”

“And they did?”

Lyonette smiled.

“One word from her inspired her soldiers to drive the enemy back. They didn’t want her to take up arms herself. They knew their Queen couldn’t fight. But because she believed in them and showed not a trace of fear on her face, they fought like heroes to protect her. Because she was worth dying for.”

“But what if she was not? What if she was worthless?”

“It didn’t matter. Because they believed. And whose belief mattered most? Hers? Or theirs?”

Pawn thought of his Soldiers. He stirred. Something in him stirred.

“If they fought, they would die.”

“Some. But it’s their choice, isn’t it? The [Queen]’s soldiers could have run. But they held their ground.”

“And if they all die?”

Lyonette’s face twisted. She looked sad.

“I guess they died fighting for what they believed in. That’s something. I don’t know.”

Belief. Pawn’s head lowered. He looked down at something clutched in his hands. It was called a thurible.

Religion. A class. Leading Soldiers. Thurible. All the pieces came together. Pawn stood up.

“I know what I must do.”

“Lead?”

“Something close to it.”

The pieces all fit. Pawn was not worthy of being a leader. But he was good at one thing. One thing. And if…

He started for the door, and stopped to look at Lyonette.

“Thank you. Your advice helped me greatly.”

“Don’t go just yet.”

To his surprise, Lyonette stopped him. She studied him critically.

“Before you go, you need to learn how to act. If you’re going to lead. Even if it’s just walking with your Soldiers.”

“Why? What is wrong?”

“You walk like a peas…like someone afraid of the world. But if you’re leading others, you must do it bravely, gracefully. Like this.”

Lyonette’s head rose. She stared down at Pawn, and suddenly she looked a bit taller, a bit straighter. He stared.

“How are you doing that?”

She smiled and showed him.

“Head straight, chin up. Look ahead, not down. Straighten your spine…or whatever it is you have. Don’t hunch up. Stand like this.”

When Pawn walked towards the door this time, he walked straighter than he had in his life. The world seemed a bit lower down, and a bit brighter for some reason. Lyonette walked with him.

“You’ll be okay? You’ll be safe?”

“I hope so. But I do not know. I only know…yes, I know what I must do.”

“And what’s that?”

Lyonette held the door open for him. Pawn clutched the thurible, a packet of cinnamon, and a few unused coals to his chest. He nodded at Lyonette.

“I will pray.”

 

—-

 

They were waiting for him when he returned. They had been there, waiting. He had left them, but they had not left. They had faith he would return.

Would that he had the same. Pawn stood before his Soldiers and raised his voice. He looked among them, each one different, and each one unique. Precious.

Irreplaceable.

“We will go back into battle.”

They did not stir. This was not a surprise to them. They accepted death like life. But Pawn had to explain.

“I do not wish for any of you to die. I would rather die than let that happen.”

They did stir then. The Soldiers looked at Pawn. He bowed his head.

“You are not just Soldiers to me. You are my people. You should not die. But if you do not fight, others of our kind will die. Either way, we die. We as the Antinium die.”

The Soldiers looked at each other. Pawn stared down at them.

“To fight is to die, and that is unbearable. But to do nothing is worse still. If we can fight to protect our people, so that others may live, it is right.”

They did not nod. But each one of them agreed in his own way. Pawn nodded.

“But I cannot command. I am no [General], no [Tactician], and no [Mage]. I cannot do anything for you.”

Silence. Pawn stared at the Soldiers, who looked back. Confused. If he would not lead, who would? The Antinium needed a leader. When Pawn spoke next, it was a whisper.

“You. Step forwards.”

He pointed at one of the Antinium, the one with yellow spatters of paint. The Soldier stepped forwards slowly. He was a Soldier like the others. But he had been one of the first Pawn had led above. He had survived. And a Drake grandmother recognized him. These were all small reasons. But enough.

“I am not worthy of a command. I do not know war. But you do. You have fought longer than I have. You know battle. You know each other. So come. Step forwards.”

The Soldier approached. Pawn walked towards him, and put a hand on the Soldier’s chest. The Soldier stared down at him. Pawn’s voice was trembling.

“As Individual Pawn, given command of this unit of Soldiers, I, with the authority of my Hive, promote you. You are no longer a [Soldier]. You are a [Sergeant].”

The world stopped. The soldier with yellow spatters froze. The other soldiers stared at him. Pawn lowered his hand.

“It is heavy. It is difficult. But you are fit for command. You can lead the others. You will be their leader.”

Yellow Spatters stared down at Pawn. The Soldier was filled with emotions he couldn’t name, feelings that words wouldn’t describe. He turned, and suddenly every Soldier in the room was staring at him.

No. Not every Soldier.

His Soldiers.

The knowledge drove Yellow Spatters to his knees. But someone was by his side.

“You will not be alone. We will go to the front within the hour. I have requested it.”

We. The word made every Soldier look at Pawn. He was holding something in his hands. The Worker stared around at the other Soldier as he lit a flame.

“I cannot be your leader. I cannot. But I could never abandon you. I will walk with you in battle. I will be by your side. I will do the only thing I can do.”

The flame caught. The ember glowed as Pawn held it in a hand. He dropped it into the thurible, and the incense began to burn. It was not frankincense or myrrh. It was cinnamon sticks, ground finely. It was sweet, and the smoke drifted across the Soldier as Pawn walked past them.

“Come.”

 

—-

 

Xrn found Klbkch, tired, overseeing a group of Workers as they struggled to repair a wall. Workers and Soldiers filled the Hive, tirelessly moving from place to place.

“Klbkch. I am told Pawn went to see you.”

“Yes, he did. It was curious.”

Klbkch answered shortly, exhausted and tired as he was from fighting. He noticed Xrn staring at him in concern and straightened a bit.

“What was so odd about it?”

“Many things. Pawn requested to be assigned to combat duty with his entire unit of Soldiers.”

Xrn stared at Klbkch. Electric flashes of yellow alarm shot through the green nebula of surprise filling her eyes.

All of them?”

“That is what I said.”

Klbkch turned to look at Xrn. Surprise was written across the Small Queen’s face, a rare sight. Her voice trembled a bit as she asked the next question.

“When is he to go into battle?”

Klbkch smiled.

“Right now.”

 

—-

 

The Hive. Workers and Soldiers marched in an unending flow down one of the tunnels. One of many in the Hive. Despite the Antinium’s reputation for silence, the hallways were still filled with sound. The echoes of footfalls, the shifting of bodies—these were all sounds that occupied the air.

There were no voices, though. The sounds of footfalls, of bodies moving and the air rustling was just noise. There was a kind of silence even when Soldiers were rushing down the tunnels. The silence of those without words.

And then the silence was broken. A single sound suddenly pierced the repetitive noises, a distinctive aberration.

Click.

The sound echoed down the corridor, causing the lines of Soldiers and Workers to slow. It was a sound none of them had heard, not like this.

Click.

It was too loud, and it echoed. It was not the click of a single mandible, but countless ones. It was a strange sound, and all the Workers and Soldiers looked around for the source.

Click.

There it was again. Now all heads turned to look down the corridor. The Antinium stopped. They looked. And then they stared.

Someone was walking down the hallway. It was a small shape, like the others. And not.

A Worker walked slowly down the lines of Antinium, the others parting before him. He held something in his hands. A censer, bound by string. A thurible, leaking smoke that smelled like nothing the other Antinium had ever experienced.

The incense drifted as the Antinium slowly shook the thurible. He walked forwards, and smoke drifted past him like mist.

And others followed. Soldiers, the painted few walked, stepping, stopping, following in the Worker’s wake. And then the other Antinium heard it.

Click.

Each time they stepped, the Soldier’s mandible clicked together, making that distinctive sound. They made that sound. The Soldier, who had no voice. Yet the sound was an echo, a thunder.

A word for the voiceless.

And then those around the Worker heard something else. A resonance. A feeling in the air. Quiet. It came from the Worker.

He was…humming. The other Antinium had never heard a sound like it. Pawn’s voice was low, deep, and resonant. It should not have filled the huge tunnel, but it did.

Click.

Each Soldier’s mandible snapped together at the same time. The sound was louder than any Rock Crab could ever make, a snap that broke the air and echoed for miles in the Hive.

Click.

Another step.

Click.

The Antinium parted, and Pawn and the painted Soldiers followed him. Workers and Soldiers alike paused in their duty, going to war, carrying supplies, going to rest. Each one saw something, heard something they had never experienced in that moment.

Each one.

“I do not understand.”

Tersk clutched at his bare chest. His hands met only chitin, and he stared as Belgrade used his two good arms to support himself against a wall. Tersk’s voice was hoarse, strained.

“I cannot express this word. This feeling. What is it? I see Pawn. But it is not just him. There is something…”

His voice trailed away. Belgrade stared at Pawn as the Worker walked the halls of his Hive. To battle. His head was lowered, and the Worker prayed. Behind him, the Soldiers did the same. Belgrade had a word for it, and he spoke it for Tersk to hear.

“Faith.”

 

—-

 

They watched as the Antinium passed. They alone saw and understood the rest. Xrn clutched at Klbkch’s arm, so tightly he thought his body might break.

“Oh Klbkch. Do you see him? He is just like we were once.”

“He is not. It is not…not the same.”

It was pride that made Klbkch say that. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of Pawn. The click of the Soldier’s mandibles echoed in his soul. He saw another group in their shadow. Antinium of the past, long gone.

Heroes.

Xrn shook her head, her eyes not leaving Pawn.

“No. It is exactly the same. They have not forgotten Klbkch. These fragments, these children, they have the same spirit. The same courage.”

She whispered.

“They are Antinium.”

 

—-

 

He had no name. He was a Soldier. He had no identity. If there was any way to distinguish him now, it would be Soldier with a Damaged Antennae. Both of his had been damaged in a skirmish with cave Goblins.

Now Soldier with a Damaged Antennae fought desperately, punching with his fists at a huge suit of enchanted armor. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae had no fear, but he realized he would die. The suit of armor had lost his axe, buried in two of Soldier with a Damaged Antennae’s friends, but he was too tough.

Too strong. The armor struck Soldier with a Damaged Antennae with a kick that broke something in the Antinium’s chest. The Soldier stumbled, fell. He put one of his hands to his chest as he grabbed the armor with his other three hands and tried to hold him back.

Green blood. A lot of it. This was it. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae tried to muster the strength to fight, but his arms gave in despite themselves. The armor threw him to the ground and raised a foot. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared up, waiting for death.

Then there was color.

Someone charged into the suit of armor, throwing it backwards. The fallen Soldier stared, as a Soldier with yellow spatters of color on his carapace tackled the enchanted armor, throwing it backwards. A huge fist rose, and then smashed into the enchanted armor’s chest plate.

Aid had come. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae struggled to rise. The other Soldier could not do it alone. But he was so weak! Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stumbled up.

And then he saw it. A fallen suit of armor, chest plate caved in. The Soldier with yellow spatters of paint rose, uninjured, and turned. He raised an arm and the ground shook. Soldiers painted in every color thundered past him.

Soldier with a Damaged Antennae had no words for it. These Soldiers were like him, but not. They were painted, with colors. That was all, but they seemed larger. Stronger. More alive.

The Soldier with yellow spatters led the charge. They charged towards a Crypt Worm, fearless. And the Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared after them. There was a word for them, a word that set them apart from him. The Soldier searched for it, and thought of the word as he stared at the yellow spattered Soldier’s back.

A hero.

He staggered. Blood dripped onto his hand. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae began to fall again. But someone caught him.

A Worker. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared at him. The Worker had something that smoked and gave off a pleasant smell in his hand. He caught Soldier with a Damaged Antennae and spoke to him.

“You will not die. Have faith.”

He was small, but he walked among the monsters without fear. The Worker carried Soldier with a Damaged Antennae back, as the painted Soldiers fought around him. He prayed, and told the injured Soldier he would live.

And the Soldier believed. That day he lived. And when he looked up, chest clumsily bandaged, he saw the painted Soldiers marching back. And the Worker was leading them. He might have said otherwise, but they followed him.

Because they had faith.

 

—-

 

That night, Pawn sat outside of the Wandering Inn, in the snow. Not much snow; it had been mostly cleared away. But there was no room inside the inn, not for more than a hundred Soldiers.

He scraped the bottom of his bowl. Today had been bee soup, thick with butter and fat. It was good, and Pawn had eaten his first bowl. He looked around and saw most of the other Soldiers had done the same. But none would speak up, or move. They probably thought that was all.

“Erin made plenty of soup. There’s enough for everyone to have as much as they want, okay?”

The Soldiers looked at him. No one moved, not even Yellow Spatters. Pawn smiled a bit. Ah, well, bravery in battle was one thing. He raised his hand.

“I believe we shall all have seconds, Lyonette.”

“Coming up!”

The young woman smiled and came over with a hot bowl, served fresh from the series of pots Erin had made up. She filled Pawn’s bowl, did the same for all the Soldiers nearby, and then paused in front of a bulkier Antinium.

“A bowl of soup, Prognugator Tersk?”

“I…yes, please.”

Tersk held out his bowl and let Lyonette fill it. Some of the soup got on his chest, but that was fine because as he pointed out to Lyon, he was not wearing his armor.

He had not been wearing his armor for a while. That might have been because his chest was still damaged from battle, but Pawn thought there was another reason.

Now Tersk approached Pawn and sat awkwardly with him and the other Soldiers. He stared around the quiet hilltop, and then spoke.

“I suggest using the remains of these Shield Spiders to construct armor for your Soldiers.”

Straight and to the point. Pawn nodded in approval of the idea.

“Do you know how to make such armor, Prognugator Tersk? I do not, although I would gladly like to learn how.”

Tersk nodded and hesitated.

“The Armored Antinium do not have enough metal to outfit all of our Soldiers. Thus, we use materials like monster hides, or bark to outfit our Workers and some of our Soldiers. That is a secret my Queen would not wish me to speak of, lest the other Hives hear of it.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

They sat together. At last, Tersk sighed.

“I believe I will regret leaving this place. But it is necessary. My Hive must know of what the Free Antinium have done.”

“Yes. I also believe imbibing some of Erin’s magical cooking will help with protecting my Soldiers.”

“Indeed. And if I may take the recipe for this…‘bee soup’ with me, I believe my Queen will rejoice.”

“I think so, Prognugator Tersk.”

Pawn sipped at his soup. It was good. He looked across his ranks of Soldiers. Some were injured, but all had wanted to be here. Some were missing. They now rested on the walls of the barracks.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But they had saved lives. They had fought. This was Pawn’s duty. He bowed his head and Tersk looked at him.

“What are you thinking, Pawn?”

“Nothing, Tersk. I am praying.”

“Oh.”

After a while, the Prognugator spoke.

“Would you teach me how?”

Pawn smiled.

“It is very simple. All you had to do is have faith. And believe.”

“In what?”

The Worker turned and looked across the hilltop. Soldiers raised their heads, looking at him. They all knew the answer.

“Us.”

 


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4.16

Day 59

The two armies met at the foothills leading up towards the mountains of the High Pass. Columns of Drakes and Gnoll [Soldiers] stood at attention as two groups rode to meet each other.

They were not enemies, but even so, Thrissiam Blackwing rode with a heavy escort of his officers and soldiers. Out here in the wilderness, ambushes from monsters and other forces was a very real threat, even for an army. And of course there was the matter of formality. That was just as important as concerns of safety.

As he rode towards the [General] from the other army, Thrissiam made out a few features and placed her at once. The Esdras Coalition or the Earthwatchers, as they were more colloquially known, had sent one of their best. Perhaps their second best, which was their best at the moment since Zel Shivertail had taken a leave of absence.

That jarred with Thrissiam’s plans greatly. He’d expected to take seniority in the effort to hunt down and destroy the Goblin Lord and his army, but the Gnoll riding towards him on a warhorse stallion far larger than his mare was no low-level [General] he could order around.

Drakes had a social hierarchy. More than that, they had a strict way of dealing with the chain of command, even when dealing with opposing factions. Thrissiam was from one of the Walled Cities. He hailed from Pallass, most northern of the six Walled Cities. It had been chosen to lead the suppression effort against the Goblins. As one of its better [Generals], Thrissiam was naturally an important Drake although he was not quite as important as a council member, Lord or Lady of the Wall, or the most elite echelons of Drake nobility.

However, he was damn close. And coming from a Walled City conferred its own authority. Thrissiam would have felt fairly confident of his superiority to another common [General] of the same rank but the Gnoll [General] riding towards him outranked him as one of the lead generals of the coalition of smaller Drake city-states, and probably had a few levels on him as well.

So Thrissiam sighed and bowed his head slightly first as the two [Generals] met in the snow. His officers murmured quietly, but Thrissiam wasn’t here for a conflict. One [General] had to take charge and if he couldn’t state his authority without a struggle, it might as well be her.

Her. Garusa Weatherfur, of the Longstride Clan. She inclined her head towards Thrissiam, giving him the same level of respect. When she spoke, her voice was a clear, deep rumble, which was reassuring. No [General] should ever speak quietly, especially when the roar of battle called for a voice like thunder.

“Hrr. It is good to see you Thrissiam Blackwing. I trust your forces encountered no difficulties on the march here?”

“None, thank you Garusa Weatherfur. We slew four Wyverns on the way, and I hope to recover their corpses on the march back.”

“Hm. You seem to think we shall find and dispose of the Goblin Lord quickly, yes?”

Thrissiam directed his mount left, so he and Garusa could talk where their words were removed from the hearing of others. It was bitingly cold as wind blew down from the mountains, and his stupid mare seemed more interested in flirting with Garusa’s stallion than staying still. He used his tail to gently slap his horse on the side and she, used to the command, stilled.

Drakes sat on a higher saddle than other races, to allow their tails to run down and around the horse. It took a special breed of horse that was used to having a tail resting on it, but Drakes could actually give commands with their legs and tails when their hands were full. But despite his higher seat, Thrissiam still found himself looking up at Garusa. Her fur was a very light brown, almost blonde, and riffled as the wind blew it. Apart from her armor, she wore no clothing against the cold. Thrissiam was covered in cloth by comparison.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t finish this campaign by the end of winter at the latest, no matter how far the Goblin Lord runs. One [General] is overkill for the strongest Goblin Chieftain. Two should be far more than a match for a Goblin Lord, especially given your abilities.”

There. That was a nod to her higher status. Thrissiam had to acknowledge that Garusa was a famous leader in her own right. Gnolls lived in Drake cities of course—they weren’t all tribal wanderers—but it was rare for a Gnoll to achieve high ranking in the Drake-dominated militaries. To be a [General] like her meant she truly was exemplary. Thrissiam had to admit, privately, that no Gnoll would have achieved such honors in a Walled City.

But Garusa surprised Thrissiam by what she said next.

“I do not intend to lead this army, Thrissiam Blackwing. I may be high level, and higher between the two of us, yes, but you are a [Lineholder General], yes? I think your formations would do best against Goblins, if you will leave the attacking to me.”

She was a specialist in brutal assaults, probably one of the reasons why she had been chosen to go up against the disorganized Goblin armies. But to cede command to him? Thrissiam’s eyes widened. It was what he wanted, and what was best, he felt. That she was willing to lower her tail increased his respect for her.

“I shall accept with gratitude, Garusa.”

The tension between the two [Generals] eased now the order of command was established. They were equals, but one now commanded the overall army. Thrissiam would be only too happy to let Garusa lead the attack as well—two generals made for a devastating combination, especially when their natures were opposed, such as in this case. One could use all of his Skills to defend while the other struck out.

They were discussing the compositions of their armies when Garusa said something that made Thrissiam stop his horse dead in its tracks.

“I received a communication from General Shivertail a day ago. He warned me not to underestimate this Goblin Lord. To that end, I have requested several City Runners and more [Scouts] for my army. I hope to keep them in reserve in case things become dire.”

The Drake [General] stared at the Gnoll. What was that? A group to send messages in case of an emergency? That was a last sign of desperation—as if Garusa expected their armies to be overwhelmed! It was also extraordinary because [Mages] could send a [Message] spell just as fast if they weren’t busy.

And Zel Shivertail had told her that? The famous Tidebreaker, hero of the Drakes, was certainly known to Thrissiam. He privately idolized Zel Shivertail and envied Garusa the chance to speak with him as a fellow general in the same alliance. But this? He had to shake his head.

“I hardly think your precautions are appropriate, General Weatherfur. We are two [Generals] in command of armies worthy of any on the continent!”

“Yes. Hrr. Except that the fabled army of Liscor fought in the Second Antinium War and was defeated by a single Goblin Lord’s army. Not by the King, yes? I would hardly like to compare myself to that force of old, although between us we might be close. I simply remember the past, General Blackwing.”

Thrissiam stared at Garusa and shook his head briskly to dispel the uneasy feeling her words had evoked. He put a bit of fire into his words, although neither she nor he were raw recruits.

“Thinking of defeat is a waste of time and energy. Goblin Lord or not, we are two [Generals] and we have over twenty thousand [Soldiers] between us. We’ll do this by the book.”

“Which one?”

Garusa grinned toothily as Thrissiam shot an irritated glance at her. Gnoll humor. He grunted as he surveyed the terrain. He really hoped the Goblins hadn’t retreated into the mountains. They’d die up there, and his forces would too trying to flush them out. But the hills were a more likely bet.

“We’ll take a day to combine armies, and then send out scouts. We forge ahead, and find where their war host is hiding. They can’t stay here forever, not without a food source.”

“Hm. Yes. I defer to your experience.”

The Gnoll [General] inclined her head, which relieved Thrissiam. She sniffed at the air as she turned her head to stare up at the High Passes.

“I wonder why the Goblin Lord took his forces here?”

“He probably found out we were coming and decided to hide. This one’s not a complete fool, although he’s still doomed in the end.”

Thrissiam grunted. He knew Goblin Lords could employ advanced tactics like scouting their enemy, or battle strategy, although he’d never actually faced one in combat. The Tidebreaker himself had warned Garusa? Did that mean he thought this one might be…? No. Focus.

“We’ll establish a camp on one of the larger hills. Somewhere to strike from if we can’t locate any signs of the Goblins at once.”

Garusa nodded as she and Thrissiam began riding back to their officers. It would be busy, coordinating the joint army, but Drake armies were adaptable and disciplined. Far better than Human armies, which could never work together if their [Lords] were at odds. Even the worst Drake enemies could link tails to take on a common foe.

Thrissiam paused as he stared around the dark landscape. A common foe. He glanced at Garusa and sighed.

“And we’ll keep a reserve unit of [Scouts] and Runners if you have them. Spread around the army. Just in case.”

She smiled, and Thrissiam gave her his own nod. He could be reasonable too. The joint suppression armies set out to find the Goblin Lord. They were hunting him.

But they didn’t realize he was also hunting them.

 

—-

 

Osthia Blackwing did not, in fact, have black wings. Hers was a dark yellowish-green, which the fanciful [Poets] of the Walled Cities called chartreuse. Since Osthia preferred straightforward words, she called it yellowish-green.

Her scales were a bright yellow, and the spines on the crest of her head were dyed bright blue. It made her stand out, more than her wings already did. In fairness, Osthia could have been the most non-descript green color imaginable and she still would have stood out in any crowd.

Because of the wings. Osthia was a Drake, a Drake [Soldier], in fact, and she had wings. Some Humans might indeed say, ‘a Drake with wings? What’s special about that? Don’t all Drakes have wings?’ and thereby prove to a listener that they were not only ignorant, but had never actually seen a Drake before. Or if they had, they’d only seen Osthia.

Because Drakes didn’t have wings. Most of them didn’t, anyways. Oh, sure, once upon a time when Dragons still flew about and burned cities to the ground and Drakes were young, they had wings. But now Drakes were wingless. They didn’t breathe fire anymore either. At least, most of them didn’t.

Osthia didn’t breathe fire. But she could do something just as unpleasant if she felt like it. Two of the [Soldiers] in her company could breathe fire though, and one could just breathe smoke, which was…something.

Now Osthia stood in the snow, back straight, tail brushing snow off of the ground. She wished she’d put on a tail warmer, but that would have been unprofessional. Tail armor, now, that would be nice. Padded for warmth…Osthia sighed, and then straightened up further as she saw two figures riding towards them in the snow. At last! She took a breath and then shouted.

“Company, attention!

The Drakes around her immediately stood straighter. Each one looked forwards, holding their arms at the ready if they were carrying longer weapons. Osthia held her spear by her side, staring ahead.

Each Drake in Osthia’s company was wearing ornate, embellished armor. Nothing fancy; nothing that would detract from the use of the armor, but each one had a noticeable sigil, crest, or other nod to their bloodline. If the Drake couldn’t afford the armor, they were provided with specialized gear.

Theirs was a unique group. They weren’t necessarily an elite group of high-level warriors, but they were well-trained, well-equipped, and prestigious. You couldn’t just join this company. You had to be born to it.

“At ease, Captain Osthia.”

General Thrissiam dismounted from his gelding and handed the reins to a waiting soldier as he strode over to the company of Drakes. He smiled briefly at Osthia and she returned the smile. They were family and that much was allowed. Then her attention turned to the other [General], the one leading the second army sent to kill the Goblin Lord.

Osthia didn’t know who she’d been expecting, but a Gnoll wasn’t it. She was an officer though, and she immediately recognized one of the more prominent Gnoll [Generals] on the continent.

“General Garusa, this is Captain Osthia Blackwing and the Ancestor Guard company assigned to me. I hope to make use of their abilities to locate and engage the Goblin Lord.”

The tall female Gnoll smiled at Osthia and then sniffed the air as she looked across the ranks of assembled Drakes. A lot of Gnolls did that when first meeting Osthia or someone from her company. They probably smelled something quite unique.

“Ah. Oldblood soldiers. I am impressed, Thrissiam.”

Did it bother Osthia that this Gnoll was speaking so informally with Thrissiam already? A bit. But she didn’t shift her position. She was a soldier, and disciplined. She lead this company—she had worked hard for this place! It wasn’t just because of her heritage that she’d earned her rank, either.

Oldblood. That was the correct term for what Osthia and the rest of the Drakes in her company were. The incorrect term was whatever you wanted it to be, but it was wise to be wary of saying that around any Drake with the old blood. Because you might get a face full of fire or lightning in reply.

Osthia had wings. Most of the Drakes in the Oldblood company didn’t. Some had only vestigial stumps, or half-formed wings. But some had none at all. Those Drakes could breathe fire. Or lightning. Or mist. Or something else entirely. They could do this, what no other Drakes could, because they had more of their ancestor’s blood in their veins. These Drakes, Osthia included, remembered a part of what it was like to be a Dragon.

Less than one in a thousand Drakes had a hint of their ancestry in their veins. Any family could give birth to someone with the old blood, but families with pure bloodlines that went back to the dawn of the Drake species were far more likely to have a child with the old blood. Such individuals were cherished, and the families often given money and aid for simply raising them.

There was prestige in being of the old blood, oh yes. It was easier to get a job in any position, and in some circles having a drop of the old blood was as good as a noble title. Better. And this was a company of the Oldblood Drakes. As good as a company of mages, in theory.

It was one of the things that separated the Walled Cities from the lesser Drake city-states. Only a Walled City had the population and the pure bloodlines to field an entire battalion of such warriors. Only a company had been sent to accompany General Thrissiam, but it was a mark of the trust placed in him by the city of Pallass that they’d sent anyone at all. None of the Oldblood had been sent with Wall Lord Ilvriss in his dispute with Zel Shivertail.

Of course, that also had much to do with the politics and dangers of sending a force against Zel Shivertail, who might well rip apart any group of soldiers sent against him. He was popular among the old families, although he’d taken a position in the Earthwatchers Coalition which often butted heads with the Walled Cities.

In truth, Osthia preferred to fight Goblins anyways. Drakes fighting Drakes left a bad taste in her mouth, even when it was to settle a dispute.

“Blackwing? Hrr. Are you two related, General Thrissiam?”

Garusa addressed Thrissiam as she walked across the ranks of Drakes, inspecting their arms. Thrissiam nodded.

“Osthia is a relation of mine. I knew her growing up, and was pleased to be assigned her company for this campaign. You will not be disappointed with her performance.”

“I have no doubt.”

Osthia listened, watching Thrissiam out of the corner of one eye. She and he were indeed cousins. He was her uncle, technically, but they were only separated by ten years. And they were distant, very distant cousins. Practically strangers. Certainly no issue if they wanted to marry.

Osthia had liked Thrissiam ever since she’d met him as a hatchling. She hadn’t ever told him that of course—but she had made every effort to be assigned to his command, regardless of what he was doing. Now she quelled the butterflies in her stomach as Thrissiam turned towards her.

“We’ll be striking camp soon, Captain Osthia. Have your soldiers ready to move. I would like you to join one of the scouting groups with those under your command able to fly.”

“Yes sir. I would be delighted to.”

She had to stop her tail from twitching as she smiled at General Thrissiam. That would have been a dead giveaway, and very embarrassing as well.

Garusa stopped next to Thrissiam, and Osthia’s smile vanished. She didn’t want the Gnoll to think she was approving of her just yet. In her opinion, Thrissiam should have been appointed command over both armies. He was a [General] from one of the Walled Cities, after all.

The Gnoll General nodded at Osthia, smiling without baring her teeth.

“I have never fought with the Oldblood before. Against them…on occasion. I am honored to fight alongside you, young Blackwing.”

“I hope to have the opportunity, General Garusa.”

The Gnoll nodded, and both she and Thrissiam left. Osthia waited until they were gone and then she and the Oldblood soldiers joined the rest of the army on the march. Osthia called for several names under her command, and then leapt into the air, wings beating. She flew.

It was a sight that made the Gnolls and Drakes in Garusa’s army look up and exclaim. Osthia, wearing chainmail and a helmet, not to mention holding a spear, flew above them, wings laboring to gain altitude in the frozen air.

She flew high into the sky with the six other Drakes who had wings. It was hard, very hard, to stay aloft for long. Osthia could feel the magic burning in her depleting itself with every wing beat. She was far too heavy to fly normally, and unless she sustained her flight with magic as Dragons did, she would be forced to land.

She couldn’t fly long. Nor could she use her breath weapon with impunity. Those with abilities stemming from their blood found it was often a curse as well as a blessing. Some Drakes grew faint of breath when they used their breath weapons, or injured their own throats. Osthia’s heritage was true though, and she could use both her wings and her breath attack without issue.

She flew on, eyes peeled for any Goblins on the landscape below. The foolish creatures probably had no idea that a Drake could fly. But she didn’t see a single Goblin below, although she was high enough to look around for miles.

Perhaps they weren’t there? Goblins didn’t strike Osthia as bright enough to hide or cover their tracks. Had their intelligence been mistaken? Was the Goblin Lord elsewhere?

Time would tell. Osthia was too experienced to trust to a quick view from the sky, although the lack of any signs of Goblins bothered her. It could be they were hiding, or farther away than she thought. And if this was a mistake? Well, she could use the opportunity to get closer to Thrissiam.

She was getting tired after only ten minutes of flight. Very tired. Osthia saw the other soldiers with wings flagging, and turned her head to order them to head back. As she did, she felt something crawl down her spine. A feeling, as if someone was staring at her with an arrow trained on her back.

Instantly, Osthia dove down. The other soldiers did likewise, moving instinctively to avoid an arrow or spell. Osthia turned and scanned the landscape. And saw nothing.

Was it a false alarm? For a minute, and then two she scanned the white slopes of the mountain, the trees, the rocks. And saw nothing. She raised her hand and signaled the other wary Drakes that it was a false alarm. She had seen nothing.

But the feeling remained. Something had been watching her, Osthia was sure of it. But whatever it was, it was already gone. Or hidden from her sight.

Rattled, Osthia flew back with her escort, landing safely among the ranks of her fellow soldiers. She abandoned her thoughts of romance. There was something out there. It was waiting for them. And so she and the army would flush it out.

And kill it.

 

Day 60

It was cold. Wet. Thrissiam kept the new joint army moving and scouting ahead. There were no signs of Goblins yet, although they’d covered a lot of ground, keeping their [Scouts] and groups of riders moving at all times.

“This damn snow came at the worst time for a Goblin Lord. It falls too heavily each day. Any tracks are being erased. Damn those Winter Sprites!”

He was grousing to Garusa, who he’d found was a worthy companion as they rode their army towards the next place they’d chosen to fortify and explore from. The Gnoll grinned.

“Perhaps the Goblins are having a courtly dance as we wait, hm? What must this Goblin Lord be like? Surely a Lord is a [Lord], Goblin or not.”

She had a weird sense of humor too. Thrissiam snorted despite himself. He knew a [Lord] could be specialized in combat or managing his lands depending on how their Skills were gained. Thus, some Human [Lords] could counter the greatest Drake [Generals], like the Human Lord Tyrion. But most were inferiors to a class dedicated towards battle like his.

“I suppose you think all [Lords] dance? Take it from me, Weatherfur, some of the Lords—and Ladies—of the Wall are just as adept at sword dances as they are at ballroom dancing.”

“Hrr. Then why are they not here? Was there not a Lord of the Wall that fought General Shivertail a month ago? He could be a match for this Goblin Lord.”

“Catch a Lord of the Wall doing a mission like this? Not likely. They’re for quick glory and guts, not a slog or hunt.”

Thrissiam lashed his tail, and Garusa smiled. Their army continued onwards, watchful, vigilant. The first of the [Scouts] began disappearing a few hours later.

 

Day 61

Osthia flew a patrol with the six Drakes in her command. She flew high as she could, drinking a mana potion to replenish her energy. It was a foul-tasting brew, despite the quality. Osthia hated using it, for all it let her fly longer. She could only do so four times before she’d start throwing up, a sure sign of overdosing on the stuff.

Today she was escorting a group of [Scouts], overseeing three groups in fact, as they roamed the forest searching for signs of life. So far they’d found nothing. No monsters, and there had to have been some about in this wooded area.

But they’d found nothing. And yesterday, twelve of the Gnolls and Drakes sent out had failed to come back over the course of the day. They’d vanished, each time alone, each time far from the main army.

Thrissiam had suspected Goblins, but larger groups hadn’t found any traces of a struggle. So he’d sent Osthia to watch from above. So she did. She flew and watched. One scout group exited the forest and entered a clearing where they paused, investigating something on the ground. Another vanished below a dense canopy of leaves. The third scaled a cliff side.

Watch. Osthia saw the group in the clearing turn away from what they’d been looking at. The group on the cliff headed higher. The group under the canopy…

Didn’t emerge. Osthia waited a minute, and then two. Something was wrong. She immediately put a horn to her lips and blew a horn call. She blew five blasts, attracting both groups of [Scouts]. They signed towards her and she pointed in the direction of the missing group.

Behind her, more horn calls sounded. Osthia listened and heard drumbeats as well, beating out a pattern. A group of riders was already headed for her spot, and the drums were telling her to hold position.

Osthia ignored the order. She turned to the flying Drakes and pointed with her spear.

Down! Be ready for anything. Rass—stay back and watch! If we’re not out in a second—”

She was already diving with the others. Osthia crashed through the branches, ready to use her breath weapon, spear ready. She was expecting anything—

And found nothing. Nothing. Just a messed up section of snow. No [Scouts], no Goblins. Nothing.

They’d been taken in the few minutes it had been take to sound the alarm. Warily, Osthia looked around. She felt something watching her. The Drakes in her command spread out around her. If the Goblins had taken the [Scouts]—

“Up! Into the air!”

She cried out and the Drakes leapt back up, swearing, crashing through branches. Now Osthia circled wide, searching for anything moving in the trees. But she found nothing. Neither did the riders, or the [Scouts]. They combed the landscape, but whatever had taken this group of [Scouts] had just vanished into the air.

 

Day 62

They knew there were Goblins about. For three days now, their patrols had been ambushed. Smaller ones, ones that strayed too far, simply vanished. The others found nothing. It set all of Thrissiam’s scales on edge, and so he’d refused to budge from the second hilltop. Instead, he was sending out larger scouting groups with [Mages] to look for traces of the Goblins.

Now he stood in his command tent, staring at the map of the landscape, irritated, on edge. His army was camped on the top of the hill, giving them a view of the surroundings. A nearby mountain loomed over them, and a forest surrounded their position to the northwest. He looked up as someone opened the tent flap. Thrissiam was about to order whoever it was out, but he bit his tongue as Garusa entered.

“Any word?”

She shook her head.

“Another patrol came back with no findings. None at all. It is odd, yes? They should have found some sign of what attacked the last, but none did. Not the [Mages] and experienced [Scouts].”

“Magic. Or something else. Damnit!”

Thrissiam pounded the table with his claws, taking care not to damage the map. He wasn’t used to this. Not from Goblins. He’d be wary if another force managed to elude him, but how were Goblins doing this? Was this really all due to a Goblin Lord? Garusa watched him for a moment before speaking.

“I had a thought.”

“Share it.”

“When we met I wondered why the Goblin Lord would retreat here. There is no food for his army, and Goblins devour. It is a bad choice, for one that knows an attack is coming, no?”

“That’s true.”

Thrissiam nodded, still angry but thinking now. Garusa nodded as well.

“Yes, a smarter decision would be to raid other cities, to keep moving, growing an army by collecting other Goblins nearby. So why hide?”

“To buy time, or maybe traverse the mountains? What’s your point?”

Garusa sniffed. She frowned, but kept speaking.

“It makes no sense. Goblin Lords know they will be hunted. So perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?”

Thrissiam looked up at Garusa. Her face was shadowed, her voice low.

“Perhaps the Goblin Lord only retreated to make sure it was we who could not run. I smell Goblins, Thrissiam. I smell them everywhere, but cannot find their scent. And the smell is everywhere.

He stared at her. Her eyes gleamed. Thrissiam opened his mouth, and then heard a horn call in the distance. It was blaring the call to attack. He jerked upright, and then heard another from the west. And another.

And another.

The last one was blowing right outside. Thrissiam stormed out, Garusa following and heard the screams.

“Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!”

He looked out, and suddenly the barren landscape was filled with motion. Goblins boiled down the slopes from the mountains, charged out of the forest, shouting, screaming. Hundreds, thousands of them.

“Recall all forces! Rally on me!”

Thrissiam had his spear in his hands. He ran towards the front as Garusa called for her mount. The Goblins smashed into the fortifications his army had built, screaming. There were Hobs, Goblin [Mages]—the undead!

So many of them. Too many. And where was the Goblin Lord? Thrissiam was too busy fighting to see.

 

—-

 

They came out of nowhere. One second Osthia had been resting her wings in camp, the next, the Goblins had poured out of the trees, down the mountain. Some burst out of the snow.

Out of the snow?

To arms! Goblin attack!

The cry went up as Osthia ran towards the front. There was no time to find her company. She just fell into line with the [Soldiers] around her. Drakes had learned to adapt to any situation.

But this was unnerving even so. The Goblins were everywhere. It wasn’t just that they’d snuck up on the army—they’d completely caught them off-guard! As Osthia watched, a completely flattened portion of ground suddenly exploded upwards, and Goblins clawed their way up.

They’d been waiting underground? How? They couldn’t breathe down there! Unless—and then Osthia saw it. The gray skin, the rotten flesh. It wasn’t just Goblins emerging from under the snow, under the ground. It was Drakes too, and Gnolls. They were all pale, flesh gray and rotting, bloodless.

Zombies.

“Undead!”

The cry went up as all the pieces fell into place for Osthia. That was why the [Scouts] had vanished so quickly! That was why the Goblins couldn’t be found! The main force was probably hiding, while the undead waited below, attacking and burying themselves without a trace. The Drake army had marched right into the middle of where they were hiding. And now—

Now the trap was sprung, and they were under assault from all sides.

The first group of living Goblins hit the camp from the west, charging down the mountain. Osthia heard the screams and sound of battle begin, but didn’t falter. A surprise attack it might be, but the Goblins were no match for a Drake [Soldier]. She kept believing that right until she saw a group of eight Hobgoblins charge into the side of the [Soldiers] and start hacking Drakes and Gnolls apart.

Osthia’s eyes widened as the Hobs appeared. There shouldn’t be that many Hobs in a tribe! But there were so many in this army! They towered over the smaller Goblins, standing toe-to-toe with elite warriors.

And then the fighting hit their side. Not living Goblins. Dead ones.

A wave of zombies, several skeletons, and three Ghouls hit the Drakes that Osthia was positioned with. She caught one as it ran onto her spear, and the Drakes around her did the same. As they were fighting, Drakes with swords stepped forwards, cutting as the ones with pikes shoved their enemies back. [Archers] began raining arrows on the undead and a [Mage] unleashed a shower of lightning that made several undead jerk and fall down before getting up.

Lightning magic was a bad idea on the undead. Osthia snarled as she jabbed her spear. There was a strange, grey Goblin walking towards her. Just walking. It looked…different from the rest. Osthia had a bad feeling about it, and stabbed it in the chest. The Goblin didn’t try to stop her, and her spear’s head went right through where its heart should be.

The gray Goblin fell, gaping soundlessly. Then it exploded, sending shockwaves of force and black energy spiraling outwards. Osthia cried out and saw the undead nearest to the exploding Goblin simply vanish as the blast consumed them. The Drakes around her were thrown backwards, and the undead swarmed them. Osthia got up, saw a Ghoul running at her, and opened her mouth.

She didn’t breathe fire. Instead, Osthia spat. That was how she thought of it. The glands in her mouth shot a greenish spray towards the Ghoul. It charged right into the mist, and then began to melt. It felt no pain, but suddenly the Ghoul’s eyes and part of its face were gone. It swung wildly, knocking a skeleton to the ground. Osthia ran the Ghoul through and then turned and spat again.

The undead caught by her attack lurched onwards, melting down, blinded. The Drakes near Osthia seized the opportunity and shakily reformed the battle line. Osthia wiped at her mouth, relieved that her body was immune to her ability. She turned her head and shouted at the nearest Drake [Sergeant].

“Take down the gray Goblins before they reach the camp! Spread the word! I’ll tell the [General]! Hurry!

She leapt into the air, flying back towards the center of camp. Now she could hear the thump as more of the trapped Goblins exploded, sowing chaos among the Drakes and Gnolls. Thrissiam heard her garbled report and immediately called for every [Archer] to prioritize the Goblins. The threat dealt with in part, Osthia found her company.

She led the next charge into the ranks of the living Goblins, who screamed as they felt her acid burn and eat at them. The ones around her fled, but more kept coming. More, and more. They didn’t seem to fear death. They wore black armor and screamed in hatred as they kept coming.

An hour later, Osthia was pulling back, exhausted, barely able to move, when she saw him. As her company retreated and a fresh group of soldiers was rotated in, she caught sight of an oddity in the seething mass of Goblins.

At first, she thought it was just another Hob. But this one was different. He stood on a ledge hundreds of meters away from the fighting, on the mountainside. He was staring at the fighting armies, and as Osthia watched, his gaze passed over her.

For a moment, their eyes met. Osthia got only a glimpse of a Goblin’s face. But something was wrong with his eyes. They weren’t red.

Black eyes with white pupils. A piercing gaze. A hooded face. He stood among a group of Hobgoblins and Goblin [Mages] and [Shamans]. Just watching.

The Goblin Lord. Osthia was transfixed. She knew it was him the instant she saw him. No other Goblin was like him. His presence seemed to make him bigger, although he was only the size of a Human, not a towering mass like some of the Hobgoblins. He was only watching, but his eyes—Osthia felt dread.

Then he raised his arm and a black lance of light struck down one of the Drake [Mages] from behind. Osthia shouted, but the Goblin Lord was already turning away. He retreated out of danger as the Goblins roared and redoubled their efforts.

The Drakes and Gnolls held the line. They bled and died, but they pushed the Goblins and undead back. By the end of the day, the dead had stained the ground red, and churned mud froze overnight. That was the first day.

The second was just as bad.

 

Day 64

In the mountains, Drakes and Gnolls died. Goblins died. Everything died. Thrissiam led his army with Garusa against the Goblin Lord, cutting apart bodies, blasting enemy positions with magic, grappling with undead—

This was war with a Goblin Lord. And it was far more terrible than Thrissiam could have ever imagined.

The fighting wasn’t a single day’s affair. From morning until dusk, the Goblins assailed their position, fighting at dawn, at night, withdrawing, ambushing, trying to uproot the Drake army’s position.

They hadn’t managed to so far. But neither had the Drake army managed to force them back or deplete their numbers greatly. It was a deadlock. The Goblin Lord’s full army outnumbered them greatly, but Thrissiam’s forces were better equipped, better trained, higher level. It was a battle they could win, in short.

But some things made him uneasy. Garusa pointed it out the day after she’d carried Thrissiam into a bed. She had only shared it for an hour—the [Generals] were alternating shifts to keep up a steady defense. Now she and Thrissiam spoke concisely as Drakes tended to their injured with potions and wrapped wounds too light to warrant proper healing in a lull between the fighting.

“None of our [Mages] can cast the [Message] spell. They have tried each day, again and again, but the highest-level cannot.”

“So? We don’t need reinforcements, and if we did, they’d be too late.”

Garusa nodded.

“Yes. That is true. But that is not what concerns me. To block the spell, so my [Mages] say, you would need a mage specialized in such magic…or a mage of far greater ability. Neither seems at home to a Goblin Lord’s forces, no?”

That was true. Thrissiam frowned, suddenly worried.

“It might be they have an artifact. Or one of their [Shamans]…? You’re right. It seems beyond them.”

“In that case, what is the cause?”

Thrissiam shook his head.

“I don’t know. But we must get word back to the cities, no matter what happens. They have to know the Goblin Lord can use undead—and that he can block spells!”

Garusa nodded. Thrissiam’s claws dug into the table.

“You were right. General Shivertail was right. That Goblin Lord…isn’t ordinary. I see him out there, occasionally. In the trees, leading his forces. Never close enough that our [Marksmen] or [Snipers] could get a clear shot at him. And he blocked every spell my battle mages sent towards him.”

“We must try to hunt him down.”

“Yes. We’ll try for it now. If it means sacrificing a group to have his head—”

“That is my job, no?”

He looked at her. They’d barely said a word in between sleeping together and waking. This was war. But he and she—he shook his head.

“Not yet. Not unless it comes to that. I won’t risk you.”

She grinned at him, as if he’d made a joke.

“You are thinking with your head, not with your second tail, yes? A [General] must be composed and think of victory, not affection.”

Thrissiam went scarlet and looked around, but the tent was empty. He glared at Garusa.

“I’m thinking with my head. You are an asset that can’t be replaced. We’ll need you after this battle.”

He stared at the map as Garusa chuckled. The Goblin Lord’s eyes. Where had he heard of eyes like that before? Necromancy. An uneasy surmise crept into Thrissiam’s mind. He murmured.

“Yes. I think we might need everyone after this. Perhaps the Goblin Lord…isn’t alone.”

Garusa stopped laughing. She met his eyes, and Thrissiam knew she had suddenly thought of the same thing. In the silence, they heard the fighting begin again.

 

—-

 

Her eyes blurred with tears, although no one noticed her face in the fighting. Osthia spat acid at the Goblins who charged her, shot the concentrated, corrosive liquid into green faces and red eyes and heard the screams. It felt as though she were spitting the bile and pain out of her own stomach.

She had an endless supply.

Thrissiam and Garusa. Garusa and Thrissiam. It was like one of those silly songs the children sang. Garusa and Thrissiam, tails in a knot!

She lashed out and a Goblin fell, gurgling. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts! And yet, the image followed her. Garusa carrying Thrissiam into the tent after recovering him from the thick of battle and then—not emerging.

Every soldier knew what had happened. No judgment was passed. In fact, there was quite a lot of ribald support, muttered quietly and joked about when neither [General] could hear. Thrissiam because he’d order the jokester punished. Garusa because she might join in.

War made for very intimate choices, and many soldiers left what happened in the heat of things behind. But Osthia couldn’t.

What had she expected? He was her distant relative, a [General] and practically nobility in himself! But she’d hoped, in that secret heart of hers…

Osthia took to the air, ignoring the warning calls from below. The Goblins were firing? Let them. She had practiced to avoid flights of arrows. She dove into the ranks of Goblins, spitting acid, hearing them shriek. Good! Let them die.

Then she saw the Goblin Lord. He was watching again, far away from the fighting. He always did that. He’d appear, blast the lines with magic, and then disappear. Not this time.

Osthia went for him. She knew it was foolhardy. She didn’t care. She made it halfway before a flight of arrows rose up and magic blast a hole straight through her wings.

She fell into the ranks of Goblins. The fall didn’t kill her, but Osthia was trapped behind the lines, desperately spitting acid and sweeping around her with her spear. She would have died there, wanted to die there, but then she heard the horn call.

A Gnoll on horseback charged into the ranks of Goblins with a group of mounted riders, trampling the smaller ones, lashing out left and right. She made straight towards Osthia, cutting a path through her enemies. Garusa Weatherfur’s paws were a blur as she struck left and right, clearing a path for Osthia to survive.

Both she and Thrissiam used a spear. It was just another reason to hate her as Garusa swept the Goblins around her away. She dueled a Hobgoblin, ending it by thrusting her long spear through his helmetless face while Osthia struggled to stand. Then Garusa took Osthia’s clawed hand and pulled her into the saddle. She rode back towards their line as a cheer went up from the Drakes.

It didn’t make Osthia hate her any less. But it did make her respect the Gnoll as a [General]. Garusa was necessary, vital. She was a hero.

Osthia just wished Garusa hadn’t also taken her dream away.

 

—-

 

Fool!

Thrissiam struck Osthia across the face. She took the blow, cheek burning, as he shouted at her.

“You endangered your life and cost us good soldiers going to save you! What were you thinking?”

“I have no excuse, sir.”

“Calm yourself, Thrissiam.”

“General Garusa. With respect—”

“She took a chance and went for the Goblin Lord. I might have done so as well were I in her place. Now we know he is waiting for the moment, yes?”

The hole in her wing was mended. The hole in her heart…it hurt more to hear Garusa defend her. That wasn’t why Osthia had gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so. Thrissiam calmed himself in the end. When he spoke to her next, it was curtly, but not without affection.

“Rest yourself. I will have orders tomorrow. You are to do nothing that is not ordered, is that understood?”

“Yes, General.”

Officers had been declared treasonous for disobeying orders. Osthia knew she was getting off lucky. But she still felt wretched. After a moment, Thrissiam spoke quietly to her.

“You are a treasure of our people, and of our family as well. I could not bear to see you die in some meaningless charge.”

It was meant for the two of them. Garusa busied herself across the tent, although Osthia knew she could hear everything. It helped, a bit. Osthia smiled weakly at Thrissiam.

“Thank you, sir.”

He studied her, and then nodded. Grimly, Thrissiam turned back to the map.

“I don’t blame you for trying. This Goblin Lord is dangerous. If we don’t stop him now, there’s no telling how dangerous he might get.”

“He is new, yet. But if he gathers more Goblins, or raises more undead.”

“It won’t happen.”

Osthia watched as Garusa and Thrissiam’s eyes met over the table. They were alike, in that way. She stumbled out of the tent and cried for a bit in her tent. Then she woke up and went back to war.

 

Day 65

“The undead.”

That was what would kill them, Thrissiam knew. Looking at the map of the battlefield, he felt as though he understood the flow of how things would go. Numbers, supplies, levels of soldiers and geography, it all flowed into a picture in his mind. The scales were balanced; he had his advantages, and the Goblin Lord his. But what tipped the balance were the undead.

Because for every Drake and Gnoll that fell, a zombie could rise in its place. Or worse, a Ghoul.

So far, the Goblins and the Goblin Lord had only managed to animate a few of the fallen Drakes and Gnolls of Thrissiam’s force. So far. But as time wore on, the Drake knew that the natural spawning of the undead as well as the efforts of the Goblin Lord and his [Necromancers] would slowly increase that number.

“We can’t make this a battle of attrition any longer. The Goblin Lord overplayed his claw at first, and gave us the opportunity to tear into his forces. But he’s pulling back, wearing us down with numbers rather than commit his Hobs and [Mages] to the front. We need to either pull them out, or take him down.”

Standing across the table from him, Garusa nodded. She had a long gash down one cheek, splitting her fur and exposing red, but she had forgone healing it to save potions. It might damage the morale of the soldiers to see their general injured, but the situation called for it.

“I agree. We must corner him. But how?”

“I propose an ambush. We know he has a forward camp here and here. He alternates between the two before pulling back.”

“True. You suggest ambushing him? We could strike a wedge here, cutting him off—”

“And then encircle his position. Yes.”

Thrissiam had observed the Goblin Lord over the course of the battle. The Goblin had played things safe, attacking only from a distance with magic. But he had shown a predictability in how he moved, and revealed that it was possible to predict where he’d go. In short, he’d given Thrissiam a perfect opportunity to corner him.

“He may be a Goblin Lord, but he’s new to it. An amateur is still an amateur, even with Skills.”

The Drake grinned savagely. Garusa’s smile was no less predatory.

“Tomorrow?”

“No sense waiting for it. Keep up the front; don’t let him think we’re doing anything. I’ll pull together all the elites I can. They’ll be under your command.”

Garusa nodded.

“I will prepare.”

Thrissiam caught her as she was about to leave the tent.

“Don’t fight him if you think he’ll win. We can try again if we must. But I can’t lose you.”

She blinked at him, wide-eyed. Then she smiled.

“Too much thinking with your other tail. I will do what needs to be done. And I will bring you the Goblin Lord’s head tomorrow, my word on it. Unless I squish it by accident, that is.”

She kissed him, and left. Thrissiam turned back to the map, and began to plan for the end.

Day 66

The Goblin Lord never saw the attack coming. In fairness, he did see the feint, and then the charge that went deep into his army’s left flank, aimed at a group of his [Necromancers]. When he appeared and blasted the soldiers with magic from a distance, the Drakes launched two other charges, penetrating the lines of shocked Goblins with an elite group of soldiers. They cut the Goblin Lord’s retreat off, and then the last group formed up, aimed straight for the Goblin Lord’s throat as his retinue struggled to fend off the sudden offensive.

Thrissiam watched Garusa charge. He had committed over half the army to the push in the end, holding the rest of the Goblin Lord’s forces at bay with a thin line of his own. It was a tactic only two [Generals] could pull off and Thrissiam used every Skill to make sure there was a place to return to for Garusa.

Now all he could do was watch. The Gnoll [General] charged through Goblins and Hobgoblins alike, tearing through them with a guard of elite riders, protected by mage spell and raining arrows.

The Goblin Lord’s personal guard met her force with a roar that echoed through the battlefield. Thrissiam watched, as from above, Osthia dove and showered the group with acid. Garusa used that opportunity to strike down a [Mage]. And then—

A black lance of magic. The Gnoll twisted in her saddle, dodging the magic. It killed her stallion, leaving only half of its head. The horse went down, but then Garusa was charging the Goblin Lord.

“Yes. Do it!”

Thrissiam’s claws were clenched. He could see the Goblin Lord’s surprise, see two Hobs barring the way with huge halberds. A [Mage] struck one with lightning—Osthia speared the other in the back from above. And then Garusa was face-to-face with the Goblin Lord.

His eyes were wide, disbelieving. The Goblin Lord’s face was twisted in a snarl. He held a black blade in one hand, shimmering magic in the other as he faced Garusa. The Drakes and Gnolls around Thrissiam were cheering wildly, sure of victory. But there was fear in Thrissiam’s heart. And something else.

Uneasiness. It wasn’t easy. This was the culmination of strategy, of superior planning and teamwork. They had whittled the Goblin Lord’s forces and played on his confidence to come this far.

But something was wrong. Garusa raised her spear, slashing at the Goblin Lord. He stepped back, warily. She twirled her spear and advanced. He lashed out with magic—she dodged. Closer now. She struck out—

And Thrissiam heard a voice.

Fool.

It was a whisper, but it reached across the battlefield. Garusa’s spear struck a white wall that shot from the ground. A wall as smooth and pale as ivory.

Bone.

Something changed. The wall of bone retracted into the ground as Garusa leapt back. When Thrissiam could see the Goblin Lord again, he was standing in the same place.

But something else was wearing his body. The Goblin Lord stood still, and when his lips moved, every Drake and Gnoll and Goblin could hear his voice.

You have disappointed me, my apprentice. I should not have to intercede on your behalf.

Garusa was staring at the Goblin Lord. Thrissiam tried to shout at her, but the dark voice was overpowering everything else. He tried to scream to her to run, but the Gnoll crouched. She came in low, fast—

So be it. I will rectify your mistake.

The Goblin Lord raised a hand. And Garusa—crumpled.

It was just a flash of light. A black bolt of energy that went through her chest. Thrissiam screamed. The Goblin Lord turned his hand. Pointed.

Despair.

A black scythe shot out, cutting through the ranks of soldiers that had followed Garusa. Not just through them, through Goblins as well. Bodies crumpled to the floor, dead. Lifeless. Everybody in two hundred meters in the direction the Goblin Lord had pointed fell. And then—

Rise.

They rose. Unsteadily, getting to their feet. Garusa stood up, and for a second, Thrissiam dared to hope—then her head turned and he saw the hole in her chest. And the light in her eyes.

The undead, half of his army and the Goblin Lord’s—stared towards the remaining soldiers. Their eyes shone, and they began to walk, and then to run. They charged back towards their former comrades.

Now finish this.

The voice spoke once more, and then the Goblin Lord was stumbling as other Goblins rushed to his side. Thrissiam stared at him, and then at the undead.

Thousands of them, ten thousand—twenty—each and every corpse on the battlefield had risen all at once. And now they came for his army. The Drakes and Gnolls, steadfast warriors, cried out and broke ranks, retreating.

“No.”

“Uncle! Uncle!

Someone was screaming his name. Above. Thrissiam looked up. Osthia flew down towards him, wounded, bleeding. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with tears.

“He—it—”

He’d sent all of the Oldblood soldiers with her. Six had gone, none had returned. There was an arrow in one of Osthia’s wings. Now more showered down around Thrissiam as the Goblin army redoubled its attack.

He stared at her blankly. Then at the undead. They were coming. So many. Enough to bury what remained of his army. And Garusa—she was out there too.

“We’ve lost.”

There was nothing hard in saying it. Osthia’s eyes widened. Thrissiam went on.

“We lost the moment we failed to understand. It wasn’t him. We shouldn’t have just feared him. It was who was controlling him. Do you understand?”

He looked at Osthia.

“The Necromancer.”

She paled.

“But he’s dead.”

“Not anymore.”

Thrissiam turned. His officers were staring in shock, paralyzed by what had happened.

Scouts! Runners!

Thrissiam bellowed. He could still do that. His voice snapped some out of their fog. They looked towards him. Thrissiam saw some turning, coming towards him. No time.

“Run!”

They stared at him. Thrissiam pointed, south, the way they had come.

Run! Go to the cities! Warn them! Go! Now!”

No time to tell them. If they were smart, the others would figure it out. Thrissiam pointed and shouted. He saw Drakes and Gnolls dashing for the trees, running past Goblins, trying to escape as the Goblin Lord’s army came from every side.

“Uncle—are you—”

Thrissiam turned to Osthia. Her eyes were wide. She probably didn’t realize she was calling him Uncle. He nearly laughed. He wasn’t old enough to be her uncle.

What a silly thing to think of. Thrissiam smiled at Osthia as he gave her his last order.

“You too, Osthia. Go. Fly away. Tell them who the real enemy is.”

“I can’t! I can’t abandon—”

“Go. There’s no point in dying here. You are the pride of Drakes. My family. You have to tell them.”

She refused, shaking. The undead were coming. Thrissiam’s eyes were on them. On the Goblin Lord. He was falling back, carried by his soldiers. Osthia was trying to stay.

“Go.”

“Drakes do not run!”

He turned to her.

“I know. Hurry up and come back soon.”

He smiled. Osthia’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to object, and saw the mass of undead charging towards them. For a second she looked into his eyes, and Thrissiam thought she saw his broken heart. Her eyes filled with tears. Without a word, she took wing.

“I’ll be back! Hold out! Retreat!”

She screamed at him as she fled eastward. Thrissiam saw Goblins shouting and some firing on her, others breaking away to chase after the lone flying Drake. He prayed she’d get away. But the cruel, cold part of him knew that she was too obvious a target. The [Scouts] and [Runners] he’d sent might have a chance if the Goblins were distracted.

She was his niece. He had grudgingly played with her and his younger cousins when he visited. When she was older, he had taught her to use a spear. He had accepted her into his army, presented her with her first promotion. He’d never spoken of her eyes on his back, preserved her dreams like a precious thing. And now he had sent her to die.

But that was her duty. And his. For their people, no cost could be so high. Thrissiam saluted Osthia with his spear and then turned to the undead. His [Soldiers]. He looked for Garusa’s body among them. There she was. Leading the charge as always.

Her eyes were glowing. Thrissiam felt something hard grab at his soul, demanding vengeance. Pain was in his blood. He looked at Garusa as she ran like lightning across the ground. Too fast! She was no Ghoul. Her body was infused with more than just unholy quickness and a taste for flesh. She was too strong, sweeping experienced soldiers away, hurling a Gnoll in plate armor into the air and tearing an arm straight off of a Drake [Pikeman].

Not a Wight. Her touch wasn’t paralysis and she was too tough. Thrissiam’s pulse quickened as he realized what she had become.

A Draugr. One of the higher levels of undead. Not one with tricks like a Wight, or an amalgamation of souls like a Crypt Lord, but a version of the undead that was akin to a zombie. But only a truly high-level [Necromancer] could think of animating one.

There was more than one Draug in the ranks of the undead. They smashed into Thrissiam’s remaining army, overrunning groups of pikes, barricades, too strong and tough to stop. The Drake heard cries for help, but he had only eyes for Garusa.

“Go, Osthia. Tell them the Goblin Lord has a master. Tell them. Tell them it’s the Necromancer. He’s still alive. Go. Bring back a hundred armies. Bring back Shivertail. Bring the Tidebreaker! Bring them all and cleanse this land of his taint.”

He met her as she charged at him, mouth agape. She struck him in the chest, and he stabbed through her armor. His enchanted spear met no resistance.

“You should have worn better armor.”

He plunged the spear deep into Garusa’ heart. She kept moving, and tore off something on his leg. Through his armor! Her claws were razors. Thrissiam nearly fell, but he took a grip on his spear.

“[Crescent Arc]!”

His spear tore through her flesh as it moved in the shape of a moon. Garusa stopped moving. Thrissiam looked away, and then forced his eyes down. She—

Something struck him from the side. A Ghoul tore at the [General] and he roared, throwing it off and spearing it through the head. Then he turned his eyes towards a fleeing shape on the horizon. Thrissiam smiled just once.

“Go. I’ll be waiting.”

He stood over Garusa’s corpse, spear whirling. The undead closed around him. Thrissiam killed them one by one, until something tore his spear away. Then he fought with his claws, his teeth. And then they bit him, tore at his flesh, broke his armor.

He fell and died, holding a Gnoll in his broken arms.

An hour later, his corpse rose and walked away, leaving a Gnoll behind, surrounded by corpses too damaged to use. What remained of General Thrissiam slowly lurched after the Goblins as they ransacked his camp, and then headed north. Not to Liscor.

Farther still.

 

Day 67

They captured Osthia not ten minutes after she left Thrissiam to die. She cursed them, spat acid, tried to fly with arrows and holes in her wings. They grabbed her, muzzled her like a dog and beat her until she saw nothing.

When she woke, it was in a tent. She was shackled, but her gag had been removed. She recognized the tent. It was Thrissiam’s.

But he did not stand there. Instead, the Goblin Lord stood in the center of the tent. Talking.

With himself.

Osthia’s first instinct was to breathe acid, but then she heard the voice. The same voice that had killed Garusa, that had brought the dead to life. It was coming from the Goblin Lord’s mouth.

You are a disappointment. With all that I have taught you, defeating two armies should have been a simple task.

What was happening? Who was speaking? Osthia pretended to be unconscious as she listened. The Goblin Lord growled, spat. Then he spoke, in a voice that was less well-educated, more direct. His voice.

“Strong Drakes. Strong Gnoll. Worthy foes.”

Something like a sigh emanated from his mouth as the other voice spoke. Osthia watched, shuddering.

You alerted them to your greatest weapon and failed to use it to proper effect. You should have placed the Goblins among your own forces and unleashed them deep within the enemy ranks when they least expected it. You could easily have obliterated the army’s most elite warriors in the opening engagement if you had done so. Instead, you wasted them by confining the undead and your Goblins to separate groups.

“Cannot kill own—”

Foolish.

The word sent shivers down her spine.

If you want victory, you must sacrifice. Next time, place the Goblins among your force. Do not fail me this time. Unify the Goblins, my apprentice. Or perish in despair.

The presence receded. The Goblin Lord stumbled as the other person left him. He turned, and hurled the table that Thrissiam had planned the battle over to one side. Osthia sat up.

“You.”

The Goblin Lord turned, eyes widening.

Now. Osthia spat. A stream of acid shot upwards, pressurized liquid spurting into the Goblin Lord’s face. She waited for him to scream, but heard no sound. Instead she saw the liquid splash his body and drip from an invisible surface surrounding his entire body.

Calmly, the Goblin Lord wiped Osthia’s acid away and scattered it to the ground, where the soil steamed and melted. He glanced down at Osthia as she stared wide-eyed at him and then spoke.

“Ring of Protection. And [Ward of Repulsion]. I could have taken the Gnoll’s charge.”

His voice was so normal. That was what was shocking. It was…it wasn’t like the Necromancer’s voice. But it was no guttural mumbling. It was educated, thoughtful. That scared Osthia most of all.

“Kill me. Or do what you want. You’ll get no secrets out of me.”

She was prepared to bite her tongue, to try and attack the Goblin Lord again. Osthia wanted to die. She was ready for it. She wasn’t ready for the Goblin Lord to laugh.

“Kill you? You and I…we have the same enemy. You will help me.”

“Never.”

He grinned at her, his black eyes and white pupils staring into hers. Osthia shuddered. The Goblin Lord noticed and tapped one eye.

“He sees when he looks. He does not look now.”

“The Necromancer.”

“Yes.”

Something twisted the Goblin Lord’s face. He suddenly looked angry. But he was the Necromancer’s apprentice. And yet—

“Tell me about him. All your people know.”

“What?”

She stared at him. Osthia looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes. She felt the oddity of his question, realized the dissonance in how he acted and spoke before. The same enemy? Did that mean—

The Goblin Lord found a chair and pushed it towards Osthia. He was nothing like she had expected. He looked down at her, tall, gaunt, eyes filled with dark secrets. And fury. He gestured and she saw a dead Goblin standing by the tent’s entrance. She hadn’t noticed him.

Her. It was a female Goblin. A child. The undead zombie swayed in place, lifeless. The Goblin Lord went over to her. He made her turn to Osthia and bared his teeth.

“My subject. My master created her. Killed her to make a weapon. All for me. So tell me. Who is he? What is he? He is my enemy in time. You are. Your people are. But he is most of all. Tell me.”

He stared at her, eyes filled with helpless fury. Osthia felt the certainty of the world begin to shift. The Goblin Lord’s eyes burned.

“Tell me about the Necromancer.”

 


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4.17

Ryoka stood in the darkness, heart pounding. She was afraid. Mortally afraid. There were things she feared in the world, and she was about to face one of them.

She had met Dragons, [Necromancers], Goblin Lords, and yes, each one was terrifying in a way that left scars on the soul. If she closed her eyes, she could still taste the fear. Such memories weren’t nightmarish, though. Nightmares were generally figments of the dreaming mind, and as such, couldn’t come close to the experience of seeing a Dragon face to face.

Part of the fear was wonder. And when Ryoka sat up at night, heart pounding, seeing the Goblins slaughtering the Stone Spears tribe, feeling her fingers bitten off—

That was a horror, one that did not disappear for waking. Because a nightmare was only suspicion, paranoia, unfulfilled fear. Goblins existed. The Goblin Lord was coming. So was the [Necromancer], and Ryoka didn’t know what to do.

All these traumas—Ryoka hadn’t even included dead things around a fire, or evil carnivorous goats. With so much to be afraid of in this world, it seemed silly to have this fear.

And yet, it stemmed from a different place than the ordeals she had gone through. This one was personal, intimate, and it came from a time when Ryoka had been in her world. She just couldn’t face it without shuddering inside.

She hated visiting friends. Or to be more accurate, she thought she did. She’d never actually done it.

Until now.

Ryoka hesitated outside of the door of the large farmhouse. By her side, Mrsha fidgeted in the snow. She looked plaintively up at Ryoka as her stomach rumbled.

It was dark. That didn’t necessarily mean that late; winter being what it was, the sun had gone down before it was time for dinner. And that was why Ryoka was here.

Dinner at Garia’s. She’d asked, and Garia had been only too happy to talk to her parents. And of course, Fals had agreed to come and Ryoka had known it was the only good thing to do as a friend. Still…

It was going to be awkward. Ryoka dreaded that. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act, and she had a horrible fear of silence at the dinner table. At other people’s dinner tables, that was. Her naturally antagonistic relationship with her parents had made her accustomed to it at her house, on the rare occasions they all ate together.

But there was no help for it. Ryoka had taken Mrsha from Erin’s inn after Safry and Maran had been fired. She’d gone to Celum and run with the Gnoll carried on her back. There was actually a kind of basket the Gnolls used that could be used to carry their young. It wasn’t exactly easy to run with, but Ryoka had crossed through snow and run down empty roads until she reached a farm a few miles west of Celum.

That had surprised her, learning that Garia lived so close by. But she’d never talked to the girl about her family, aside from the basics. Garia lived on a farm. Her parents ran said farm. That was all Ryoka needed to know.

And the farm did seem like a proper…farm. It was hard to see in the darkness, but Ryoka had spotted a structure very similar to a barn coming in. It seemed quite large to be run by just two people. Maybe they hired help? Anyways, it didn’t fit with what Ryoka had expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected.

“And now we’re here. I should have asked more questions. Like do I bring a gift? I’m pretty sure a hungry Gnoll isn’t a normal hostess gift.”

Ryoka muttered to herself. By her side, Mrsha looked up imploringly. Ryoka had been standing outside in the snow for a minute, which in Mrsha time was probably a year. The Gnoll was clearly hungry—she could probably smell the food inside. She edged over to Ryoka and poked her leg with a claw, looking meaningfully at the door.

“In a second, Mrsha.”

She just had to steel herself. Okay, say ‘hi, thanks for having me’. Or did she introduce herself first? Ryoka hesitated. Maybe she should—

 

“Just go in, you daft coward!”

 

Someone shouted in her ear. Then Ivolethe kicked Ryoka in the back of the head.

“Ow.”

Ryoka swatted at the Frost Faerie. Ivolethe flew around her and glared at Ryoka.

 

“Stop dithering. I grow bored with every passing moment ye stay out here, and my kind watches trees grow for sport.”

 

The Frost Faerie stared meaningfully at Ryoka. She’d come with Ryoka on the journey, amusing Mrsha to no end by tormenting Ryoka with flurries of snow, snowballs, snow pitfalls, and other winter-related pranks. Ryoka opened her mouth to snap back, felt another poke, and gave in after a short fight.

“Okay, okay. Stop kicking me—stop poking me, Mrsha. I know it’s you. Don’t look around. There’s no one else here! I’m doing it.”

Steeling herself, she raised her hand and knocked loudly at the door. Ryoka had heard muffled sounds from within, and there were lights burning behind the shuttered windows. Now, at her knock, she heard a loud exclamation from within and heavy, running footsteps.

“Ryoka!”

The door burst open. Mrsha nearly went flying as Garia flung the door wide and then engulfed Ryoka in a bone-crushing hug.

“Gah! Garia!”

“It’s so great you’re here! Oh! And Mrsha! I didn’t see you there! Hello! Remember me?”

She let go of Ryoka, allowing the taller girl to breathe, and bent to shake paws with Mrsha. The Gnoll blinked up at Garia solemnly, and then licked her lips as Garia held the door open.

“Come in! My family’s here and Fals came an hour ago. He’s really funny—but you knew that! There’s food ready and snacks—oh. Is uh, she coming?”

Garia had caught sight of Ivolethe. Like all people from this world, she stared a bit to the left of the faerie, looking at Ivolethe’s glamour. She looked apprehensive, no doubt remembering the events at the Runner’s Guild.

“Crap. I uh—”

Ryoka hesitated. She wanted to let Ivolethe come in, but she was well aware of the chaos the Frost Faerie could cause by herself. And it was dangerous for Ivolethe to be indoors as well, even invited. The iron in Garia’s home would be a problem.

For once, Ivolethe solved the problem by herself. She spoke loudly, making Garia jump. Apparently she could speak to whomever she pleased if the need arose, although she seldom bothered.

“I shall take my leave, Ryoka Griffin. I have things to see, and I don’t wish to listen to your mortal prattling all night.”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.”

Garia stared at Ivolethe, white-faced. Ivolethe grinned at Ryoka and flicked her eyes inside calculatingly.

“However, if ye would leave food for me outside, I might consider blessing this place. A proper meal, though. Without iron, mind! And with lots of meat!”

“I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

Wide-eyed, Garia watched as Ivolethe flew upwards and then disappeared rapidly into the sky. She looked at Ryoka. Ryoka shrugged.

“You heard her. Put something out after dinner. Lots of meat. I’ll bet her blessings are worth spit, but it’s better than having her annoyed. Don’t worry either way, though. She’s pretty harmless.”

Garia nodded uncertainly as Mrsha lost patience and padded into the house ahead of the two. Ryoka was about to follow when a snowball spiraled down from above. It hit the back of her head and nearly knocked her flat.

Of course Ryoka had grown used to snowballs thrown by faeries before. She’d been hit by ones with rocks inside them, bits of ice, and so on. But this one had come down at an extreme speed and angle. It had a ton of force behind it. In short, it hurt. Ryoka stumbled, turned and raised her middle finger to the sky.

Fuck you!

A distant laugh answered her. That was coincidentally also when Fals and Garia’s parents came out to meet Ryoka. Their first impression of her was thus an angry Asian girl flipping off the sky, hair covered with snow. As first impressions went…well, Ryoka had had worse.

 

—-

 

“So you’re friends with the Winter Sprites, Miss, ah, Ryoka?”

A few minutes later Ryoka was sitting around a table with Mrsha, Garia, Fals, and Mr. and Ms. Strongheart. Of course, no one spoke like that, so they were Wailant and Viceria, the married couple who’d raised Garia.

They…weren’t what Ryoka had expected. For one thing, well, they didn’t look the part. Not that Ryoka had expected a pair of Southern-accented people with hats and overalls, but she had considered the standards of farming in this world fairly below hers. She’d been prepared to meet a fairly poor couple, living in a village and farming a patch of land that might be owned by a [Lord] or other kind of landowner.

Instead, she met the oddest pair imaginable. The father, Wailant, had huge, tattooed and scarred arms revealed by his sleeveless cotton shirt. It had taken Ryoka several minutes just to process the incongruity of his appearance. She managed to break down the weirdness into several layers.

Firstly, his arms were muscled. Not surprising on a [Farmer], and Garia was certainly strong as all get-out from her years working. But the tattoos? One was of a twisting tentacle holding a ship, the other of some kind of horrific fish with a gaping maw. The other, well, Ryoka was just glad that Mrsha was more interested in her food than in Wailant.

And his shirt! That was another weird part of him. Because despite wearing a sleeveless shirt, it was far from a poor quality cloth. The shirt itself was a light blue gilded with gold. It had a flowing edge around the bottom and sides reminiscent of a golden wave.

And the scars. Unless farming in this world involved fighting mutant rabbits with teeth like swords, Wailant had gotten the savage scars that covered his arms somewhere else. He had a particularly nasty circular wound—from an arrow, perhaps—on the side of his stubbled face.

In short, he looked as little like a [Farmer] as Ryoka could imagine. And his wife, Viceria?

She was a [Mage]. She wore the robe, spoke like Pisces when he wasn’t being obnoxiously wordy, and Ryoka could sense the magic about her. She had long, flowing hair tied back in a braid—light brown, contrasting against Wailant’s black hair. She was slim, elegant.

Ryoka sat at a dinner table with the two of Garia’s parents as she ate, filling her plates with roast yams, a hot egg-and-pork casserole, spooned potatoes and some kind of weird, soft and sour vegetable called Tashal onto her plate, and tried to make conversation.

“Uh, yes. That’s right. Her name’s Ivolethe. She’s ah…a friend.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware they had names. Garia told me about seeing your friend’s true form. I had no idea they were using a glamour at the time, but that would explain their other abilities. How did you meet her?”

Viceria tapped her fingers together as she studied Ryoka over her plate. She was using silver…silverware. In fact, the plates were costly ceramics. Ryoka carefully chewed down a bite of Tashal—it really was good with potatoes, like sour cream—before replying.

“I ah, attracted their notice. Those little b—those pests followed me for days, pulling pranks on me, throwing snow at my head, and so on. In the end I managed to impress them a bit, and Ivolethe seemed to like me.”

“So you have one of those devils following you?”

Sitting next to Fals and his wife, Wailant snorted. He folded his arms as Mrsha tried to fill her mouth with food. The Gnoll was happily consuming everything she could reach, and her plate kept being filled by Wailant, who seemed to enjoy watching Mrsha eat. She and Garia were the only things he seemed to approve of—Fals and Ryoka were getting the third degree.

“Those pests can wreck a farm in a day. I remember one of the farmers south of here lost an entire spring harvest when they covered his fields with eight feet of snow! He had to hire [Diggers] to shift it while all the other snow had long melted away!”

Ryoka coughed awkwardly and saw Garia wince. Her friend was sitting on her right, next to Fals, and she looked guilty as her father stared hard at Ryoka.

“I uh, didn’t know about that. I’m sorry for your friend—”

“My friend? I hated that bastard. I’m glad the faeries covered his fields. Served him right. But your friend’s not going to do it to my farm now, is she?”

“No. Absolutely not. Ivolethe doesn’t generally cause trouble—she just pulls pranks.”

“But she can do quite a lot on her own, can’t she? Garia told us about what happened to the Runner’s Guild in Celum.”

Viceria gazed at Ryoka, making the Runner girl cough. She was saved by Fals, who interrupted with a placating smile.

“I’m sorry to say the Runner’s Guild—and most of the people within—probably deserved it in that case, Miss Viceria. I haven’t seen Ryoka’s little friend doing anything else like that. In fact, I’d consider someone who’s familiar with snow and such an asset.”

“Oh. So that’s why Miss Ryoka’s had all those lucrative contracts? I wanted to know how she got deliveries for gold—hundreds of gold coins or so Garia’s said—while she’s still running deliveries for silver and copper. Is it all because of your Frost Faerie friend?”

Garia sat up in her seat, flushing scarlet and glaring at her father.

Dad. I don’t think Ryoka is—don’t embarrass me!”

Wailant Strongheart was unmoved. He was giving Ryoka a look she wished she could bottle and use on everyone she didn’t like. Coming from him, it was, well, hard not to flinch. Ryoka met Wailant’s green eyes, not backing down.

“I got those contracts because I was in the right place at the right time. I didn’t take them from anyone.”

“So you say.”

Wailant shifted, uncrossing one arm. Ryoka could see every muscle in his right arm shift for the motion. Sitting across from her, Fals leaned back as one of Wailant’s arms flexed, making the fish tattoo seem to swim. He grinned a bit desperately and nodded at Ryoka.

“We’re ah, all City Runners here, Mister Wailant, Miss Viceria. No one takes advantage of each other if we can help it. We’re a team. Ryoka just happens to be one of the best Runners in our Guild. In truth, I wouldn’t take half the requests she does. Running through the High Passes? I’d rather play tag with a Creler, or paint myself red and run through the streets of Celum naked.”

That got a laugh. Garia giggled and Wailant barked out a guffaw and slapped Fals on the back. Ryoka winced as she heard the crack of flesh on flesh. Fals kept grinning, although it looked like he was now struggling not to cry out in pain.

He was being charming, funny, and talkative. At first Ryoka had assumed it was the usual Fals, but she’d quickly realized that this was a defense tactic. Keeping Garia’s parents entertained was far more preferable to having them ask piercing questions. Ryoka wondered how he’d survived an hour already.

To change the subject, Ryoka cast about the table. Hostile parents aside, Garia’s house was really very nice. Extraordinarily nice. Again, Ryoka had expected a family that conformed to medieval economics, which was to say, dirt poor. But everything in the Strongheart family home looked well-made and some things looked expensive. They had a bookshelf filled with books for crying out loud! Ryoka chose that as the subject and nodded at it.

“I see you have quite a collection of books. I uh, didn’t know that [Farmers] were so well read. I’ve tried buying books myself, but they’re as expensive as healing potions, some of them. How did you come by this collection?”

“We’re humble folk, Miss Ryoka. That doesn’t mean we’re stupid. Or poor, for that matter.”

How did she manage to put her foot further into her mouth? Ryoka saw Garia burying her head in her hands as Wailant pushed back his chair. There was nothing poor or humble about the way he brought out several of the books for Ryoka and Fals to admire. She stared at the covers, noting several from her time perusing Magnolia’s library.

“It’s a magnificent collection.”

“Of course it is! I’ve read them all. Viceria here knows several [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] who sell to [Lords] and [Ladies]. Of course, a poor family of [Farmers] can’t afford more than one or two first-edition tomes. Read all of these, have you?”

“Not all of them.”

Ryoka found herself being quizzed aggressively on the books she had read as the dinner continued. All the while, she saw Garia grow more and more anxious. She kept breaking into her father’s flow, trying to change the subject.

“So uh, does anyone want dessert? Mrsha? Why don’t I uh, get it? And you, Dad.”

She practically dragged her father out of his chair and into the kitchen. Mrsha followed, waddling a bit with her full belly and standing upright so the food wouldn’t come out if she fell over. Fals took that moment to flee for the outhouse, leaving Ryoka in a moment’s reprieve.

Well, Viceria was still there. Ryoka eyed her across the table and saw the woman smile.

“I apologize for my husband, Miss Ryoka.”

“It’s uh, fine. Call me Ryoka. Why do I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me?”

Viceria laughed softly. She looked like she was ten years younger than she was, which was, according to Garia, in her thirties. Ryoka was having a hard time imagining her giving birth to Garia. Oh, the features were there, the hair color was the same, but the body shape—no.

“I think that it’s because you look a lot like the girls that used to give Garia a hard time when she was growing up. You have their look, and I think Wailant’s concerned you might be taking advantage of Garia. I won’t pretend I didn’t have the same thoughts when I met young Fals, but he seems decent enough.”

That clarified some things. Ryoka sat back in her chair, hearing Garia’s not-so-quiet argument with her father about much the same subject in the kitchen.

“Oh? What do I look like?”

Viceria shrugged, looking slightly bitter.

“Tall, beautiful, thin. It’s not as if Garia doesn’t look lovely herself, but she thinks she should look more like me, when she inherited her father’s build. And of course, her first class was [Farmer], not [Mage]…”

“Wait, her class?”

Ryoka frowned. Viceria looked surprised.

“Of course. Don’t you know? Some classes dictate the way in which we, well, look. I am a [Mage], for instance. Working with magic means I tend to look younger than I really am—of course, there are spells that help as well. But [Mages] tend towards thinness. We burn too much energy for most of us to gain weight. Whereas classes like [Farmer], well, anyone who grows up with that class tends to grow a lot larger than say, someone who was raised as a [Clerk].”

Was that really true? Ryoka frowned as she tried to unpack this. The way you looked could tie to your class? She could buy the bit about [Mages] burning energy, but surely broad shoulders were in Garia’s genes, not a byproduct of her class. Then again, this was a world governed by Skills. Why couldn’t there be a passive effect that did just that?

“I didn’t know about classes like that. But Garia and I are, well, friends. She made my acquaintance and we’ve hung out. I wouldn’t ever take advantage of her. She’s a good person.”

“We know. But while she doesn’t say it, we’ve heard her talking about people less kind than you two are. We’ve met some of them before, as well.”

Viceria shook her head, looking troubled.

“Some girls seem to think they’re better than Garia just because they weigh less, or they can run faster. Apparently, Garia isn’t well thought of in the Runner’s Guild.”

The same in every world. Ryoka gritted her teeth. She took a breath, and then looked Viceria in the eye, speaking clearly.

“I think Garia’s worth twice as much as other City Runners. She’s had my back in two fights so far, and both times she didn’t hesitate to help me, even when we were fighting a group of adventurers.”

The woman blinked at her.

“Garia? In a fight?”

What?

There was an exclamation from the kitchen. Ryoka turned her head and saw Wailant, holding a pot full of custard. Behind him, Garia buried her face in her hands.

Wailant put the pot on the table and turned to face Ryoka. He wasn’t frowning, although he did loom a bit.

“Are you telling me my girl was in a fight?”

Ryoka leaned back a bit. This was going south. She wondered if she could jump out a window with Mrsha if it came to it.

“Yes, Mister Wailant. It was my fault. She was defending me after some idiots picked a fight and—”

“How’d she do?”

Wailant stared at Ryoka. She froze. He stared at her expectantly, as did Viceria.

“Did she knock anyone down? How many folks were in it? Did she kick anyone in the balls? I told her, that’s the way to start and end a fight in a hurry.”

Dad!

Ryoka stared at Wailant. She felt like she was running on the wrong track—she’d felt that way the instant she’d met Garia’s parents. But for the first time, she felt like she could see the right way to talk to him. So she sat up in her chair, smiled a bit, and nodded at Garia, who was red as an apple.

“One punch, Mister Wailant. She took out a Bronze-rank adventurer with one hit. She probably would have done the same to his friends, but the Watch broke things up before we could get to it.”

The fight at the inn with the adventurers that Persua had brought came out over dessert. Ryoka sat at the table, eating lightly spiced custard while Mrsha licked two bowls clean and then lapsed into a food coma. Fals came back, and Garia covered her burning face as her two parents heard both times when Garia had stepped up in a physical way to defend Ryoka.

The mood in the room had changed. Wailant was nodding with fierce, fatherly pride and Viceria was smiling as they heard how Garia had knocked out her opponents with one hit on both occasions.

“That’s my girl. One solid punch is all you need. Once the other fellow’s on the floor, a few good kicks and they’re out for good.”

He jabbed out with a fast punch to demonstrate, nearly clipping Fals. Ryoka grinned at him as Viceria filled her bowl with some more custard.

“You’re pretty proud of Garia for fighting. I would have thought you’d be worried.”

“Worried? Hah! Our daughter’s got [Enhanced Strength]! At her age, no less! She could knock out an ox with her fists if she wanted to.”

“Dad! Stop! Come on!”

“I don’t doubt she could. But Garia’s no fighter. She’s a [Runner].”

Wailant ignored his daughter as she tried to kick him underneath the table.

“Yes, but she’s my daughter, and that mean’s she’s got a warrior’s blood in her veins. She’s more than a match for a green-ass adventurer who doesn’t know the handle of his sword from the blade.”

Ryoka eyed Wailant, askance.

“I thought you were a [Farmer].”

He grinned at her, suddenly chummy.

“I am. But I used to fight for a living.”

“Really now?”

“Oh yes. I was a [Sailor]. Haven’t you seen the tattoos? I used to sail across the world, to all five continents!”

He flexed one bicep to show Ryoka the image of the tentacle grabbing the ship. She’d hardly missed it, but all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Well, some of them at least.

Fals blinked at Wailant.

“You were a [Sailor]? How’d you end up here?”

Wailant opened his mouth, but his wife cut in.

“My husband’s not a sailor, Fals. I’m sorry to say that’s the little lie he likes to tell. He did sail, but he was hardly an honest man.”

“Yeah, Dad. Tell the truth!”

Garia glared at Wailant, who protested.

“I was a [Sailor]!”

Two pairs of female eyes stared at him. He sighed.

“No? Fine. I was a [Pirate]. Happy?”

Both Ryoka and Fals’ mouths dropped open. Mrsha rolled over in her seat, oblivious, but suddenly Wailant the [Farmer] became someone else. He sat back in his chair, the custard forgotten and started telling the two Runners about his past.

“Oh yes, I was a [Pirate]. What, you think I got these scars from pulling up potatoes? Well, this one I got from killing a Creler. Nasty bastards—as bad as anything at sea, that’s the truth! But I took my first step on the deck. My family was from Baleros—yes, they were [Pirates] too. It’s in the blood, not that I knew them. My father died at sea before I was born and my mother died in a battle when I was five. I had two brothers and a sister—can’t tell you where they are. But I learned to fight and got my share of the plunder as soon as I could use a sword.”

The world was a funny place. Ryoka knew you could meet all kinds of people in her world, people who lived in quiet places who had all kinds of amazing stories to tell. But this? Wailant had been a [Pirate]. He’d sailed under a ruthless [Pirate Captain], taken down enemy ships, fought in the worst storms against monsters, even battled with a group of Gold-rank adventurers who’d been after his ship!

He’d been a Level 27 [Pirate] when he quit sailing for good and found an honest ship headed for Izril. Not because he’d lost his ship or run into any bad luck either—he’d retired as wealthy as any Gold-rank adventurer. But he hadn’t stayed at sea like the rest of his crew.

“I got sick of rocking ships, the damp, salt in my hair and thousands of glowing eyes watching me from the waters on bad nights. Out there in the depths of the sea…I could have become a [Storm Sailor], or a [Captain] of my own ship had I wanted to. But I chose land instead. Do I have regrets? Perhaps. I could have had a ship of my own, but you see, I knew in my heart that I was making the right choice…”

Both Garia and her mother rolled their eyes as Wailant went on. They’d heard this story a thousand times, probably inflated no end over the years. But Ryoka and Fals were entranced. Fals broke in as Wailant waxed poetical about nights spent on deck, staring up at the stars.

“How’d you end up around here though, so far from the sea?”

The man grimaced.

“Practicality. The vast amount of my fortune went to clearing the bounty on my head. What I had left I used to buy a farm, and then to pay for food and supplies for the first few years before I leveled up enough to make a living with my own hands. I bought it far inland because I was sick of seeing water—and because I had more than a few enemies who would like to see me dead. I thought a farm would be nice and relaxing—and it was, after I learned how to manage it!”

The first few years had not been kind to Wailant, but he’d persevered, not shying from the work.

“Plus, I had my advantages. I couldn’t figure out how to make the damn oxen plough a straight line for months, but I didn’t have to stick together in a village, afraid of monsters at night. If a band of Goblins came roaming around, or a Creler tried to dig a nest in my lands, I’d kill it with this!”

He had a cutlass, shimmering with an enchantment that he apparently kept with him while farming at all times. He’d looted it as his share of treasure long ago, and it had saved his life more than once on the farm.

“It’s also how I met Viceria. She was a Wistram graduate, trying to study the Blood Fields when she ran into a group of Carn Wolves. I found her escort dead and killed two of the damn things before the pack ran off. She and I got to talking, and well, nights are cold on a farm.”

“Ew! Dad!

Garia shoved her father, sending him tumbling across the room. He cursed like a sailor—or pirate—as he got to his feet, and Ryoka sat back in her chair. That explained…a lot.

“That’s incredible. And you—Miss Viceria—”

“Just call me Viceria. That’s right. I stayed. I’m an expert at magic involving plants. I’m no [Geomancer], but rather a [Green Mage]. That’s different from a [Druid], by the way. I’m a respectable level in that, but I found being a [Farmer] far easier than competing at Wistram. There’s not much respect for disciplines involving growing, or there wasn’t when I lived there.”

And so, the incredible farming duo had been born. Neither Wailant nor Viceria were specialists in the [Farmer] class like the Level 30 [Farmers] who could supply an entire city with produce, but they had their own skillsets that helped a great deal.

“Most farms, well, they need two dozen farmhands just to harvest and guards and so on. Even a high-level [Farmer] has to be wary of bandits and monsters. I don’t have that issue, and my wife has the spells to grow crops faster than normal, as good as a Skill! Between the two of us, we supply a good deal of produce for Celum. Enough to live comfortably on and I can always hire a few brats to take in the harvest when it comes time for it. Besides, the farming life’s fairly quiet, and I enjoy not fighting for my life every other day.”

Wailant and Viceria smiled as they looked at each other. Garia looked away, blushing, but Ryoka felt a bit envious. Wailant had seen the kraken—literally, apparently—and walked away. He’d found a way to live that was satisfying and he’d found someone to share it with.

She took a sip of mulled wine. By this point, everyone was sitting around a dim fire. Mrsha was curled up next to it, snoring, and Garia was yawning. As Fals and Ryoka chatted to her parents, Garia grew sleepier, until she had to excuse herself for the night.

“I might have to do the same.”

Fals admitted after a jaw-cracking yawn. He stood up as Viceria offered to show him to the room they’d prepared for him. She, Garia, and Fals left as Wailant sat by Ryoka, staring at the fire. Viceria came back alone, and that left Ryoka with the two older Stronghearts.

She didn’t mind. It was odd, but in the course of an evening, Wailant and Viceria had turned from intimidating, antagonistic parents into, well, people. Ryoka even found herself liking Wailant’s style of dressing. Apparently he couldn’t live with sleeves after having bared arms all his life.

“It’s an incredible place you have here, Wailant, Viceria. I’m glad Garia’s got such great parents.”

“Hah. Great parents would be able to help their daughter. But she’s a [Runner] and we’ve no idea if she’s safe or in danger half the time. It’s only when she comes back that we know she’s safe, and she does that too seldom.”

Wailant sat with a stiff drink in his hand. He’d already downed six, having an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol, but he was in the depressed stage. Viceria sat with wine by the fire, glancing between it and at Ryoka.

“She says she’s been doing well. But I’ve heard her stories and I hear you have something to do with helping her out.”

“Just a few things here and there. Nothing much.”

Ryoka shook her head. Wailant stared at her, tapping his fingers.

“That’s not what she says. She came back with potions at her belt a few weeks ago. That was thanks to you. We offered her coin for it before, but she’s too proud—”

“She won’t let us buy her magical artifacts, or buy her things ourselves.”

That surprised Ryoka. She would have thought Garia would have taken any chance to get ahead, but her parents shook their heads when asked.

“My daughter’s as stubborn as I am. She wanted to fit in, not get ahead. I told her the best Runners have all the advantages they can get, but she thought it would make her too different, that it was cheating. I told her, on the sea you cheat if you can do it! Put a hole in the enemy’s hull, climb onto their decks and stab them while they’re sleeping! But Garia’s not like me.”

“She’s not a warrior, you mean?”

Wailant shook his head, looking unhappy.

“I’d have liked her to be. It needn’t be her class, but it would set my mind at ease if she could defend herself. Only, she’s got no talent with a sword.”

“Or magic.”

Viceria nodded as she traced around the rim of her cup.

“She can’t use a spear—”

“Or bow—”

“And I wouldn’t bet a Drowned Man’s eye against her hitting anything but a tree with a hatchet. Our daughter’s strong and tough, but she’s too clumsy to be a warrior, if she had the temperament for that class to begin with. Which she doesn’t.”

Wailant downed his cup, tossed it aside. Viceria gave him an accusing look which he ignored. He stared at Ryoka.

“You say she punched out a man in armor? That’s good. But fists aren’t enough against swords or arrows, let alone magic. A brawl’s one thing, but [Bandits]? How can I rest easy knowing she might be jumped by them? Sea’s wrath, she has been attacked before. Someday I’ll get a letter from the Runner’s Guild, and then…”

He trailed off, looking tired and worried. In that moment, he looked like every parent Ryoka had ever known. Like her parents. She felt something squeeze at her heart.

“Garia’s brave. She has people looking out for her. Fals, for instance, and I try when I’m in the area. If fighting’s the problem, maybe she can carry artifacts?”

“Maybe. But an artifact’s only good if you can use it. A Skill lasts, and there’s the instinct of a warrior as well. I could be sure of myself if I was jumped, but if someone took her by surprise—salt and shores, I’m not half as strong as I would be on a ship, but I wish I could give that to Garia. Some way to dodge arrows. Or a ring! But that costs coin and the farm doesn’t earn enough for us to buy an artifact that expensive…”

Ryoka stared at the fire. A girl who couldn’t fight and two parents who worried about her. It was a story for this world. In any other world, Garia could live while relying on law enforcement, but here the law ended at the gates, and sometimes didn’t even work within a city. What could you give someone who couldn’t use a sword? Without the ability to use magic?

The Runner girl stared at Wailant’s arm, and then at her hand. She made a fist, and stared at it.

“Oh.”

Both Wailant and Viceria looked at Ryoka. She blinked at her hand. It felt like forever since she’d…she stood up and threw a punch.

“Nice one.”

Wailant watched Ryoka as she punched and then threw a hook. She stood differently, moved differently than Wailant as she did. He’d punched like a boxer, but Ryoka kept her hands higher, at head-level, and further apart, bouncing on her feet. She was moving according to a style, and Wailant, used to fighting, saw it.

“Are you a [Fistfighter], or some kind of [Brawler]?”

“Not quite. I learned how to fight back home. Only, it’s not a Skill I learned, but a style. A way of fighting.”

Ryoka jumped and kicked. Viceria made a sound. Wailant stared.

“I’ve seen idiots do that when fighting. Jumping around before they get cut to ribbons. But that looked like it could have done damage.”

“Not to a monster. Not with my strength.”

Ryoka shook her head, remembering trying to fight a Carn Wolf. She punched and kicked, dodging back from an imaginary foe. Her muscles protested a bit. How long had it been since Ryoka had practiced?

“So why learn how to fight like that?”

“It helps. Against humans, people with knives. I could defend myself. But I’m not strong enough. If I throw a punch, it won’t knock down a Carn Wolf. Or a Minotaur.”

She paused, felt a pang and hung her head. Calruz. Wailant nodded.

“Minotaurs can’t be beat with bare hands. I’ve seen their black ships too many times. They’re deadly at sea and on land. No sane [Pirate] goes near their islands. But learning to fight like that…there’s some grace to it. Better than I do in a fight at a bar.”

“Yeah. Only it won’t save me from a monster attack. That’s what my legs are for.”

Ryoka turned to Wailant and Viceria. She tapped her arm.

“I’m not strong enough, like I said. If I punch with my…style, I can be sure I’ll hit someone. However, even with a good punch it won’t do enough. Not from me. But if someone else punched like that, someone who could knock an ox out with a punch…”

The former [Pirate] and [Green Mage] stared at Ryoka. Wailant sat up. Viceria smiled.

“You think Garia could learn to fight with her fists? She’s never learnt any other way of fighting. She doesn’t have the knack for it.”

“Yeah, well, martial arts isn’t just about talent. It’s something everyone can learn. It just takes practice.”

“Martial arts. Is that what it’s called?”

Ryoka shook her head, smiling.

“No. This is called Muay Thai Kickboxing. And this—”

She took a different stance, threw a different punch.

“—is called Karate. It might be better for Garia. I don’t know. I thought about teaching some techniques when I saw her in that fight at the inn. I never got around to it. But if you’re worried, I could give her some lessons. She could practice herself if she takes to it.”

She looked at Wailant and Viceria. It was just a thought, something to reassure them. The two parents looked at each other, speaking without words and then Wailant stood up. He cracked his neck, and then beckoned at Ryoka.

“Try me, then. Go ahead. I’ve a few drinks, but if you can knock me down…you don’t have a class, do you?”

She grinned at him.

“Not a one.”

“Garia said that. I couldn’t believe someone would be that stupid.”

“Really? Then let me show you—”

Ryoka twisted, kicked. Wailant dodged back. He laughed, surprised, as Ryoka hopped backwards. She grinned at him, beckoned.

There was something here. In this room, as Viceria told them to not damage the furniture and Ryoka tagged Wailant with a kick that sobered him up and he showed her how fast a former [Pirate] could punch.

In the end, they stopped with bruises and light hearts. Ryoka found herself being slapped on the back by Wailant, and talking with Viceria. She smiled, and carried Mrsha to a room upstairs to sleep. She thought, just for an instant, that it was strange. She’d expected awkwardness, dreaded meeting Garia’s parents, and gotten off to the worst start possible. But suddenly—

She was enjoying herself.

Fancy that. Then Ryoka slept. The next day, she began teaching Garia how to punch. And Ivolethe—

Began teaching her how to use magic.

 

—-

 

Ryoka Griffin stood on a hill, facing the wind. She breathed in deeply, and felt the chill of the morning’s air blow through her hair. She stared into the open sky and felt the world pressing down at her.

The clouds were impossibly high overhead. The wind rushed about her, invigorating Ryoka, filling her with quiet contemplation. Her breathing slowed. Her pulse settled. She cleared her mind, became still, meditative. Her mind grew tranquil as Ryoka absorbed nature—

 

“Not like that, fool! What are ye doing?”

 

Someone threw snow into Ryoka’s face. She spluttered, opened her eyes, and scowled at Ivolethe.

“What the hell was that for? I’m trying to sense the wind!”

Ivolethe buzzed around Ryoka’s head, an angry blue butterfly with attitude.

 

“What kind of an idiot does that with their eyes closed? I told ye, to learn faerie magic, ye must first sense the wind.”

 

“Right. And that’s all you said. I’m here for a lesson. So tell me, how do I sense the wind?”

Ryoka folded her arms and scowled. Ivolethe looked exasperated.

The two were standing on a snowy hilltop near the Strongheart farm. Ryoka had woken up to a very enjoyable breakfast, talked with Garia about learning martial arts and gotten the girl’s wary agreement. She’d taught the girl how to stand and punch and Garia had seemed willing to give it a try, even though she’d giggled and not taken it as seriously as Ryoka would have liked. But Fals had tried it as well, and that had made Garia grow more focused.

Everything had been going swimmingly, in short, until Ivolethe appeared and demanded that Ryoka start learning faerie magic. And that too was great—in fact, Ryoka was excited by the prospect.

Only it appeared Ivolethe’s methods of teaching weren’t as straightforward as Ryoka’s. She’d taken Ryoka to this hill and told her to sense the wind.

“How does it work?”

Ivolethe sighed gustily. She flew in front of Ryoka, folding her tiny pale-blue transparent arms and pointed.

 

“Ye see the wind?”

 

“Uh, maybe. I see air.”

Ryoka stared at a blank patch the faerie was pointing at, which was probably what Ivolethe meant. Ivolethe smiled.

 

“Good! Now follow it.”

 

She waited. Ryoka stared at the empty patch of air and then glanced at Ivolethe.

“What do you mean, ‘follow it’? There’s nothing to see!”

Ivolethe slapped a hand to her face, making a sound like breaking icicles. She flew to Ryoka’s face and punched the girl in the eye. Ryoka shouted and swung wildly.

 

“Did I tell ye to stop looking? Look at the wind, you bleeding idiot!”

 

“There’s nothing to see!”

 

Exactly! So look at nothing and see where it goes!”

 

Ivolethe screamed in Ryoka’s ear. Ryoka opened her watering eye and glared at the faerie. The faerie glared back.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me to stare at something invisible.”

Ivolethe rolled her eyes.

 

“Of course. To control the wind, to know it, ye must see it. And it is invisible! Of course it is! Otherwise you mortals would have already seen it!”

 

“But how can I see if—”

Ryoka guarded her face as Ivolethe swooped at her again. The faerie flew past her and spoke into her ear.

 

Look, fool. Look at what is invisible and see it. With your eyes. With your soul. Look and see. That is all I need tell you. Look. Ye have done it once, on the magic coach.”

 

Ryoka remembered. She’d seen Ivolethe flying, and seen the wind, followed it for one glorious second. She didn’t remember how she’d done it, but…she nodded.

“Fine. I’ll try.”

Ivolethe nodded, still looking impatient. Ryoka took a deep breath and stared ahead. Watch the wind. See it.

She saw nothing. The wind blew, and it went still. It blew again, but aside from some snow caught up by it, there was nothing to see. Nothing to look at. Ryoka struggled to look at the wind, but she always looked at the wind, didn’t she? It was always there.

Invisible. Unseen. How was she supposed to see it? Ryoka tried adjusting the way she looked at the world, focusing her eyes, tracing an imaginary path the wind took. Nothing worked.

Five minutes passed. Ryoka searched the air for something she couldn’t see, couldn’t imagine seeing, and Ivolethe floated in the air beside her, making discontented faces. She yawned hugely, and Ryoka gritted her teeth.

“I saw that.”

 

“Did ye? Good. Your eyes are working, then. Now see this.

 

Ivolethe yawned wider, showing Ryoka the inside of her mouth, pale red ice and sharp teeth. She flipped one wing as Ryoka growled to herself.

 

“Hurry up! I’m bored!”

 

“I’m trying to learn. You’re supposed to be my teacher! Shouldn’t you have some patience and let me try to figure this out?”

 

“No, fool! Because if ye were going to get it, you’d have already gotten it by now! Magic isn’t something you can keep trying over and over!”

 

“That’s because you’re not giving me any instructions. If you want me to see the wind, tell me how in more detail.”

Ryoka snapped, but Ivolethe just flipped herself over so she was staring at Ryoka upside down. She spoke, suddenly serious.

 

“I cannot.”

 

“Why not? Because it’s secret?”

 

“No, because there are no words for it. It is magic, Ryoka Griffin. Magic. It is something you understand in here, not here.”

 

She flew over and tapped Ryoka’s chest, then flew up and tapped her head. Ryoka nodded slowly.

“Instinct? I have to get a feel for it, that’s what you’re saying. Then if I keep practicing—”

 

“No.”

 

Ivolethe sighed. She rubbed at her face, frowning hard. She shook her head.

 

“It is not instinct. You cannot learn this by practicing.”

 

“But you said—”

 

“It is grace, mortal. Grace and naught else. Grace and wonder. A moment. It is not something ye can learn in a book. It is not something you can keep trying to do. You will learn it in a moment of purest understanding—or never.”

 

The Frost Faerie looked at Ryoka in the eye. Ryoka felt a slight chill that had nothing to do with the cold. She opened her mouth, paused. What Ivolethe said spoke to her, but it made no sense at the same time.

“That’s not how magic works in this world, though. [Mages] study magic in books. They can write it down. They have to study.”

 

“True.”

 

Ivolethe nodded, frowning.

 

“How shall I explain? That is magic. Tamed, and bent for use, yes, but it is still magic. But it is not my magic. Not the magic of the fae. Not deep magic, which runs wild. If ye wish to study that magic, practice. Understand, by all means. But ye shall never see the wind if you think of it as something to be understood, to be learned. The wind is the wind. I ask you to see it, Ryoka. Not understand the why of it.”

 

Ryoka struggled to make sense of this. On one level she got what Ivolethe was saying. On another…how could you stare at something and not want to know why it was? But that was magic. Ivolethe’s magic.

A moment of grace.

 

“Back to trying. Try and if you cannot see it, we shall try later. But this is the first step, Ryoka. The only step. Learn to do this, and ye shall see all in time.”

 

See the wind. Ryoka tried. She really did. But she couldn’t keep what Ivolethe had said in her mind and just try to feel something naturally. And the Frost Faerie saw it.

 

“Stop. Another chance will come. Look for the wind elsewhere, Ryoka, but ye won’t see it here.”

 

And that was it. The lesson was done. Ivolethe floated past Ryoka as the girl sighed, disappointed. The Frost Faerie laughed as she pointed down the hill.

 

“Go back to your mortal friends. Look at the child!”

 

Ryoka turned and saw that her martial arts lesson had attracted more than just Fals. Mrsha was standing clumsily in the snow, trying to punch like Garia. She kept punching, and falling over by her own momentum.

It was very cute. Ryoka laughed and took out her iPhone as she descended the hill. She tried to turn it on, but found to her deepest disappointment that it had run out of power! She cursed to herself. It was hard to remember to get Pisces to cast [Repair] on it. Erin would just have to imagine Mrsha’s antics.

“Ryoka! I don’t think this is right!”

Garia was complaining as she punched the air, blushing as Fals did the same beside her. She’d been willing to try learning, especially after her father had vouched for the effectiveness of Ryoka’s kick, but she was clearly feeling silly.

“Don’t worry, you’re doing good. Raise your arm a bit more. And like I said—each time you punch, breathe out. Like this.”

Ryoka demonstrated, bringing her fists up and punching slowly as she exhaled. Garia copied her, but complained immediately afterwards.

“I get that I’m learning to punch, but I feel silly. I’m just hitting the air!”

“Well, that’s the point. Look, you’re practicing, like you would with a sword.”

“Yeah, but—no one’s going to stand there and let me punch them.”

The girl rolled her eyes and Ryoka barely resisted doing the same.

“I know that, but you have to start at the beginning. Look, just punch like I showed you. You’re using the muscles in your stomach. If you can feel them as you punch…”

“But why would muscles in my stomach help my arms?”

Garia looked confused. Ryoka groaned. How could you explain hundreds of years of biological science to someone who hadn’t even heard of muscle fibers? Well, with martial arts, actually.

“It’s all connected. Look, one of the principle of martial arts is connectedness. Every part of the body works together. Your arms aren’t one separate thing. That’s why when you punch, your entire body, from your arms to your legs go into one motion. That’s why you take a stance and move the same way. It’s the most effective.”

“Is that why you had me do jumping jacks?”

“That’s part of the warm up, yes. So is swinging your arms, rolling your hips, and everything else. You need to be flexible. That’s what these exercises will help you do as well—build muscle so you can move freely.”

“I don’t see why. My arms are already strong. Isn’t that enough if I’m punching someone?”

Garia’s cheeks were red as Ryoka walked her through more exercises, making her learn how to do knee lifts to the elbow, and then hiza-geri, a form of knee striking from Shotokan Karate. She clearly didn’t want Fals to see her doing this silly routine, for all he was doing it with the two girls and Mrsha was too.

“Punching someone isn’t enough, Garia. Strength isn’t enough, although it’s pretty damn important. But martial arts practices defense, movement—it’s a way of living. It’s…a way to be graceful. Grace.”

Ryoka stared ahead until she realized she’d stopped doing knee strikes. She made Garia do twenty until the girl complained her legs were getting tired.

“And I have to do this every day?”

“If you want to get good, yes.”

Ryoka snapped, growing impatient with Garia. She was trying to help, but Garia seemed determined not to get through even the basic forms! She was trying to help—

“Why don’t you show us what a master looks like, Ryoka? I’m sure you see how all this matters, but I’m like Garia. It feels silly to do all this. What does it look like once you keep practicing for a while?”

Fals spoke up and Ryoka blinked at him. She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t one kind of thing—and then realized he was right.

Mrsha had grown bored of watching Ryoka practice with Garia. She’d started playing in the snow. Garia’s parents had a hot drink and were smiling and Garia looked fed up. Ivolethe was laughing at Ryoka, and Fals had his eyebrows raised.

They didn’t know what martial arts looked like. Perhaps no one in this world did. Ryoka nodded.

“You’re right, Fals. Let me show you what it looks like, Garia, everyone. Mrsha, get back. Ivolethe, you can stay right there for all I care. I’ll show you…what training your body can do.”

Ryoka took a few steps away from Garia and cleared some snow off of the ground. There was grass underfoot. Not ideal—Ryoka would have liked a firmer surface, but it would have to do.

Garia sat back with Fals, blushing at him and watching Ryoka with a bit of interest. Ryoka smiled to herself. There was something familiar about this moment. Hadn’t she done this once? Oh yes. When her leg had been healed. When she’d been able to move again.

It was the same. Ryoka took a breath, and then ran forwards. She jumped, and then did a handspring into the air. Her audience gasped, but that was only a warm-up. Ryoka landed, twisted, and back flipped up and over, landing on a patch of snow to silence, and then cheering.

“What was that? How did you do that?

Garia nearly tripped over her own feet, running over to Ryoka. She stared in amazement at the girl, but Ryoka put up a hand.

“I’m just getting started. Watch out—”

She did a standing front flip, which was easy, but again, totally astounded everyone watching. Mrsha ran over to Ryoka, screaming in inaudible excitement. Fals stared at his feet and hopped experimentally as if to try.

The Humans and Gnoll watched as Ryoka did another backflip, this time with a run up. Ryoka cursed as she nearly slipped on landing. The snow was not the place for tricks. But her audience didn’t care. They had never seen someone move like Ryoka could.

The next thing Ryoka tried was a standing cork, or standing corkscrew. It involved her standing with her left leg raised slightly off the ground and behind her right leg, which was slightly bent. Then, Ryoka jumped up and her entire body twisted around and up, sending her spinning up and around. It wasn’t like a front flip at all. In fact, it was so fast that Garia and the others couldn’t even tell what Ryoka had done.

It was a move from a martial art devoted just to tricks. Appropriately, it was called Tricking, a way of doing flashy moves like you’d see in movies. Naturally, Ryoka had learned how to do several tricks, and this one, a standing cork seemed to defy the laws of gravity for those watching it for the first time.

In slow motion, it would look as if Ryoka’s leg came up, propelling her into the air, and then her body curled and twisted several times before her foot came down, landing her on the ground. Ryoka did this again for her stunned audience—

And wiped out.

Spectacularly, as it happened. Ryoka messed up the landing and slipped on some snow and hit the ground hard. She was up in a second to reassure Mrsha, but she’d hit herself hard enough to bruise.

That actually helped, because after seeing her flub so badly, the watchers were even more convinced Ryoka was insane as she did several more tricks. Determined to make up for that hilarious failure, Ryoka did a spinning aerial kick that hit Ivolethe as the faerie flew a good six feet up in the air. The faerie went flying, screaming insults, more surprised than hurt.

“How are you doing that?”

“Practice!”

Ryoka laughed as she did a series of tricks, spinning and kicking into the air, flipping around—flying. Tricking. It wasn’t a formal martial art. Or rather, it wasn’t a type of martial arts that applied to fighting or self-defense. It was more like a sport, an activity, an exhibition of what the human body could do.

There were very few situations that required Ryoka to jump into the air, spin, land on one leg, flip herself forward and then kick, but that wasn’t the point.

It was a performance. Ryoka did a running flip off of a handstand in the snow, jumped up, kicked at a target twice her height in the air and landed. She nearly slipped and fell in the snow, but then she was laughing, hearing Garia and Fals shout in amazement.

“See? This is martial arts! This is what you can do if you practice!

Next, Ryoka showed the group some more practical moves, doing the roundhouse kick she loved so much, punching, blocking, moving to avoid and counter invisible enemies. It wasn’t as showy as Tricking, but it was just as amazing to the people watching.

Because they had never seen this either. Warriors with swords were one thing, but this was different. This was martial arts, which emphasized moves that had no wasted movement, that could be performed because the user had practiced them again and again.

No one in this world did flips. What would be the point? Oh, maybe a [Tumbler] could do it, or an [Acrobat] if they even existed. But no one in this world had had the time to practice, to do a backflip. Because there was no point! No point, which is why there weren’t people doing acrobatic tricks in ancient Rome, at least, as far as Ryoka knew.

There was no necessity to anything Ryoka did. No reason to do it, except because it was amazing and wonderful and inspiring.

And fun.

And as Ryoka ran and did a handspring into the air, she felt alive. She’d forgotten, somewhere, what it was like to just move for the sake of moving. The wind was blowing through her hair. She felt like she was flying, just like the first time she’d ever pulled one of these tricks off.

It felt as though at any moment, as you were flying upwards, the world twisting around you, that you could just soar into the heavens, that your body could carry you upwards without limit. Ryoka leapt, and saw something in the air.

A flash of movement. She saw the wind. She saw it twist around her—

Ryoka!

Garia cried out and Ryoka found herself flipping over and over, upwards and up. And then down. She shouted, lost control—

And fell.

It was a long way down. When Ryoka woke up with Mrsha covering her face, Garia told her Ryoka had gone for a gainer, a backflip off of one foot. She’d leapt into the air, and then, somehow, kept flipping upwards. She ended up flying ten feet into the air before falling. Ryoka had successfully done a quadruple gainer, a feat never performed in the history of human kind as something—the wind—had carried her up.

Unfortunately, she’d missed the landing. Panicked, confused by what had happened, Ryoka had landed the most impressive face-plant in the snow, again, perhaps the most impressive one ever seen. She’d knocked herself out as everyone had gone running over.

When she’d heard all of this and gotten Mrsha off her, Ryoka sat up, looked for Ivolethe, and tried to kill her friend.

“What the hell was that for? Was that payback for kicking you? Because if it was—”

 

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!

 

Ivolethe shouted as she flew away from Ryoka. The girl stopped, glaring at Ivolethe and swaying on her feet.

“What the hell do you mean? It was you! I saw it! You used the wind—”

 

“Not me, you fool! I did nothing!”

 

“What?”

Ryoka stared at her. She realized what Ivolethe was saying and paled.

“But then I—”

The Frost Faerie grinned at Ryoka. The girl froze, staring at her, at the clear blue sky.

“But that’s impossible. I was showing off. I wasn’t trying to—”

Ivolethe floated up, smiling broadly. She tapped Ryoka in the chest, grinning and shaking her head.

 

“Showing off? That was the best time for it! You didn’t try. In that moment, ye were Ryoka at your most natural. You did not feel. You saw. And the wind saw you.

 

“I did it?”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe. She stared around, at where Fals was gingerly trying to do a handstand, at Garia, who was determinedly punching the air and Mrsha, doing flips as Wailant tossed her up and Viceria watched with a wand at the ready, just in case.

Then she looked at Ivolethe. To her surprise, there were tears in the faerie’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

The small Frost Faerie shook her head.

 

“Ah. I did not know. I did not know what else Humans came up with. I lived with a body like yours for years, but this?”

 

She did a corkscrew in the air, flipping over, a perfect copy of the move Ryoka had done. Ivolethe laughed.

 

“This! This is new. This is something else. And for this, Ryoka Griffin, I thank you. For showing me something I have never seen.”

 

She landed on the ground, and took a few steps. Ivolethe kicked up into the air and back flipped up past Ryoka, into the sky. Her laughter was all Ryoka heard. It filled the world as Ivolethe flipped upwards, not flying, but borne by the wind. Ryoka stared as the faerie flew and whispered one word.

“Grace.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.02 D

It was a hot, humid day when Quallet Marshhand walked into the recruiting grounds and claimed the half-rotted booth he’d bought for the day. It was always a hot day in Baleros. At least the winter kept the worst edge of the heat off, but Quallet had gotten used to feeling sweat run down his face long ago.

The booth Quallet had bought for five silver pieces wasn’t worth half a copper one, in his opinion. The humid weather had already rotted half of the woodwork, and he was sure that if he put his axe or helmet on the booth, it would collapse. And scrabbling around in the dirt for his gear wouldn’t do him any favors, especially when he was on a tight schedule.

So Quallet leaned his axe against the booth and kept his helmet on. It was already hot, and at least the helmet added to his presence. He had to compete with the others standing at their respective booths and shouting. It wasn’t like this recruiting ground was particularly large; there were only six or so occupied booths, but the recruiters standing at each one were shouting loud enough for twice their number.

“Any [Mages] are welcome to the Tanglelurk Lights!”

“Roll up and become one of the Virulent Plague! Enlist with a friend and earn double pay for your first month!”

“Join the Raverian Fighters! We’re offering a premium on experienced warriors! Apply now!”

Quallet had to smirk when he heard the last shout. The Raverian Fighters? They must be desperate to be recruiting in the middle of a campaign. Anyone with half a brain would know better than to join that company, especially with how things were going.

Still, mocking the opposition was a pointless endeavor. Quallet was here to recruit, so he drew in a breath and began shouting himself.

“Gravetender’s Fist is accepting new recruits! Join an experienced suppression company and make coin without dying in your first battle!”

Heads turned and instantly, a fair number of the individuals in the recruiting grounds began drifting over in his direction. Quallet let them come, not bothering to redouble his shouting. Instead he stood, arms crossed, waiting.

It was about presence. In Baleros, a company of warriors might live or die based on the efforts of their recruiters. These groups or individuals would go from village to city, sometimes competing against hundreds of other companies to find talent, other times marching through an empty dirt street and shouting by themselves.

It was hard, unrewarding work, and usually given to an unlucky officer or as punishment detail. You’d never see one of the leaders of the Four Great Companies come to this recruiting ground. No, you’d get some unhappy [Sergeant], trying to meet his quota and stay out of the heat.

And that was the mistake most companies made. Because a company was only as good as its recruits, and Quallet had learned long ago that the best recruits were snapped up in an instant. Hence, why he’d come himself.

He was a Level 32 [Mercenary Captain], a seasoned warrior and a powerful leader in his own right. Quallet knew at a glance that he was the highest-leveled individual in the entire recruiting ground, and he had the armor and flash to go along with his Skills.

Thus, the large group of Humans, Lizardfolk, Dullahans and the smaller handful of Centaurs drew closer to see what he was offering. In Baleros, the mercenary companies that fought and bled and died for every petty squabble and major war came in every flavor and kind imaginable. New and experienced soldiers would frequent these grounds, seeking out the best contracts for themselves.

Not that this backwater village had any experienced warriors. It had probably been visited at the start of winter. Now, only unseasoned raw recruits were left, people with no combat classes that probably had never held a sword. Not ideal for company recruiting, but fine with Quallet. Scooping up a hundred such people was his goal today. It would allow him to sell his services in the nearest warzone for quite a bit of gold.

The trick was that he represented a company by himself. As a [Mercenary Captain], Quallet had the Skills to turn the worst fighters into a half-decent force, with him leading them. With a hundred or so fresh recruits, Quallet could advertise his company to the highest bidder at a competitive rate. Just so long as Quallet found a decent pool of people to draw from, and made sure that the best of the bunch weren’t snapped up.

He had an advantage there too. Among the precious Skills that allowed him to lead his company, Quallet had the Skill [Talent Seeker], which allowed him to find the best of any bunch for his company. Assuming the other recruiters didn’t have similar abilities—and it was a good bet this lot were only [Sergeants] and [Soldiers] with few Skills between them—Quallet would walk away with most of his company within the hour.

A decent crowd had gathered—quite a lot of Humans for a village Quallet could have sworn was filled with Lizardfolk. No matter. Him being Human helped in that area as well. He took a breath and spoke at a field roar, making the people closest to him flinch back.

“So you’re in need of coin, eh? Fancy going to war? Running from something, or seeking adventure? You’re in the right place. A [Soldier] lives to fight, and you’ll see plenty of that in Baleros, where the jungles run red with blood!”

That drew knowing nods from several in the crowd, but the Humans just stared at him. They were an odd bunch, dressed strangely with bright clothing. One had a strange, flat object with a glowing light coming out one end. Some kind of artifact? Quallet pretended not to notice. He went on with his little speech, going through the same motions like he had a thousand times.

“Don’t fancy being a [Soldier]? A [Warrior] will find just as much work, and the best can earn a living as an adventurer. Joining up with a company is the right first step. However, what these other companies don’t tell you is that of every ten raw recruits that enlist, six of them will be dead in the first year!”

That rattled his audience. Quallet looked among them. Yes, a group of young Lizardfolk, scales practically fresh. Dullahans with wood armor, all young, most carrying their heads and peering at him uncertainly. The Centaurs shifted from foot to foot and the Humans—still staring.

The other recruiters in the square were now giving Quallet death-glares from where they stood, but he didn’t care. He spoke the truth and every recruiter knew it. But only Quallet could turn that knowledge into an asset.

“Four in ten odds don’t sound good to you lot, eh? It takes a steady hand and talent to survive your first clash. Fancy yourselves natural-born fighters? You, boy.”

He pointed at a pale-skinned youth wearing some sort of hat. It looked like nothing Quallet had ever seen before. The material was bright and there was some kind of symbol on top. A company’s crest? A red bird sitting on an odd bit of wood stared at him over the word…‘Cardinals’?

Never mind. Quallet stared as the young man looked around and then grinned nervously.

“What, me?”

“Yes, you! Ever been in combat? Ever killed an opponent? You look sturdy enough. Good with a sword, are you?”

The young man stiffened. He hadn’t, Quallet knew, been in any fights to the death before. He didn’t have the look. And he wasn’t armed. Come to that, none of the Humans were. But bravado was one of the key aspects of youth, so the young man with the odd hat grinned as his Human friends laughed.

“Not with a sword, but…I’ve been in a few fights!”

It took all of Quallet’s willpower not to grimace at the stupid boast. A few fights? He’d heard the same line repeated a thousand times from a thousand soon-to-be-dead faces. A few scraps with fists, rocks, and maybe the occasional dagger wasn’t a real battle. Until they’d survived a Dullahan ambush, or been on the receiving end of a Centaur charge, no one had the right to claim they were experienced.

But it suited his point.

“Good in a fight? Well, perhaps you’d fit in with the Raverian fighters. Or if you know magic, why not enlist with the Tanglelurk company? But if you do, you’ll be on the front, mark me. The first clash will have you going up against experienced warriors. Veterans who’d killed more people than you have fingers. So I wouldn’t bet a ‘few fights’ against a skilled [Halberdier], not for any odds.”

That took the wind out of the young man’s sails. Quallet turned, nodding at the two recruiters he’d just made enemies of.

“They’ll promise you gold for nothing, but it won’t be all of you who see it after months of fighting. Which is why I’m telling you to join my company.”

“And what does your company have that they don’t?”

That came from a brown-skinned Centaur with white fur standing at the back of the crowd. He had a good bit of room, mainly because Centaurs were huge and touchy. The Humans looked especially leery of him. Quallet replied calmly, meeting the Centaur’s gaze.

“I’m the [Captain] of Gravetender’s Fist. Haven’t heard of it? That’s fine. But we’re a suppression company. We don’t go to battle against veterans. We’re night-duty, corpse battlers. You know what I’m talking about.”

They did. The Lizardfolk shifted and some looked back towards the other recruiters. A few Dullahans turned away. The Centaurs were still listening although their faces had twisted with disgust. The Humans were…staring blankly. Did they not know, or just not care? Quallet took a breath.

This was the hard part. Lose too many Lizardfolk and you’d lose them all. The Dullahans were hard to sell to. He could probably get the Centaurs either way, but Quallet wanted all the recruits here. If he got them, he wouldn’t have to go through any more villages and stand in the hot air.

“Not fans of what my company does? I won’t blame you. But we provide an important service, a necessary service for most companies. You’ve heard of the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company, haven’t you? I’m bound for that battlefield after this village, and I’ll be leading my company onto the battlefield each night. It won’t be glamorous—it’ll be muck and death and filth—but it will be safe.

What an ironic word. But it was true, and it drew attention back to him. Quallet strode back and forth, speaking to the crowd as they watched him.

“Yes, safe! As safe as war can be! You’ll see combat, true enough, but you won’t die like Bloodflies in my company. Eight out of every ten raw recruits that serves under me survives their first month. If you’re new to battle, you’ll gain your first ten levels in a combat class in this company, my oath on it!”

He alone could boast that. Quallet knew, the other recruiters knew, and most of the recruits with a brain knew that signing up with a company meant gambling your life if you were a new recruit. Put your mark with the Raverian Fighters and you’d be fighting on the front lines within the week, and you’d be lucky indeed if you didn’t run up against a high-level soldier, a [Mage], or simply got cut to pieces in the crush. But Gravetender’s Fist and companies like the one Quallet ran were different.

They were safe. For a given measure of safe, of course. And that had an allure that beat out all of the other recruiters’ desperate calls and pitches. Quallet got down to the details as the others stayed. He nearly had them.

“You’ll earn a silver piece for every night you spend fighting, and four copper coins for the nights you don’t. Think its poor pay for a soldier? We’ll give you lot a sword and armor if you don’t have it, healing potions for your wounds, and I’ll be fighting right alongside you all. My company begins leaving tomorrow morning. Ask as many questions as you like. And ask about—I’ll swear to a truth crystal all I’ve said is true. If you’re unsure, ask those other recruiters what your odds are. But if they’re honest, they’ll tell you my company is the way to go for those of you who want to survive.”

Quallet pointed at the haggard [Sergeant] recruiting for the Raverian fighters. The man gave him a haunted look as Quallet raised his voice.

“Over there lies glory. Glory. The glory of the brave and the dead. If you’re seeking battles to test your mettle, sign up by all means. But join my company if you prefer to fight and live.”

 

—-

 

It worked. It always worked, especially when you had an ill-fated company you could point at as a reminder of what could go wrong. Tales of glory and fame on the battlefield were all very well if everyone was humming the same tune, but Quallet had learnt to be the one dissenting voice in the crowd. And people listened to the one odd voice.

He didn’t get all the recruits of course. No one ever did. Well, perhaps Niers Astoragon or Valka Cerethrian might be able to pull it off if they walked into the recruiting grounds. But that night Quallet signed over eighty recruits into his company, effectively doubling its size.

It wasn’t a bad haul, all told. He’d gotten the Centaurs—all of them. It turned out the one who’d spoken was a Level 11 [Fighter], and his friends had a few levels between them, which was good. Quallet had a handful of Dullahans, and a sizeable number of Lizardfolk. One of them had a magic class, which was an unexpected little gift.

As for the rest? The Humans had come almost as one entire package. They were odd, and signed their names on Quallet’s enchanted list with odd flourishes and curved writing, as if they were all [Scribes]. Some had laughed as they’d did so, and joked about ‘enlisting’ as if it were a completely new thing.

Odd. Quallet hoped he wasn’t borrowing trouble with their lot. But they didn’t seem like former [Bandits] or troublemakers in the ways he’d learned to watch out for. They were just weird.

He didn’t have to like them, just teach them how to fight and obey orders, anyways. Quallet marched his new recruits two miles out to the camp where he and the rest of the Gravetender’s Fist company was located.

Rows of tents and armed warriors lounging about were what greeted the recruits. Quallet saw two people—a Dullahan [Sergeant] named Xor and a Human [Soldier], Raeh, stride over to meet him. They were Quallet’s acting officers. He didn’t need many, but people who could lead when he was away were important, and he knew both males, having served with them before.

“That’s the rest of our company, Quallet?”

Raeh didn’t bother with formalities. Quallet didn’t see the need, at least between officers. He nodded at Raeh, and the man grinned. He wasn’t a big man, although he was very good with the sword he used.

“Finally. Time to be moving at last. I was getting bored of being eaten by the damn jungle.”

Xor looked disapproving. He did address Quallet formally, as Dullahans tended to do in every situation.

“Captain Quallet, there have been no disturbances in your absence. Would you like me to instruct the recruits, or will you do so?”

“I’ll do it.”

Quallet turned and spoke loudly to the group of recruits. The Humans had been staring around and the Lizardfolk had already sat down while the Dullahans stood at attention. The Centaurs just looked bored at the slow pace. Each race had its peculiarities.

“This is where you lot will sleep tonight! You’re all part of Gravetender’s Fist now, and you’re under my command. I promised you food and a place to sleep—and armor and weapons! You’ll get all that, but for now mill about. Some of you will be called out by these two men—”

He indicated Raeh and Xor.

“They are my officers and you’ll hop to it when they give you orders, just as you would when I tell you to do something! But there’s no fighting tonight. Tomorrow you’ll march and we’ll start training you before we get to the battlefield. You’ll have a good four days to practice.”

“Four days?”

Some of the Humans looked dismayed. Quallet laughed.

“Four isn’t enough? You’d rather practice for a month? Don’t worry, we’ll beat the fundamentals into you, and you’ll get a class while marching if you haven’t one already. Your opponents won’t be that dangerous either, as you’ll see. But for now—eat! Food will be passed around shortly. Talk amongst yourselves if you want to, make friends. Everyone standing here will be fighting by your side and might save your life!”

The recruits looked around warily. Quallet wondered if they’d mingle. It didn’t usually happen. He went over a few more rules, trying to get it over with as succinctly as possible.

“You’ll each get one meal and one alone. There’ll be no stealing, or fighting of any kind in my company. I’ll personally see to that. If you can’t stand someone’s guts, keep away from them and pray they get killed soon. But cause trouble and I’ll thrash you myself. You’re soldiers in a company now, not children.”

That was it. Quallet let the recruits disperse, mingling with the few veterans and other new soldiers from other villages he’d already found. It was rare for most of his soldiers to stay more than a few months in Gravetender’s Fist. Quallet had grown used to new faces coming and going.

“Let’s feed them.”

He grunted to Xor and the Dullahan helped him unload the bags of holding that helped make Quallet’s company. They had been very dear to buy, but it allowed Quallet to do away with a lot of expenses for wagons, instead bringing out preserved food to be shared around by soldiers under Raeh’s watchful eye.

Recruits ate, recruits talked, some bragging nervously, others swapping tales or just keeping to themselves. Quallet watched as he chewed down some sour-dough bread and cheese, biting into one of the fleshy Picta-fruits and washing it all down with warm water. He swatted at insects as he saw each of the four races sticking to their groups for the most part.

It was good enough. It was like normal. Quallet went to his private tent as the new soldiers slept in the mostly insect-proof tents. The experienced [Captain] listened to the dull roar of the jungle’s wildlife, the occasional breeze blowing through the area, and the sound of snoring. He slept.

The next day, Quallet rose just after dawn, and with his two officers, got his soldiers up. They awoke, scratching at bites, moaning, probably regretting ever wanting to be a soldier.

That was normal too. Quallet fed them, showed the new recruits how to break down camp, stored it all in the bags of holding, loaded the heavy artifacts onto the lone wagon his company used, and moved out.

His routine was simple. Quallet wished he could follow it in his sleep. After he recruited his company back to a good strength, after buying supplies to last for weeks or months and cramming them in the bags of holding, filling their enchanted capacity to the brim, he took his command and headed towards the closest battlefield, or the one he’d been contracted to.

This time he was headed towards the place where the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company were fighting. A Dullahan-led company and a Centaur company, respectively. They were fighting over land, or maybe it was some old feud. Gold? Quallet hadn’t heard the details from the other [Mercenary Captain] who’d tipped him off. All he knew was that they could use another suppression company. The fighting had been fierce, apparently.

March his recruits. Arm them with cheap weapons scavenged from the battlefield or bought en-masse from the war vendors. Train them.

That came at the series of breaks to let the weary soldiers rest their feet. Quallet first distributed armor, letting the recruits fight over who got what, and then arms. For some reason, all the young men seemed to fancy themselves swordsmen, for all that there were perfectly good axes. Quallet eyed his new command again.

Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs, Humans, he all had in various numbers. But the largest influx of Humans had come from that odd group of strange-dressed young men—and young women—who’d come with him on the latest recruiting drive. They were…strange.

For one thing, they all seemed to know each other. If not each other by name, they shared some kind of connection Quallet couldn’t fathom. Some had very strange clothing, quite inappropriate for Baleros’s weather and stinging insects. Any fool knew to cover skin rather than flaunt it, but this lot had been practically devoured by the biting insects the first night.

Too, some of them had odd artifacts that were clearly magical. They made noise and light, and Quallet had seen more than one Lizardfolk edge over curiously. The Humans were very protective though, and didn’t show them to anyone.

Were they rich? Or were the artifacts cheap toys to make sound and light? Either way, it was strange. The Humans stared about at everything as if they’d never seen a real sword before, or another species. Still, they were hardly worse than any other recruit, which was why as the sun rose to midday, Quallet decided to start instructing them how to use the weapons he’d given them. Some of the young men had cut themselves, a few badly, by mock-fencing with the swords they’d been given.

He looked across his command and found one of the Humans who caught his eye. He stood out, mainly because everyone else who’d joined out had pale skin, tan skin, brown skin, or dark skin…this young man who was a bit older than most had dark black skin, like charcoal. Quallet called out to him.

“You there! Black-skin.”

The young man stiffened. He turned as Quallet strode towards him, looking surprised. And for some reason, angry.

What did you call me?”

He was taller than Quallet, a giant, at least six feet, possibly six and a half feet tall. He had long arms, and a muscled body, although he seemed not to be at all comfortable with the mace he’d been given.

“I said you. You with the black skin.”

Quallet spoke calmly as the young man seemed to grow angrier. He pointed at the group of resting Humans milling about.

“Get some of your friends together. Twenty of them. We’re starting arms drills now.”

What was wrong? Quallet had given an order. He hadn’t insulted the young man, but in some way, he had. The black-skinned young man looked upset. Was it because Quallet’s skin was light, tanned from days in the sun? It didn’t matter either way. Quallet stared up at the younger man, adding a touch of [Commanding Presence] until he backed down.

“Yes sir. I will do that just now. Sir.”

Perhaps it was the way he had said it—he spoke as if he didn’t understand the common tongue quite right, which was incredible in itself—but Quallet watched as the young man walked off. Apparently, ‘just now’ didn’t mean much to him, because he took his sweet time before obeying Quallet’s orders.

It turned out his name was Luan, and he did eventually bring some nervous, giggling young men to Quallet for a demonstration.

“Here’s how you hold those shiny weapons you’ve been given. You lot—take out your weapons. Not like that! Watch me, now. If you’re taking your axe out, or your sword, you’ll want to do it fast. Like this.

He demonstrated and made the young men do everything from take out their weapons to hold them correctly. Then Quallet had them swing at the air, at trees and stumps, making them get a feel for how the weapons moved and how to strike.

The Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs…it was the Humans who were the problem. Again. The young men that Luan had gathered treated Quallet’s orders like a game, laughing and slashing the air with wild cuts that wouldn’t have killed anyone. One of them, standing down the line as Quallet shouted at Luan—who at least had a good grip and stance—was swinging his sword around and laughing at the others.

Quallet turned to address this idiot when the young man’s hands, sweaty from the heat and exercise, slipped on the badly-wrapped leather hilt of the sword. He lost his grip and there was a scream from one of the young women as the sword went flying through the air. People scattered out of the way as the sword landed in the dirt. The young man who’d been holding it grinned nervously.

“Oops.”

Some of his friends laughed, but Quallet’s eyes narrowed. He crossed the distance between him and the young man in an instant. The young man didn’t see the gauntleted fist before it split his lip and sent him tumbling to the ground.

The laughter stopped. Quallet heard the young man swearing and stood over him, one hand on his axe. Everyone else watched as the young man stared up, suddenly afraid. Quallet shouted at him.

“This is not a game! When you’re fighting for your life, having a proper grip on your sword will save your life, and the lives of the soldiers around you! If you cannot take this seriously, I will leave you in this forest to rot!”

The pale-skinned youth flinched from his words. Quallet turned and faced the rest of his company.

“Mark me, this is not a joke. You are learning how to fight! Hold your weapons properly, get a feel for them. Because you will be seeing combat this week!

The young man got up, pale-faced and bleeding. No one spoke. Quallet pointed.

“Pick up your blade and keep practicing! You! Yes, you lot! Don’t just stand around! Get moving! I want to see you—all of you—practicing!”

He made the rest of his company do the same, feeling the eyes of the Humans and Luan on his back. Now they feared him, which was fine. A [Captain] could be feared. Quallet was just glad he’d had the opportunity to impress on them that this wasn’t a game. With luck, he’d have another opportunity before it came to battle as well. Every time he showed these raw soldiers what fighting was like, was another life he’d save when it came to their first night on duty.

 

—-

 

“You! Wood-armor. Yes, you. Get the tents set up. Get as many hands as you need, but until they’re up, you lot don’t sleep!”

Quallet barked orders as his weary and sore company rested for the night. He made them set up camp, pass around food, and then let them pass out in their tents. Quallet slept easily, woke up the next day and began it all over again.

Train them, march them, feed them, and then let them rest. On the second day, Quallet began to lecture his company on their duties and had a nasty surprise.

“You mean you don’t know what Gravetender’s Fist does?”

He stared at the group of Humans in disbelief. They looked ashamed, but it was true. To everyone’s astonishment, it seemed that while the Humans had understood what being in a mercenary company meant, they hadn’t known what a suppression company—which was what they were in—did.

Quallet’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the rows of faces, trying to see if they were playing a prank on him. But it didn’t look like they were. The other species were giving the Humans very odd looks too.

Greener than he’d thought. Or maybe from another continent? But why would they be stranded all the way out here, then? Either way, Quallet amended his time-adhered to speech.

“If you signed up without knowing exactly what Gravetender’s Fist does, well, you should have figured it out from the name. Alone. Grave tending. Gravetender. It’s not exactly hard to see the connection. Understand?”

Blank looks. Quallet couldn’t believe this.

“The undead! The restless souls that rise from unburied corpses and in places of power! Have you never seen one before?”

They hadn’t. Xor had to actually rub at his head’s eyes with his hands and Raeh looked incredulous. The other Lizardfolk were staring at the Humans as if they were idiots. The Centaurs were making a joke of the entire thing as they laughed amongst themselves.

“The dead rise. Zombies, skeletons, ghouls…they get worse with time and depending on the corpse and amount of death. A [Necromancer] can raise them and command them, but undead will spawn naturally from unburied corpses. That might not be a problem in a quiet village where the dead can be laid to rest—or cremated—but this is Baleros. A place where war is always present! We’re headed towards a battlefield where two companies—with thousands or tens of thousands of soldiers—are fighting each day! What do you think will happen to all those bodies?”

“They rise?”

How could anyone ask that like a question? Quallet scowled.

“Of course they do. And they’re not only a nuisance, but a danger. Leave a battlefield full of thousands of corpses alone for a short period and you’ll get ghouls and worse popping up within days. They’ll attack soldiers, spread disease—and that’s where we come in.”

He nodded to Raeh and the man took over.

“Gravetender’s Fist. We are a suppression company. That’s not like a regular company for you new recruits. Suppression companies specialize in one kind of fighting. Some kill Goblins or monsters that make a nuisance of themselves. Others, like our company, kill the undead on the battlefield.”

There were murmurs at that. Quallet watched the Humans warily. If they hadn’t known—how could they not know? But now he had to worry about them deserting too. He spoke crisply, trying to dismiss their sudden dismay.

“I said it was better work than fighting, didn’t I? You’ll be up against zombies and the like mostly. Nothing dangerous. A rotting corpse might be a threat, but it’s better than a veteran with a magical blade. Each night when the fighting stops we’ll go into the battlefield, between the armies often, and handle the dead. The soldiers fighting don’t want to do it—they’re tired, and if both armies are sending troops out it’ll be a night battle against the undead and each other. So that’s why companies like this one are hired.”

“Clean up duty.”

Someone in the crowd joked. Quallet nodded, ignoring the levity.

“We’ll be collecting corpses, burning them, and putting down any undead that decide to get up. It will be dirty work, quick, and dangerous if you don’t watch each other’s back. But the worst you’ll face out there is a Ghoul, and that’s only if you’re unlucky. It beats dying with an arrow in your neck when the real fighting starts in the mornings, mark me.”

The Humans stirred uneasily, as did some others in his company. Quallet raised his voice.

“That’s why we’re practicing! Now, your duties are simple. You’ll be working in teams, spread out to cover ground. If you find a body—you bring it over. Yes, they’ll be rotting, yes it will smell. And you will stab it through the head before you come, in case it’s rising. [Sergeant] Xor’s done this work a hundred times. He’ll instruct you. Xor, show them how to move with Raeh watching your back…”

 

—-

 

They met the first group of undead on the road, a day before reaching the battleground. The shambling zombies must have missed the armies somehow, and they were roaming about aimlessly. It was a perfect opportunity, one Quallet had hoped for. He took command and ordered his company to engage them. Not all of course; it was only about thirty zombies, so Quallet took exactly that number out and had them fight.

They were all frightened, most close to wetting themselves as the zombies approached. But Quallet had chosen well, and the Centaur with white fur and the Lizardgirl with magic killed their zombie quickly and efficiently. Watched by Quallet, Xor, and Raeh, the other raw soldiers fought and killed their zombies, hacking away, running back, screaming—

Learning to fight. It was messy, horrible to watch from the eye of an experienced veteran, but it was the first step to forging his company into a fighting force. Quallet nodded approvingly as one young man killed a zombie with an axe.

“A good first step.”

He was one of the odd Humans, the ones with weird clothing. This one was pale-skinned and had odd features. Narrower eyes, black hair—he was a bit short as well and he had an expensive-looking long-sleeved shirt and pants on. They looked like fine material, but they were now covered in guts and gore underneath the battered leather armor he was wearing. Quallet didn’t know the young man’s story, and he didn’t care what his name was.

He’d heard others call the young man Ken, though. Ken…although one of the young women had called him something else. What was it? Ken…Ken…something.

 

—-

 

Kenjiro Murata stumbled away as the zombie he’d killed sunk to the ground, its misshapen head collapsing inwards as it struck the ground. It couldn’t really be called a head at all, in fact. Kenjiro, or ‘Ken’ as the others called him, had bashed it so many times with the axe he’d been given that the rotting bone and flesh around the skull had caved in.

He stared at the corpse as it fell, stared at the horrible innards of its head, smelled the rotting flesh, saw some things wriggling in the decomposing corpse’s open mouth. Ken turned, about to vomit, when he heard a familiar voice crying out.

“No! No!”

He ran towards the voice, leaving the dead zombie behind. Ken saw a girl with short black hair, wearing a battered piece of armor awkwardly over her jeans and t-shirt, backing away from another dead zombie.

It had a spear lodged in its belly. But it was still trying to move forwards. The girl backed away, screaming, and then shouting at the undead corpse in a language no one but Kenjiro understood.

“やめて. やめてください!”

Her voice was shrill, panicked. There was something insane about what she’d said. Stop. Please, stop. She’d said it to a zombie, but she probably couldn’t believe what was happening. Ken still couldn’t himself.

“Aiko-san!”

He ran over. The axe was in his hands. Ken smashed the zombie in the head, feeling a sickening connection. It fell over, and the girl turned away, covering her face in her hands. Ken stepped back, shaking as the second zombie he’d killed fell, twitching and making a gurgling sound. He looked hesitantly at the girl.

Aiko Nonomura.

She was crying, sobbing, actually, with fear and horror. Ken opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He didn’t know what to say, not to Aiko. He wouldn’t have known what to tell himself.

He was in another world, with magic and monsters. And the undead. He was a soldier, and so was she.

They hadn’t known what they were signing up for at all.

Aiko kept crying as the angry [Captain] shouted at the people around them. Ken saw other people, some Humans like him, others wearing strange armor, Dullahans, fighting next to scaly lizard-people as galloping Centaurs ran by, spearing zombies and hacking them apart.

“Aiko-san, are you okay? 大丈夫ですか?”

Ken had a hard time speaking English, so he switched back to his native tongue, feeling oddly formal. He knew Aiko of course, but she wasn’t someone he knew.

She wasn’t a childhood friend, more like a classmate that Ken knew from sharing the same class with for multiple years throughout their junior and senior high school time. They hadn’t spoken much. It was a fluke that had put them together in the airport on that fateful day when they’d vanished from their world into this one.

Now they were alone, and Aiko was the only one who understood him.

“Yes. Yes, I—”

She spoke in English, speaking to Ken and also to the Lizardgirl who’d stopped to see if they were alright. The scaly, frilled head nodded and the Lizardgirl walked on, conjuring a ball of fire to throw at a zombie. Ken watched her with amazement in his heart, and then looked at Aiko.

“Are you okay? Hurt?”

She shook her head, but Aiko was clearly far from alright. She was pale, and as she looked back at the zombie, Aiko’s face turned dead white. She stepped back and put a hand to her mouth.

But she didn’t throw up. Instead, Aiko looked at Ken, a mortal horror in her eyes. He recognized it, because it was the same terrible feeling in him.

Zombies were real. Magic was real. They were in a fantasy world. Only it wasn’t wonderful. It was just as bad as any anime, only worse. Because Ken could smell the rotting corpses. He could feel every insect bite on his body, feel the heat of Baleros’ winter, and know that he had killed two people today.

Maybe they were already dead. But the sensation of breaking flesh and bone was—it was too much.

“悪因悪果.”

Aiko gave word to the feeling in Ken’s stomach. He looked at her. She’d said—well, he couldn’t process it in English, only in his native language. It was an expression.  It meant, roughly, evil sown is evil reaped. Those who do bad things have bad things happen to them. He shook his head.

“ううん…”

She stared at him. Ken felt compelled to explain himself. He looked at Aiko, hesitated, and then spoke rapidly in Japanese.

If this were karma, surely we’d be punished in some other way. No, this is just reality. It is harsh, but we must survive.

Ever since they’d come to this world, they’d had to survive. They’d sold their backpacks and luggage, found food and shelter for a few days, but like the others, like everyone from this world, they’d run out of money in an instant. This had been the only work they could take, the only work they could do.

It is too cruel. I cannot do this.

Aiko’s eyes were still brimming with tears. She looked at the corpse, gagged. Ken tried to look, and failed. He spoke to Aiko, trying to suppress the feeling in his stomach.

They are dead, Aiko. If they were alive, I would feel guilty. But they are dead and we are…warriors now.

He had the class. He was a Level 1 [Warrior]. A voice in his head had told him he had the class last night, and a Skill—[Lesser Stamina]. Perhaps that was why his arms weren’t burning despite chopping at two zombies with the axe?

I know! I know, but I cannot—Kenjiro-san, why are we here?

Aiko was distraught. She stared at the zombies, and Ken had nothing he could tell her. He didn’t know. One second they’d been in the Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne, standing around and making awkward conversation as the rest of their group went off to buy souvenirs. Ken and Aiko had been forced to watch everyone’s luggage because they’d lost the straw pick. Some other people had been walking by, and Ken had seen a flash—

The next moment, he’d been standing in a jungle with Aiko and a group of over a hundred confused people, spread out across a mile’s landscape. That had been their first moments in Baleros.

It hadn’t gotten much better since then.

Movement. Something approached out of the corner of Ken’s eye and he whirled, holding his axe like Quallet had taught him. But it wasn’t a zombie.

“Whoa. Careful.”

Someone was coming towards them. Another Human. This young man looked older than both Ken and Aiko, who were both freshmen in university. The tall, black-skinned young man holding a mace and wearing rusted chainmail grinned at them, sweating heavily. There was something stuck on one side of the mace. Ken stared at it, and then at the young man.

“Luan-san?”

The young man grinned and Ken knew he’d gotten the name right.

“Yes, and you’re…Ken. Kenjiro, right?”

He didn’t use honorifics. He wasn’t Japanese, but from somewhere else. No one from Japan had been taken to the other world that Kenjiro had seen. Ken nodded.

“I am…and this is Aiko-san.”

Aiko bowed slightly, and Luan grinned at her. There was so much absurdity to the moment, as the two Japanese students introduced themselves over the corpse of a zombie. But it was normal, so they clung to that.

Luan eyed the dead zombie and then Ken and Aiko.

“I saw you two fighting. Are you alright?”

How could you answer that? Ken hesitated, and then fell back on politeness.

“I am fine.”

“Yes, I am okay. Thank you very much.”

Aiko spoke with slightly accented English, stumbling a bit over the words. Neither she nor Ken were native speakers, although they’d done well in English class. Luan’s eyes flickered to them, and he nodded without addressing their blatant lie.

“I am glad you two are okay. You should stick with me and the others.”

He pointed, and Ken saw some of the other people he recognized, standing pale and sweaty a good distance away from the last zombies as they were put to rest. He followed Luan with Aiko and they heard Quallet bellowing at them.

“Good! We’ll have a break to drink and clean yourselves off, and then we’ll tell you what you did right—and what you did wrong!”

“I hate that guy.”

Luan made a face as he led Ken towards the others. Ken privately agreed, although he wouldn’t have said as much out loud. He nodded awkwardly towards the others as he heard one of them, an American named Johanas, talking loudly.

“We did it! We killed those fucking zombies. I mean, we did it. With swords and axes, like a fucking video game. Does this mean we’ll level up? What hell, man. What the hell is going on?”

That seemed to be the general consensus of the group. Everyone, even the people who hadn’t fought, were pale and shaken. Ken understood.

They’d known they were enlisting to be soldiers, but they hadn’t expected this. Somehow, Ken had thought it wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be real. He’d still clung to a hope that this was all a dream, and that having a world with classes and levels and people with Skills meant this was a game, or some kind of dream you could wake up from.

But it was all real. And from the looks on the other’s faces, they were beginning to realize this as well. Ken and Aiko stood around with the others, listening to them speak. Everyone was speaking in English, as it was the tongue all of them had in common.

“This is some crazy shit, huh?”

Someone was talking to him. Ken stared at the young man with blonde hair who was speaking, and tried to make sense of what he’d said. Crazy…oh, he was saying this was insane. Ken nodded.

“I think…this is very crazy, yes.”

“I thought this would be different. I thought since we had classes and levels, we wouldn’t actually kill people. Or it wouldn’t be that real. But this is totally like…like Sword Art Online, you know? Sort of like that, don’t you think?”

What had he said? Ken was trying to keep up. He hesitated.

“Oh? Yes? Maybe. I do not know. I am sorry…”

Ken saw the other young man blink in surprise.

“Sorry? No, it’s cool. I mean…”

He trailed off and the conversation ended there. Aiko edged towards Ken and whispered to him.

What did he mean? What is…”

She hesitated and spoke the words awkwardly in English.

“…‘Sword Art Online?’”

I think it is an anime.

Oh. Did you watch it? Do you know what it is about?

“No.”

They both fell silent. It wasn’t as if Ken didn’t watch any anime, and he’d certainly read a few manga over the years. But he was in college now, and watching anime was a bit…well, there was more to do than just that.

He watched the young man with blonde hair move back towards the others. The others like him. It wasn’t that the group of Humans who’d come from another world weren’t all on the same boat, but they were different.

They’d all been in the Melbourne Airport when taken, and so they were all sorts of nationalities. Some big groups of travelers had been caught up, while individual travelers had been seized as well, or parts of groups like Ken and Aiko.

Most of them were either Australian or American, with a heavier emphasis on American, since a huge tour group had been coming through. Other nationalities had come as well of course, but they were fragmented.

Some had already left. In the first moments of confusion when Aiko had screamed and people had cried out and come running, Ken had seen all kinds of faces. But when it had been established that no one know what was happening or what was going on, people began forming their own groups, usually based on shared nationality or some other identity.

When they’d finally gotten a fire going and lit up the jungle with their phones and other devices, Ken and Aiko had stuck with the others, trying to speak English and explain where they were from. A lot of kids from India had kept to themselves and didn’t speak to others much. They vanished on the first day.

In the days that followed as the travelers from another world tried to find civilization, more people left, suspicious or afraid they’d been caught up in a trap. They departed secretly in the night, or openly in larger groups.

A little over half of the original number had stayed together. The Americans, Australians, and some other people from European countries stuck together, and a lot of other people from countries with no friends came as well. Ken and Aiko followed the majority because they had no idea what to do.

Now of course, after deciding as a group to sign up as soldiers in order to eat and survive, everyone still didn’t know what to do. But they did talk among each other anxiously.

“Hey. I have water for you two. Need some?”

The tall young man named Luan was back, with water flasks. Ken thanked him profusely before taking his and washing his filthy hands. Aiko did the same on the spear she’d recovered from the zombie, splashing water carelessly on it until Xor shouted at her not to waste supplies. She jumped, and Luan scowled in his direction.

“Asshole. You know, I haven’t seen him smile once? Apparently all Dullahans are like that. Do you know them? Their legends, I mean.”

Ken blinked at Luan. The other young man was clearly not from America—there was something about the way he spoke, and how he didn’t fit with the other Americans. He wasn’t from any of the other major groups either, because he didn’t talk with them all the time. Ken nodded slowly, trying to reply as best he could.

“I do know. But they are…how can I say this? Fairy tale? They are…not-real things. Stories. Or so I thought.”

Luan nodded.

“Some of the guys are saying they think they’re like monsters.”

“Like monsters?”

Ken turned and stared at some of the other Dullahan recruits. They had taken their heads off their armored bodies and were pouring water into their mouths. They could take their heads off their bodies, leaving only a glowing light from within. He spoke hesitantly.

“I think they are people like us, but they look so much like—like…Aiko, how do I say—?”

He conferred with Aiko and turned to Luan.

“Like walking armor, yes? Like knight armor, from Western culture?”

Luan’s face lit up and he grinned.

“Oh! Yeah, I get it. I was thinking they looked a bit like Alfonse. You know, from Full Metal Alchemist, yeah? I loved that anime!”

Ken and Aiko stared at him blankly. Ken nodded slowly.

“I think I know what you are saying. But Aiko and I—”

He broke off and conferred with Aiko. She hadn’t seen it either. Rather than be surprised at their lack of encyclopedic knowledge of all things anime, Luan laughed.

“That’s okay. I’m a bit of a weeaboo. Do you know that word?”

Someone obsessed with Japanese culture. Ken nodded and smiled.

“I like anime, but I have not watched many recently. But Aiko and I agree—this is like an anime.”

“A horrible one.”

Aiko’s face was pale as she sipped from the water canteen. Luan nodded, growing serious.

“This is some bad shit, mate. I was worried about you two when Quallet told you to fight, but you did well! You stabbed that guy right through the stomach! Bam!”

He demonstrated and Aiko’s face went pale again. Luan put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump at the unexpected contact.

“Sorry. I know this is all horrific.”

“No, it’s okay—”

She hesitated, and Ken realized she didn’t remember Luan’s name. To cover for her, he hastily spoke up.

“This is Luan-san, Aiko. And I am Kenjiro. I am very pleased to meet you.”

He bowed slightly to Luan, who then smiled and introduced himself.

“I’m Luan Khumalo. You two are from Japan, yes?”

“Yes. Where are you from, Luan-san?”

“You can call me Luan. I’m from South Africa.”

“Oh! What place in south Africa?”

Luan paused, and Ken saw Aiko cover her face and start laughing at him. It took Luan a moment to explain, and then Kenjiro’s face turned red.

“Oh. I am so sorry!”

Ken bowed his head, feeling flushed with embarrassment. But Luan only laughed heartily.

“its fine, it’s fine! I’ve met a lot of people who have no idea South Africa is a place.”

Thus, they became friends. As Quallet stood everyone up and lectured them at a roar on how to fight better next time, and then marched them onwards, Ken and Aiko began talking to Luan as the company moved down the jungle trails.

Luan was the first person they’d really got to know, and he was well-spoken, friendly, and strong. He carried his weapon and walked without succumbing to the heat, which was apparently, aside from the humidity, cooler than back home. Ken felt like he was in Okinawa, and he’d never been to Okinawa.

“Your English is really good. I am very jealous.”

Aiko commented to Luan as they were on the road. He smiled knowingly.

“Yes. It is, isn’t it? I grew up speaking English.”

“Really?”

They stared at him. Luan laughed again.

“I can speak four languages. English, Afrikaans, Zulu, Tswana…you can speak two, right?”

“Yes, but not good.”

Ken was acutely aware of how hard it was to speak with other people in English, and had kept silent up until now because of it. But Luan took the opposite view.

“Even if one is not as good as the other, that should be a good thing, not a bad thing. Most of these Americans can only speak one. If there were other people from Africa around, I could speak about them behind their backs.”

Ken and Aiko laughed, and then immediately looked around to see if anyone had heard. No one had.

The group they were in, the group of people from another world was indeed filled with Americans. They were the majority, and in a way, they’d taken charge. Several of them, mainly guys, seemed to have the final say in what was going on. They’d been the ones to suggest signing up with Quallet, and they were the most vocal, and thus, the most persuasive, members of the group.

They were also the most ready to be fighting. Some hadn’t been bothered at all by killing zombies, talking about this being like a movie or T.V. show, and seemed positively happy about the prospect of leveling up and fighting. By contrast, Ken and Aiko would have loved to de-enlist from Gravetender’s Fist, but they were stuck. Luan seemed to share their opinions.

“What did you two do when you were in our world?”

“We are…were students in university.”

“Oh, right! How old are you?”

Ken was twenty one, Aiko twenty two. Both of them were in the same classes. Luan grinned when he realized they had known each other all their lives.

“You two got into the same university?”

“That’s right. I was studying to be in business and Aiko-san—”

“I was trying to learn to be an artist. Not manga—I do illustrations.”

“Ag, shame! That’s great.”

“Shame?”

The two of them looked blank. What Luan said made no sense—until he explained.

“Shame means good in South Africa. It’s like if you said—I found twenty bucks, yeah? Then I’d say, ‘Shame!’”

“Oh. I think I understand…”

Perhaps it was because they were both from different cultures that Ken and Aiko felt at home speaking with Luan. Unlike the people from America, they were alike in how they were all foreigners, outsiders to the main group. Aiko asked the obvious question to Luan.

“What did you do, Luan?”

He grinned, showing them very white teeth.

“Oh, me? I was on my country’s national Olympic rowing team.”

It took a few seconds for Ken to interpret this. When he did, he tripped. Aiko’s eyes went wide.

Eh? What?

They stared. It took a while and Luan had to explain himself several times, but the world of Olympic paddling slowly opened itself up to the two Japanese students.

Luan was an Olympic contender. Not an Olympian—he hadn’t gone to the Olympics, but he would have in 2020. He was South Africa’s first hope for a Silver or Gold medal in his event, the single scull.

He had trained to be part of a Coxless pair, which was a specialized type of boat that allowed for two paddlers to use it at the same time. Luan was usually on the bow side—which was to say, the left side of the boat—and competed with his good friend, Ben, who had the same goal as Luan. They wanted to take home the gold medal in the next Olympics, and had trained themselves intensively until they had become a serious contender, despite South Africa only having ever won one gold medal in the rowing event in the Olympics.

Being part of a coxless pair was extremely difficult, because Luan and Ben both had to balance each other and cooperate to move and row with the same force to go fast through the water. Luan had originally wanted to compete as a single scull—a type of event where only one person rowed with two paddles—but he’d met Ben while training and the two had become instant best friends.

However, because there were already two excellent paddlers forming a coxless pair who’d won a Silver-medal in the 2016 Summer Olympics, Lawrence Brittain and Shaun Keeling, Luan had put his hopes on winning in the single scull event, and his times were good enough for him to seriously aim at the gold medal. He’d been in Australia for a break when he’d been transported to another world.

“You know, it’s shitty lucky, but at least Ben will get a chance to go instead of me, eh? He’s dreamed of being an Olympian as long as I have.”

Luan said all of this so casually that Ken couldn’t believe it. Luan was—well, he was one of the best paddlers in the world. He was an athlete—which also explained why he didn’t seem fazed by the marching or fighting like the others.

Ken had no idea how to behave with Luan, until Aiko pointed out what should have been obvious.

“You are a good friend. I hope we will go back in time for the Olympics, and you can compete and win!”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Luan smiled at Aiko and looked ahead. There was a quiet worry in his eyes, though, and Ken saw it. Luan turned to them, serious, as the final day of their march wound to a close.

“You two should stick together with me. It’s going to be bad up ahead. I don’t think the others realize it, but that Quallet guy and the other experienced soldiers know it too. Our job is going to be dangerous no matter what he says.”

“But he said we will be safe, right? Safer? We will only fight zombies, not other people.”

Ken tried to swallow the fear that had jumped up in his gut. He would have liked Luan to lie in that moment, but the tall South African young man looked down at him. He was older than both Ken and Aiko by several years. He was twenty five, and there was something knowing in his eyes.

“It’s a war, Ken. Believe me, wars are never safe.”

The next day they arrived at the battlefield, a wide valley many kilometers long, where two armies sortied from camps on hilltops and met in the valley floor. Hundreds of bodies fell each hour and the screaming—

Oh, the screaming.

 

—-

 

Quallet knew he’d come close when he heard the sounds of mage spells in the distance. There was a rhythmic thump of something extremely powerful hitting the ground. He immediately signaled a halt.

“Raise the banner!”

It was essential to do this straight away. Each company had a banner and raising it was the only way to identify themselves. It might not mean they were safe, but an unmarked group wandering around would definitely be attacked by all sides. Under a banner, Gravetender’s Fist was at least nominally protected.

“We’re headed into a battlefield, but we are not fighting anyone living. The first soldier to draw arms or provoke the enemy I will cut down. Is that clear?”

Quallet addressed the company, impressing on them the seriousness of the charge. Then he had them move out, slowly, the banners waving as he approached the site of the battle.

His company was spotted instantly, of course. The [Generals] and [Commanders] of both sides kept sentries posted for attacks from every direction. In no time, a patrol of Centaurs was racing towards him.

Although suppression companies like Gravetender’s Fist provided a service needed by all sides, Quallet had contracted with the Roving Arrow company, which was mainly Centaurs, although Quallet knew they’d probably hired smaller companies to supplement their forces.

He didn’t get to meet with the company’s [Commander]—in fact, he didn’t meet with any officers. Quallet was instead directed to a neutral zone, away from the fighting and told brusquely that other suppression companies—those hired by the opposing side as well—were there.

This too was a standard practice in war. War vendors, [Merchants] who specialized in sales to an army during a conflict, as well as suppression companies and other independent parties often frequented battlefields. The custom was that there were areas untouched by the fighting, clearly marked as neutral zones where they stayed.

That was the custom. Although Quallet knew that sometimes such companies masqueraded as neutral and influenced a battle covertly—or overtly if they broke the rules of war. It was rare and such a company would be marked for all of time, but it did happen. He only prayed that this battle wouldn’t see such an event occurring.

It wasn’t likely. And everything seemed normal as Quallet found two other undead suppression companies waiting for nightfall in the space already allocated. Rot’s Bane, a small group of experts and Untimely Demise, a large company full of green soldiers much like his own, were already set up in the best spot. Quallet directed Xor and Raeh to set up where they could as he met the two other company [Captains].

“Quallet Marshhand! I told you this would be a profitable battle!”

The first man to stride towards him was a bald fellow named Ulvial. He was in charge of Untimely Demise and wasn’t as good a warrior or leader as Quallet—but he made do with a set of officers that stayed with him.

“Ulvial. Good to see you. Thanks for tipping me off about this battle.”

Quallet clasped hands with him and nodded to the second [Captain]. She was a Centaur named Exara. He’d never worked with her directly, but he’d heard her small group was efficient and disciplined.

“A pleasure to work with you, Captain Exara.”

“Pleased.”

She trotted over to him and gripped his hand in a light handshake. Quallet looked around the open area they’d been assigned and noticed a group of Centaurs staring at them. All of them were armed and alert.

“Not your group, I take it.”

Exara shook her head.

“Guards. They’re watching my company since our contract was bought by the Razorblades.”

“Huh.”

That was odd. Normally suppression companies were trusted—they banked their ability to be hired on their reputations for honest work without bias. Quallet frowned, but reassured himself with the knowledge that he was on the same side as the Centaurs. He looked back at Ulvial.

“Your company looks quite large. Expecting a lot of undead to work with?”

“Yes indeed! Haven’t you seen the battlefield? Both the Centaurs and Dullahans are carving each other up out there.”

“What’s the feud about?”

Exara and Ulvial shrugged at the same time. They didn’t know, didn’t need to know. They only had to do their jobs.

“Some land argument? Money? Someone hired them? Either way, we’ll earn gold by the fistful for dealing with all the bodies.”

“It’ll be a chore between our companies.”

Quallet was already calculating the ground they had to cover. The valley was big—he was used to such sizes, but they’d have to work in quadrants, possibly saving some areas for other days if they didn’t have enough forces.

“Oh, we’ll be working into dawn each day. But we’ll be paid for it, and paid well! It’s simpler and easier than dying in this bloodbath, that’s for certain.”

Ulvial laughed and Quallet winced. Suppression companies were indeed paid well, mainly because they were doing fighting of their own, but regular companies resented the need for them. Large ones like the Great Companies made their soldiers do the work, and there wasn’t a regular soldier alive who didn’t resent a suppression company for staying out of the real danger.

Some of the Centaur guards were glaring. To change the subject, Quallet asked about a map and was shown to the one Exara and Ulvial had already carved up into portions. He studied it and tapped a spot as he conferred with the other two.

“We’ll take the west side and work our way in. I’ve a group of new recruits, most of which don’t know a sword from their own arm.”

They nodded, not bothered by the spot he’d chosen. It was off-center from the fighting, which meant Quallet would get less corpses to deal with. Each suppression company was paid by the amount of corpses they disposed of, by fire or sword.

“Fine by me. I’ll take the south, then.”

“And I’ll head in from the east. Just make sure to have your banners up and illuminate yourselves. The soldiers from both sides are on heavy night patrol and they’re jumpy.”

Exara warned the other two [Captains] and Quallet nodded seriously. The last thing he needed was to tangle with soldiers from either side and get any killed. Ulvial grunted in agreement.

“No fear. I’ve seen what happens to anyone who sticks their heads out of the neutral zones. The fighting’s everywhere. Speaking of which, have you heard there’s another independent group out there? Not just the war vendors—some kind of rogue unit!”

That got Quallet’s attention. Rogue detachments of soldiers were a wildcard. They could be a group of warriors or bandits or any number of things that entered the fray on one side or none at all. They were a danger to suppression companies if they attacked while they were working.

“Who or what is it?”

“Not a large group. Not a fighting force.”

Exara frowned as she tapped a neutral zone north of their position. She hesitated.

“I’ve heard it’s a unit that treats wounded soldiers.”

“Whose?”

“Any side’s. Apparently there’s a skilled [Doctor] working over there. She appeared when the battle started getting intense and offered her services. It’s caught the attention of both companies, and there’s a cease-fire in agreement in the area she works in.”

Curious and curiouser. Quallet’s brows snapped together. It was Ulvial who asked the obvious question.

“What’s so special about a [Doctor]? Both companies should have healing potions enough. It’s not like they lost their entire supply to raids like the Raverian Fighters.”

The mention of that company’s fate made both Exara and Quallet wince. The Raverian Fighters had barely survived their last engagement, as repeat attacks on their healing potion stashes—and attempts to resupply—had sent the company in full-blown retreat, barely a quarter of its strength.

Exara shook her head.

“I don’t know why she’s here, but apparently this [Doctor] can heal wounds without healing potions—and quickly, too! She’s apparently better than a [Healer] and with potions she can bring soldiers back when they’re considered dead by all.”

“A useful person to have around, then. I’ll watch out.”

Ulvial grunted and Quallet nodded. He doubted he’d need to use her services, but it was worth remembering.

Talk then turned to more practical matters, and soon Quallet was back at his camp.

“None of you are to stray beyond the neutral zone, or pick fights with other soldiers! You’ll be heading in to your first battle tonight. Yes, you’ll be hauling bodies, but you’ll see the undead, and without us to hold your hand this time!”

He needn’t have warned his soldiers. They were staring at the battle between the Dullahans and Centaurs with wide eyes, even the ones who were used to fighting. Quallet only had to glance to his left to see distant shapes battling out in the valley below. There were Centaurs charging at armored shapes, arrows flying, magic breaking the ground, blood—

He looked away. There was no point in watching. But the new recruits had never seen such slaughter, and the Humans were transfixed.

“Dude. No way. This is insane.

Quallet heard one of them speaking and shook his head. This was Baleros. A country where war was in the blood, just like how Rhir was constantly locked in struggle. And this wasn’t one of the largest warzones. This was two companies fighting, not ten or a hundred.

Still, it was a war, and being so close to it made all of Quallet’s senses sharp. He slept lightly until nightfall, knowing the new soldiers wouldn’t get a wink. It didn’t matter.

As night began, both sides began drawing back, avoiding skirmishing at night to avoid chaos, sending their troops to fight a neutral party—

And to avoid losing them to the undead. Quallet eyed the sinking sun and saw the other companies readying themselves. He had his soldiers gear up, refreshed their memories about who was supposed to do what—

And waited.

Soon, there was no more fighting in the valley below. The darkness was extreme. The sounds of battle had ended, but now other sounds took their place. Animals calling out, insects—

And the screams of those left on the battlefield. There were wounded there, unable to be recovered or too injured to be saved with healing potions. Some of the Humans in Quallet’s company paled from the sounds. Others threw up.

All normal. Quallet gritted his teeth as he saw Exara bring her small company down the slopes, a shining banner raised and illuminating their forces. He ordered Xor to do the same and turned to his company.

Pale faces and frightened expressions stared up at him. Quallet saw most of the children who’d signed up to fight wavering. Of course they would. But here and there he saw determination like iron in their gazes, unflinching resolution at what had to be done.

The young man with black skin had that look. Strangely, so did the young man and woman, the two odd-looking ones standing next to him. They’d been petrified fighting the zombies, but now they had the look. It was the look that told Quallet they might survive this night.

It wasn’t bravery or bravado. It wasn’t the thrill of battle, but the will to survive. That was what they needed. Quallet looked into their eyes and then drew his axe. He pointed towards the valley below, where shapes were beginning to stand. To rise.

“Gravetender’s Fist…move out!

 


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1.03 D

There was a rite of passage among medical students, although it wasn’t publically talked about. And that was that in many graduate programs, regardless of whether you were studying to be a physician or just aimed to practice general medicine, it used to be mandatory to take a class in which you would dissect a human cadaver.

Geneva had known she’d have to open someone up when she’d first enrolled as a medical student. She’d dreaded the moment, feared the impartiality of it. Then had come the moment when she cut open the gray, lifeless body. It had felt solemn, and she remembered the classroom being hushed as the students around her felt themselves taking a step into a world many would never dream of entering.

They cut open a body, dissected it, identified organs, and within a few days, felt used to it. That was the point. No amount of illustrations in books or lectures could give you the hands-on experience of touching a real body, and that was what a surgeon or specialist needed most of all.

Experience.

Of course, now medical programs were cutting back on using human corpses, due to lack of time and the expense of obtaining ones for medical students to practice on. And yet, therein lay the irony of surgery, of Geneva’s profession.

To become a great surgeon, one capable of taking on the hardest challenges, one had to practice. But no one trusted a new surgeon. And yet, a surgeon had to operate, and thus, make mistakes to grow experienced.

In short, it always came back to the same contradiction: a surgeon grew from the patients who died under her care.

It wasn’t always like that of course. That was a harsh generalization. In another hospital, there would be veterans, older doctors, and other surgeons on standby who could help out in an emergency. But part of Geneva had wondered, idly, while she listened to her professors lecture her whether experience was all a doctor needed.

The average surgeon took on many operations each year. Hundreds. But they also followed a strict set of rules, having to clean themselves, create sterile operating environments—all to make sure their patients had the best chance possible.

In wars, medicine was not so nice. During the Second World War, doctors had to see to patients without the luxury of a schedule, or even a full team of trained helpers. Soldiers would come in all at once, sometimes by the hundreds, and it would force the helpless doctors and medics to make the hardest choices. They’d have to balance who would live and who would die, and who would be easier to save. They could save one life while ten more passed, or save ten and let the one die.

Perhaps those doctors had been the best. They would have operated countless times each day. Did that confer some sort of instinct? Some innate sense of the body and how to save it? Geneva had idly wondered about that as a student. Now—she knew. And the answer was simple, painful.

No. After a while, all the bodies began to look the same. The living—but especially the dead.

“Beginning the incision. Make sure the patient is still asleep and let me know if they wake up!”

Geneva snapped as she raised a scalpel and sliced into the wounded Dullahan’s chest. The blade she was using delved past the shattered chest plate of the Dullahan’s armor—a small mercy or she would have had to saw through it, taking precious time. Now Geneva cut into the thick skin that was the last layer of protection between the Dullahan’s internal organs and the outside world.

The two [Soldiers] who stood in the tent nodded. They were used to the work, and both were ready to grab the Dullahan if he woke. They stared grimly at the broken and bleeding insides of the Dullahan, and then away. They’d volunteered for this, and respected Geneva for what she could do.

But few people could look at what a surgeon did to the body without flinching. Geneva’s left hand was a blur as it cut, exposing a bloodied mess of organs beneath.

“Internal bleeding. I need a healing potion!”

Her right hand shot out and grabbed a bowl of liquid. Geneva carefully administered it, watching as the organs, muscles, and tissue that had been battered and torn by the mace slowly closed.

Healing potions. Faster and better than anything in her world. Geneva eyed the rest of the wounded site, and saw nothing wrong.

“Suturing.”

Her hands moved with experienced speed. Her left shot out and grabbed a curved needle, already threaded in preparation for this event. The other found a pair of forceps.

The [Soldiers] in the tent turned back to watch as Geneva began to sew up the Dullahan’s mended chest. This they could appreciate, and there was something miraculous about how fast Geneva moved. Her left hand was a blur as it stitched up the flesh of the Dullahan’s chest, closing the long incision in moments. Her right hand moved slower by comparison, carefully grasping the flesh and bringing it together to be sewn up.

And then it was done. Geneva stepped back from the closed flesh and grabbed the bowl of healing potion. She sprinkled a few drops of it over the stitches, and watched the wound heal.

Partially. That was all she could ration. Geneva put the bowl back and found the Dullahan’s shattered chest plate. She couldn’t fix his armor, but it was important to them that it stayed together.

“Wash this. Make sure you give him the lecture about keeping the wound clean.”

She spoke to one of the [Soldiers], another Dullahan with dull grey iron armor. She nodded and after locking her head into place on her shoulders, carried the Dullahan off of Geneva’s operating table and out of the room.

Done. Geneva sagged for a second, feeling the tension of the operation fade away. She spoke, although there was no one else in the tent but her.

“That was a relief. I thought a piece of the armor might have been stuck in his chest.”

There was no one there to hear that could be seen. But a voice replied, inaudible except in Geneva’s head. Because it was speaking in her head.

“If it had been, what would you have done?”

“Removed it. Hoped the healing potion solved the worst of the issues—sutured what I could. Time was of the essence, Okasha. If I had the ability to do blood transfusions, I’d have more time. But I haven’t been able to fix up a proper needle and pump mechanism.”

“I see. Should I see if there are any ways to construct such a thing later?”

Geneva shook her head slightly, speaking to the thing listening to her. In her. The Selphid named Okasha was in her body, controlling her right arm. She could probably feel the vibrations in Geneva’s vocal chords before the words left her mouth.

“Don’t bother. The healing potions replenish lost fluids, and they’re faster. It’s better to use them rather than try and maintain a blood bank, especially in this heat.”

Okasha didn’t reply, but Geneva felt an acknowledgement, a gentle twitch that ran through her body’s nervous system. It wasn’t unpleasant; the opposite, in fact. But it would have terrified her to experience such a thing, to know someone was sharing her body a few months ago.

Now she didn’t react. Geneva had long since made her peace with what had happened. Although there were things to get used to.

Like how her body would move. Geneva found herself walking over to a bench in the corner of her impromptu operating area, sitting down. She hadn’t intended any of it, but Okasha had taken over and Geneva hadn’t tried to fight. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did, to be honest. Okasha had never brought the subject up. She was a friend, an assistant on the operating table, and she worried about Geneva. Too much, sometimes.

“You should rest. You’ve been awake for over a day now.”

Geneva knew that. She felt the exhaustion in her body, but she shook her head anyways.

“I’m fine, Okasha. I need to stay awake.”

“But if you don’t sleep—”

“I’ll sleep after this lot. I promise. Just give me a moment.”

Okasha fell silent. Geneva sighed, and lowered her head. The Dullahan would live. He wouldn’t fight for a day at least—she’d keep him here in the field hospital she ran, until the convoy arrived at night to take him back to his army. Then, depending on whether they decided to treat him with more healing potions, he might be fighting tomorrow.

The living came to be saved, and then went back to kill or be killed the next day. Geneva had struggled with that knowledge, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She didn’t know. She only knew that she had sworn an oath. If there was a life she could save, she did.

There was no one else who could. In Baleros, a continent that bled, Geneva was the only [Doctor]. The only true one, at any rate.

She wondered, sometimes, what those brave souls laboring to save lives had felt during the war. Did they fight for every life, clinging to it, fighting to fix the horrible things bullets and humans could do to each other? Or did the feeling of despair slowly sink in? Did the endless tide of bodies crush them?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t ask. Geneva sat quietly in the tent, hearing the sounds of battle in the distance, screams of the wounded around her. In a few moments the tent flap would open, and another wounded person would come in. Another life for her to fight for. But right now she just sat. She was tired, exhausted.

Geneva Scala, a Level 26 [Doctor], sat with Okasha humming a quiet melody in her ears, transmitting the song into Geneva’s mind by projecting the sound directly into the inner ear. It was a soothing melody, and Geneva closed her eyes. If she slept for a minute, Okasha would make sure her body stayed upright.

She was so tired. She would have loved to rest, but there was always someone crying out. There was always a war. This was her third battlefield since coming to this world. Geneva had been working non-stop since then. Saving lives. Fighting.

She couldn’t remember what it was like to smile.

 

—-

 

Kenjiro Murata knew he was no hero. He was not a warrior, although he’d been in a few fights growing up. But he wasn’t someone who liked to fight, and he preferred to defuse tense situations rather than escalate them.

That was Ken’s problem. He wasn’t many things. Some people were good at everything. Not Ken. He wasn’t a top athlete although he liked running on the track. He’d never placed that high on exams, and if he was honest, he wasn’t good-looking. Not that he had an unattractive face! But none of those attributes could define him in a meaningful way.

In truth, there was only one thing Ken was good at, and that was understanding other people. He liked meeting people. He liked talking to people he didn’t know—especially foreigners.

It wasn’t that he was that social, either. Ken would have agreed that he was no social butterfly—if he’d understood what that phrase meant in English. He just…liked other people. He liked other cultures, studying about other nations. He dreamed of travelling, which is why he had rejoiced at a chance to visit Australia as part of his university’s foreign exchange program.

Ken wasn’t that good at learning languages so he felt awkward, but he’d been excited to travel to Australia and talk with everyone he could. That was why he’d wanted to be a businessman, preferably someone who travelled abroad and negotiated business deals in foreign countries.

It was his big dream, the thing that Ken had aimed for ever since high school. He knew his grades weren’t the best, but he’d persevered. He wasn’t excellent at speaking English—he wasn’t gifted, but he kept practicing. If he had a talent, Ken would have said he was good at observing people, learning how they acted.

This is what he saw.

“Zombie!”

It came towards him, making a horrible scratchy sound through its damaged vocal chords. It was a zombie, the weakest of the undead. But it was also a Centaur, and so it was terrifying for other reasons.

“Get around it!”

Someone shouted. Luan ran past Ken and bashed the Centaur’s back left leg. It stumbled, and Ken dodged away from its swinging arms. The Centaur, tall as any horse—taller, in fact since it had the human torso on top—twisted, and the dead female’s head focused on Luan.

“Now!”

Ken heard the call and he ran forwards at the same time three others did. He cut at the Centaur’s side as Aiko speared it from one end and two Dullahans cut at it with swords. Luan ran forwards and delivered the final strike—a hammer blow to the Centaur’s head. He alone was tall enough to hit her there, and the Centaur, body too broken to move, finally fell.

Ken backed away, shaking, sweaty. He waited for the Centaur to move as Aiko pulled her spear back and stabbed it in the head, but it didn’t. It was finally dead. He breathed out and heard a voice.

“Everyone okay? Hey, you two good? Ken?”

Luan was walking around, checking on everyone. As leader of their small group, one patrol of the Gravetender’s Fist company, he felt the need to make sure they were well. Ken raised a shaking hand and gave him a thumbs up.

“Good work, mate.”

Luan raised his fist and Ken turned his gesture into a weak fist-bump. The tall South African man grinned at him and turned to the Dullahans.

“You two good?”

They were. Everyone was good, even Aiko. She stepped away from the corpse as Luan turned to it. Ken heard him groan.

“Now we’ve got to drag this back to the pile. Damn it. We should have lured her closer.”

He gestured, and the five gathered around the Centaur. Grimly, each one reached down and began to haul the body away. It was horrible. Ken and the other Humans had gloves and the Dullahans had gauntleted hands, part of the armor that covered their entire body, but the stench and smell was overpowering.

Not to mention the Centaur wasn’t entirely whole. A part of her fell off as she was being dragged—Ken looked away and tried not to gag.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they cut her up and carried the bits to one of the corpse piles that would be burned come dawn. But neither Ken nor the other new recruits in Gravetender’s Fist had the stomach for it. So they dragged the body, swearing as they crossed the uneven ground and mud, heading towards a place where a pair of armed soldiers with lanterns stood looking in every direction.

“Hey there!”

“Hey! It’s us!”

Luan called out as the two soldiers spotted their group. He didn’t need to say anything else. He just needed to reassure the soldiers that they were alive and not undead. The lantern that Aiko carried helped, but Ken had learned to be wary of every moving shape as they worked.

Their group deposited the corpse at the pile of bodies. It stank. Flies buzzed and Ken had to back away fast or vomit again. Not that his stomach was full—he’d been told not to eat anything before nightfall, and this was why.

“Big one.”

One of the soldiers commented and Luan grimaced.

“She got up right when we came by. Scared us all to death.”

“Be grateful she wasn’t a Ghoul. Only thing worse than a Centaur Ghoul is a Dullahan one.”

The soldiers called out as Luan and the group trudged away. Ken glanced at the two Dullahans, one male, one female, but neither reacted to the statement. Probably because it was fact. A Zombie Dullahan was a nightmare to fight, mainly because of their armor and the fact that their head might be lying on the ground, making putting them down again that much harder. You had to batter them to pieces unless you found the head.

“Let’s go back. It’s this way, I think. Right, Aiko?”

“Yes.”

Their group trudged back the way they’d come. They had an area to cover, and the zombie Centaur was only one of the bodies they had to haul back to the pile to be burned. It was a horrible, foul job, and Ken hated it. But he had signed up and so he had to work.

This was Gravetender’s Fist. A suppression company enlisted to dispose of the undead and corpses that were the natural byproduct of a conflict involving two companies, the Razorshard Armor company, and the Roving Arrow company.

Ken’s unit, along with everyone else in the company, had a simple job. They went out, found dead bodies, collected them into a pile, and burned them so undead wouldn’t spawn from them. They killed any undead that had already risen, and then got off the battlefield before the two sides began fighting again.

This was their third night doing it. Was it better the third time?

Yes. A bit. The third night was better than the first, if only because there was no shock and horror. The fear was still there, almost overwhelming the senses in the torch-lit darkness, but Ken and the others could operate under it now.

“Body pile!”

Aiko called out to her left and Ken, Luan, and the two Dullahans stopped dead in their tracks. They moved towards Aiko and spotted a group of corpses. They approached warily, weapons at the ready. A pile of bodies could be burying a zombie or something worse. Aiko stepped forwards and stabbed the pile repeatedly, but nothing moved.

“Let’s take them back.”

Luan sighed and Ken reached down to tug at the armor of one fallen soldier. He paused as he saw a Human face in the lantern light, twisted with fear. It was staring right at him.

“Ken?”

Aiko’s voice snapped Ken’s head up. He saw her looking at him. He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

He began to pull at one leg, as Aiko gingerly took an arm. They dragged the body away and Luan bent.

“Hold up. The sword’s here.”

He pulled it away before Ken and Aiko dragged the body any further. Luan went around collecting armor, weapons, that could be used, while the Dullahans dragged one body. Ken and Aiko resumed pulling their burden.

Back towards the pile. It was most efficient that way, apparently. Burning each body where it had fallen was too hard, and it carried a risk of spreading fire. So the Gravetender’s Fist company had designated areas where piles of corpses were collected, to be disposed of later.

The pile Ken and the others were assigned to was taller than he was, and it was one of many. It took hundreds of people hours of non-stop work to collect the bodies and burn them before the next day began. It felt meaningless because the next day the soldiers would begin slaughtering each other as soon as it was light, but the work was necessary.

Bad things appeared if the bodies weren’t laid to rest. Ken saw one of those things later that night. He heard a scream that rose above the buzzing of insects, the voices in the distance, and the pounding of his heart.

Ghoul!

He and the others froze in place. Ghoul. One of the stronger, faster variants of undead. They were rarer, but far deadlier than a zombie. And the call had come from nearby.

“What should we do?”

One of the Dullahans looked around, her hands tight on her sword hilt. She was wide-eyed. She’d seen a Ghoul before, seen what they could do. Ken’s stomach twisted with fear. He’d seen too.

Luan’s voice was steady. He motioned them to stand in a circle, as they’d been instructed to do.

“Stay together. Watch for anything—”

“Look! The Captain!”

Aiko cried out. Ken saw their company’s captain, Quallet Marshhand, sprinting in the direction of the scream. He shouted, and Ken saw a blur of movement heading towards him. Quallet slashed out at it with his axe, incredibly fast. For a moment his form was obscured, and then Ken and the others saw him hacking at something on the ground. The chaos ended.

The Ghoul was dead.

“Back to work!”

Quallet shouted at all of the people who’d stopped, his voice reaching far across the valley. Ken felt a hand on his shoulder and Luan nodded.

“You heard him. More corpses.”

That was life. Ken slowly began to move forwards, shoulders aching, sweat and insects fighting for space on his body. He kept dragging bodies towards the pile until he heard a horn call, and hurried back towards the gleaming flag, illuminated by magic and lighting up the area around it. As the sun broke over the hills around the valley, Quallet led his weary company back towards the neutral ground where they could rest and sleep.

Another day done. Countless more to come.

 

—-

 

When he wasn’t on duty, which lasted the whole night, Ken slept. He woke up past midday like the others, found food waiting for him, and ate the unpalatable rations in silence. Then he glanced at the sun.

It was falling fast due to the season being allegedly winter. Ken had already learned to hate that fact: it meant he had to work more and night would come sooner. But for a few precious hours, he was free to stay within the neutral zone his company had been allotted. He could chat with other members of Gravetender’s Fist or the other suppression companies, scrub himself with dirt—water being far too precious, unless it rained—gamble for food with dice, squat in a latrine if he needed to relieve himself, or go back to sleep.

Small things. But Ken would have gladly squatted over the insect-covered pits in the ground for hours rather than spend five minutes hauling corpses. Well, maybe an hour for every ten minutes.

Instead of going over to where the people from his world, the Humans of various nationalities, mostly American, Australian, and European countries, were talking and sitting amongst themselves (or having sex in one of the tents, which had bothered Ken and Aiko when they’d heard about it—and heard it happening), Ken took a chance and went over to talk with another group that sat by a fire, talking amongst themselves.

The Lizardfolk, one of the main races inhabiting Baleros, looked up as one as Ken approached. He smiled and waved at them, which was received well, because they instantly waved him over.

“Human! Do you need something? Is it orders from Captain Marshhand?”

Some called out to Ken as he hesitantly sat by the fire, trying to smile, to project sociability. To Ken’s knowledge, this was the first time anyone from his group had tried sitting with the Lizardfolk. They’d chatted of course, but never for long. It had always been—what was the word? Awkward.

And Ken had an idea why.

“No I am not here with orders. I would just like to ah, talk.”

“Talk!”

Some of the Lizardfolk immediately laughed and crowded around Ken, in a moment he found himself sitting by lots of scaly bodies. The Lizardfolk of Baleros were thin and reptilian, with long tails and colorful neck frills of flesh. They looked like they had odd versions of a lion’s mane—each Lizardfolk had a very colorful frill, which often contrasted with the rest of their scales.

“So why do you want to talk to us, Human? What is your name?”

Ken found himself looking at a blue-scaled Lizardgirl with deep red neck frills, bordering on purple. He knew her.

“You are Quexa, yes? I am Kenjiro Murata. I am very pleased to meet you.”

“Oh! You were assigned to my pile last night! Did you hear about the Ghoul? It attacked my group—nearly got me!”

Quexa grinned at him, her red neck frills opening and closing as she gestured to some other Lizardfolk.

“I thought I was going to die—I tried to hit it with magic, but it was too fast! Then Captain Quallet came and cut its head open! Lucky! You look different from the other Humans, you and that girl. Are you two having sex?”

Ken’s eyes widened and he tried to reply to Quexa in order. Lizardfolk had an odd way of talking. They’d ask and reply to multiple questions and statements in the same sentence. To fit in, Ken tried to do the same.

“I am very glad you are okay. I ah, am from Japan. It is a different country than the other, so I look different. I and Aiko are not having sex.”

Quexa’s eyes brightened in appreciation and Ken saw other Lizardfolk nodding as they listened to his scatter-shot response. He smiled inwardly. Yes, this was how you talked to Lizardfolk! He was right! The mood around him grew more intimate and Quexa scooted closer, a sure sign he was being accepted.

“Oh, I was asking because you look the same. And a lot of you are having sex! Every day you Humans have sex! Aren’t you worried about getting pregnant? Or do you all have birth charms? Can we borrow them? They must be very effective!”

“I uh, do not now about birth charms. Many of my…my friends are very worried, so they have sex. I uh, do not know about being pregnant. I hope they do not become pregnant, because we have no charms.”

“What?”

“Humans are so reckless!”

“Are you interested in trying it with us?”

The Lizardfolk practically jumped on Ken, asking questions, laughing, speaking in a jumble with no clear leader. As was their way. Ken had watched them carefully before this moment, and he thought he understood Lizardfolk. He had observed how they interacted. So they could understand him. So he could understand them. So they could be…friends?

The first thing Kenjiro had observed was that of the three non-Human species in Gravetender’s Fist, the Lizardfolk liked to talk the most. In fact, they were what he would call おしゃべり, or ‘chatterboxes’ as some of the Americans called them. Only, that applied to their entire species, not just one in particular.

It wasn’t hard to observe the other races—Ken had served with them for three days already, on top of the time he’d been marching with them. And one thing Ken had noticed was that Lizardfolk stuck together. They liked being part of a group and, this was crucial, seemed to decide things en-masse.

They were also uncomfortable being the odd ones out, which is why Ken had noticed that every time a group of people from his world came over to talk to a few, the Lizardfolk had seemed edgy. It was only when they were in greater numbers than the outsiders that they seemed happy to talk.

They didn’t like being outnumbered. But when they weren’t, they were as social as could be, which is why Ken had chosen to speak with them, rather than Dullahans or Centaurs first. He wanted to, well, he just wanted to be friendly with them.

Ken believed in being friends, in forging relationships. It was a part of his culture—making strong ties and getting to know people was how the business world in Japan worked. It was everything, and Ken was trying to apply that idea here. It was all he knew, and they were all on the same side, right? All the more reason to be friends. Especially because Ken knew nothing of this world.

And Lizardfolk liked to talk.

“You’ve never met a Lizardperson? Ever?”

Quexa had moved rapidly past the horribly awkward and intimate talk of sex and was quizzing Ken about where he had come from. He couldn’t answer concretely, but she seemed happy enough to explain her people to him.

“We’re Lizardpeople! Only, you knew that. We’re the biggest species on Baleros—there’s Dullahans and Centaurs of course, but we have more sex than they do. We’re sort of like Drakes, if you’ve met Drakes, although they hate it when we say that. We’re not related, you know, although we look sort of the same.”

“Ah, yes. I know Dullahans and Centaurs. But there are other species, yes?”

“Yes!”

Quexa laughed at Ken and the other Lizardfolk immediately shouted out names of species.

“Ever seen a Selphid?”

“What about a Fraerling? Ever stepped on one?”

“How about a Gazer?”

“Seen a Naga? One of our people?”

Ken hadn’t. Quexa pointed a Selphid out for him, and he saw one of the pale-white soldiers standing in the Untimely Demise company, talking with a Centaur. The Selphid had a Lizardperson’s body, but the body was clearly…dead. The scales were pale, and there was a bloodless wound on the side of the Lizardperson’s body that wasn’t bleeding. Ken shivered and Quexa noticed.

“Don’t worry! Selphids don’t steal living bodies. Or they’re not supposed to. They did that in the past, you know? Only, now if they do it we kill them. So they steal corpses! They live inside them. That’s a Selphid. I’d show you a Gazer, but I don’t think you’d see many in a Centaur-led army or a Dullahan one. They keep to themselves, mainly.”

The conversation diverged into a lecture about how weird Selphids were, with other Lizardfolk adding in details and stories.

“You know they never fight? Selphids. Even if they’re hired on opposite sides, if they meet they just bow to each other and won’t do battle, no matter what! I think that’s because there are so few. Well, we killed a lot of them a long time ago.”

“Hey, are any of your people [Mages]? You have a lot of shining magical artifacts. We see them, though you keep hiding them! What do they do?”

Pressured by the Lizardfolk, Ken tried to explain about the iPhones, computers, tablets, and other electronic devices some of the Humans from his world had carried. He showed his dead iPhone to the Lizardfolk and they were all over it, poking and prodding and vocally disappointed when it didn’t work.

Quexa handed the iPhone back to Ken. It had been dead ever since he’d come to Baleros—he’d forgotten to charge it and had been looking for a charger back in the Australian airport when he’d been taken. Aiko didn’t have hers, and neither did Luan.

“You should get that fixed! I bet a [Repair] spell would do it. I’d cast it, but I don’t know the spell.”

“Ah. And you are a [Mage]?”

She shook her head.

“I’m a [Sorcerer]. It’s not the same as the [Mage] class, you know. We cast magic by thinking about it real hard. Mages learn spells, but us [Sorcerers] are too lazy. We can’t use big spells unless we’re really high-level, but we don’t have to study. Cool, right?”

“Yes, very!”

Ken tried to be as friendly as possible. After an hour of rapid-talk his head was spinning, so he got up and politely excused himself.

“I am very glad to meet you all. I hope we can talk soon, and that you are all safe this night. Thank you very much for greeting me.”

He bowed to them, making the Lizardfolk cry out farewells and warmly wave him off. Satisfied, Ken left the group and heard them continue chattering behind his back.

“See? I told you some of them were nice.”

“Did you hear his accent? I wonder where he’s from.”

“What about the shining things? You didn’t ask where they got them—”

Ken made his way back to the Humans and explained to Luan and Aiko what he’d done. The other Humans clustered around him, and soon they were going over to the Lizardfolk—in smaller groups. Chatter started up, and soon the Lizardpeople were comfortable enough to talk with Humans on their own. Ken felt accomplished, and then felt his happiness drain away as the sun set.

The valley was filled with bodies as Quallet ordered everyone to take up arms and march down into the darkness. He carried the flag of Gravetender’s Fist, a fist shooting out of soil emblazoned on cloth that shone brightly in the dark. It was one of the precautions the suppression companies took. They carried bright lights and waved shining banners so neither army would look at them as enemies.

That was the fourth night.

 

—-

 

On the fifth day, there was beer. Ken heard about it as soon as he woke up, and found a mug filled with a frothy orange liquid shoved into his hands by one of the Americans.

His name was Johanas. He explained to Ken, face flushed, already clearly intoxicated. Ken leaned back a bit as Johanas excitedly talked.

“One of the guys traded a flashlight to him for a ton of beer! Hey, did you know that you can recharge all of our stuff with magic? It turns out if you cast [Repair] on something, the batteries get recharged too!”

He looked very happy at the news. Ken was happy too—but reservedly so. He appreciated drinking as much as anyone else, but not, it seemed, as much as the Americans. Some were under twenty one, which was apparently the drinking age in America. So many of the young men and women from America were drinking a lot—too much, in Ken’s opinion, to actually enjoy the experience.

Some were already throwing up.

“Thank you for telling me. Where did you buy the—beer—though?”

Ken stared at the orange liquid. It wasn’t like any beer he’d ever seen, but apparently it was a popular drink in Baleros. Johanas pointed north, towards another group sharing the neutral zone.

“See those guys? The [Merchants]? They’re…what, war vendors? Yeah, that’s what they’re called. They’ll sell to anyone for the right price.”

Ken did indeed know about the war vendors, opportunistic [Merchants] who travelled with heavy escorts to battlefields to supply armies in need of extra potions, arms, magical artifacts, and so on. And apparently, beer as well.

He spotted one of the [Merchants], and saw to his surprise a serpentine form, a good seven feet high, glittering gold and red scales that ran from a long and powerful tail up into a humanoid torso with two arms and a serpentine head. The Naga had long fins on the back of his head, like a Lizardperson’s frills. And that was because…

Ken stared hard at the [Merchant], enough so that both he and Johanas noticed. The Naga turned, saw Ken looking, and waved at him. Ken kept staring.

“Dude, don’t stare.”

Johanas tugged him away, but Ken shook his head. He deliberately scrutinized the Naga from shining head to toe, noting how the Naga wore clothes only on his upper half, leaving his serpentine lower body free. He was very flashy, and his scales and clothing shone. He had small jewels embedded in the fabric!

“Hey, he’s looking at us.”

The slightly drunk and sobering Johanas looked worried, but Ken was not. Another aspect of Lizardfolk culture went into his staring.

“I think they do not mind. How can I say…? They like to be acknowledged.”

“What?”

The other young man gave Ken a skeptical look, but Ken’s theory was proven true in a few moments. Far from taking offense at Ken’s obvious study of his body, the Naga instead grinned. He twisted his body around, showing off his serpentine features much to the approval of the Lizardfolk watching him.

“He is one of the Lizardfolk, I think.”

“What? Him? But he looks nothing like them!”

Johanas was astonished. Ken nodded hesitantly.

“That is what they said. I think they turn into him. Into Nagas. Sometimes.”

The American young man stared at him. Ken turned his attention away from the Naga and shrugged. Johanas turned his head and then shook it, looking disoriented.

“Weird as fuck, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see if the Lizards want to party, then. We have a lot of booze.”

So saying, he went over to the Lizardpeople. They were instantly on their feet and headed towards the place where the Americans were drinking, and Ken saw Johanas approach a group of Dullahans next.

Watch. Ken’s eyes narrowed slightly and he forgot the mug in his hands as he watched Johanas approach a group of five Dullahans. They had been talking quietly amongst themselves, but went silent as Johanas came over.

This is what Ken noticed. Of the five Dullahans, three had wooden armor, crude, seemingly hewn from trees. The other two though had metal armor. One looked like iron plate, the other, a type of scale mail. The other Dullahans seemed to defer to them.

It was about the armor. Ken was no expert, but the Dullahan with scale mail armor probably had the more expensive equipment, or body, than the one with iron armor. And that mattered. He watched as Johanas stumbled over and heard the young man’s voice.

“Hey, any of you lot want to drink? We’ve got free beer!”

He didn’t address the Dullahan in scale armor, nor the one with iron armor. And Ken knew immediately that was a mistake. The Dullahan in scale armor narrowed her eyes, and the Dullahan that Johanas had addressed, a wide-eyed, very young male in cheap wood armor, looked at her first before silently shaking his head.

“What about you then? Want to hang out?”

Ken winced as Johanas only now addressed the Dullahan in scale armor. She froze up. She looked irritated, furrowing her brows slightly. Johanas didn’t notice—Dullahan features changed only slightly and he was too drunk to see. She replied curtly and he stumbled away, shrugging.

The entire group of Dullahans had declined as one. None of them would go drink with the Americans, although a few Centaurs did drift over for the alcohol.

Ken was looking at the Lizardfolk, whom some of the Americans were unsuccessfully trying to convince to play a game of spin the bottle with, when someone spoke his name.

Ken, what are you doing?

He turned as Aiko approached him, speaking in Japanese. Ken pointed to the Lizardfolk, who were all refusing to play spin the bottle.

They move as one group, you see, Aiko? If you cannot convince them as a whole, none will agree.

Aiko eyed the group of Lizardfolk and shook her head.

So? I think you spend too much time looking at them. Especially the female ones. What about Humans? We’re normal. They’re odd.

Ken felt nettled by the comment. He turned away from Aiko, annoyed. He was trying to understand the other species. They were all in the same company—so what if Lizardpeople looked strange? So what if Dullahans could take their heads off, and Centaurs were half-horse, half-Human? He knew some of the people from his world couldn’t interact with the other species—he noted a girl refusing to go near one of the friendly Lizardfolk. But that wasn’t right.

So what if they are different? We should get to know them better.

He spoke sharply to Aiko. She stomped her foot, exasperated.

We should stick together and work with other people from our world! They are talking each day, and you do not listen!

A lot of the Americans were arguing it out with the Europeans and Australians, Ken knew. Everyone had been appalled at finding out just how horrible their duties were, and it was the Americans especially who wanted a change. But what could they do? He glared at Aiko.

Should I go back and spend more time looking at Luan-san, then?

Her face went red. Ken knew that Aiko had developed a crush on Luan. The South African man was older than everyone else, and he was always optimistic, always taking command. She punched his shoulder and Ken yelped and moved away.

Idiot.

She stormed off. Ken turned back, feeling guilty, and stared at the Centaurs and how they were interacting with the very drunk Americans. He had a theory about them as well, but he was interrupted by Luan.

“Hey Ken, I saw you and Aiko talking. Did you have a fight?”

Ken turned and smiled at Luan. His friend had a mug in one hand as well and was sipping gingerly at it. He made a face as he came to sit by Ken.

“You two in an argument? She looked pretty upset. What was it about?”

Of all the people to ask—no, Luan was the one who kept Aiko and Ken company, who looked out after them. Of course he’d ask. But Ken could say nothing. He bit his lip and tried to respond.

“I ah, how do I say this? I do not think I can tell you. It is not my secret to give away. I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luan grinned at him, and then frowned at his mug.

“Have you tasted this? It’s awful.”

“No.”

Ken sipped at his drink and recoiled at the taste. The liquid was sour in a very unpleasant way. The Americans didn’t seem to mind the taste, but as Luan observed, they were only trying to get drunk.

“Half of them aren’t allowed to drink in their country. Crazy.”

Ken nodded in agreement. The drinking age in Japan was 20 years, but it wasn’t enforced in any strict sense of the word. In South Africa, it was apparently 18. That only mattered because Ken and Luan had had the chance to drink quite a few times before now. For Americans, it was apparently a lot harder.

“They are enjoying themselves. I am told they traded a flashlight for beer.”

Luan had heard that, and he wasn’t happy about it. He frowned as he took another sip of his drink and nearly spat it back out.

“They shouldn’t have done that. It was a bad idea.”

“Why?”

Ken saw Luan hesitate, and then glance around. No one was nearby to listen—they were either drinking, or trying to ignore the shouting coming from the people who were drinking. Still, Luan lowered his voice.

“That flashlight is very valuable. We don’t have a way to get more, and if we can repair it with magic, it’s too valuable to waste. But those assholes didn’t listen to me, or any of the Germans. They’re playing by their own rules and no one else’s opinion matters.”

“Damn right they are. Fucking bastards.”

Both Ken and Luan jumped. Someone had snuck up behind them. Someone with a class in [Rogue], which he’d gotten from sneaking around the battlefield. A tanned young man with blonde hair and a sword. His name was Daly, and he was from Australia. He put a hand on both Ken and Luan’s shoulders and he leaned in with them.

“You lot talking about the Americans, right? Know anything?”

“Not a thing, mate.”

Luan nodded familiarly with Daly. Perhaps it was because both of them said ‘mate’ that they got along. Or that they came from hot continents. Or…they just got along. Ken gently edged away from Daly. Intimate contact wasn’t exactly something he was at home with.

“Those wankers are up to something, and they won’t tell the rest of what. You heard anything, uh…what’s your names?”

“I’m Luan, this is Ken.”

“Pleased to meet ya. Thought I’d seen you around, but couldn’t remember your names off the top of my head.”

Ken was treated to a firm handshake. Daly squatted down next to them and began to grouse about the American problem with Luan.

“We’re all on the same boat, right? Why the hell are they keeping things secret?”

Luan shook his head as Ken sipped his drink and kept tactfully silent.

“Americans. I think they want to tell us what to do.”

“Yeah, well, since none of them have a nuke shoved down their trousers, I’ll pass on that. We’re in it together and unless they tell us what they’re planning, none of our lot is budging. The work we’re doing is shite, but at least none of us are dying.”

Daly nodded at the group of Australians he was with. There was an even ratio of males and females there, and they were having a conversation with some of the Centaurs, shouting to be heard above the party which was now enveloping all three companies. Gravetender’s Fist, Rot’s Bane, and Untimely Demise. Ken wondered if one of the officers would break up the mayhem, until he saw officer Raeh drinking along with the rest of them.

“Right well, it was good to meet both of ya. I’d love to have a pint with you, but those damned idiots are hogging it all.”

The Australian young man stood up with a groan, and then went off to get something to drink as well. Ken heard him shouting as he approached the group of Americans, who were now singing their national anthem.

“Oi! Stop hogging all the alcohol! Share some, you buggers!”

Someone waved at Daly and he gave them a ‘V’ sign with his fingers that Ken was fairly sure didn’t stand for ‘victory’. Luan laughed as he watched a group of Centaurs finally come over to shout at the partying soldiers to shut up.

Ken turned back to Luan. He hesitated, not knowing where to begin.

“Good friend Luan-san…”

“Call me Luan, yeah?”

“Luan—I have been talking with the others. Lizardfolk, and I was thinking of doing so with the Dullahans and Centaurs, only Aiko does not think it is a good idea.”

He was on familiar enough terms now to call Aiko by her first name, and he was glad that Luan felt he was a friend. Ken certainly considered him one. Luan nodded.

“Talking with them? Sounds good. I can’t get them to talk to me, but you got those Lizardfolk to open up. What’s Aiko’s problem?”

“I think she feels awkward. It is…they are very different, but I think they are like us. Some of the people from our world do not think so. But I—I think they are like us. What do you think?”

Ken held his breath, but Luan just smiled. He tapped his chest as he looked Ken in the eye.

“I was born during Apartheid, good friend Ken. I know about judging people by their skin. I think I should talk with Aiko, and you—should talk with the other species. We are all soldiers, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Relieved, Ken grinned at Luan. That was how he found himself heading towards the group of Dullahans that Johanas had failed to invite. They were watching the partying with stony faces, and all of them stared flatly at Ken as he hesitantly approached.

This was different from the Lizardpeople. Ken braced himself. Where the species of Lizardfolk as a whole were cautious but quite open to talk, Dullahans were private. Notably so. They didn’t try to start conversations with people of other species unless it was out of necessity. But Ken thought the real barrier that none of the Humans had understood was the need for formality.

Americans weren’t formal. Europeans and people from Luan’s country…well, Ken didn’t actually know enough about each culture to be sure, but he knew that Japanese culture was very formal. Using the proper honorifics was extremely important in Japan, and it was something people from other countries had little grasp of.

It was like how in English, no one called him Murata-san or Ken-san, which would be more polite. It was all first names, which Ken found awkward at first. But Dullahans…they were slightly Japanese in the way they behaved towards one another.

This is what Ken had seen, from Johanas’ interactions with the Dullahans and other times. Dullahans had a hierarchy in any group, even if it was just between two of them. It was unspoken, but it was there and it shaped every interaction they had. And it was all based on armor.

Every Dullahan had armor. But the type of armor, quality, and materials different on each Dullahan. It was like clothing, only more intimate. It was a reflection of their personality and, Ken now understood, their social standing.

In a group, the Dullahans with the most impressive armor always spoke first, and everyone else deferred to them. It wasn’t just what their armor was made of either; someone with ornate armor was more important than someone with the same material of armor, but less craftsmanship. You had to have an eye for it, but Ken was confident in this case.

He approached the group of five Dullahans as they stared at him warily. They clearly didn’t want to talk, but Ken intended to prove he could show proper respect. That was why he didn’t immediately speak to the closest Dullahan, but rather, to the one with scale armor, the one Johanas had failed to immediately address.

“Please excuse my rude interruption, but I was hoping I could speak with you all.”

The Dullahan woman wearing scale armor blinked as Ken bowed his head towards her. She had placed her head next to her body, and now she grabbed her head and aimed her face at Ken to speak. She hesitated, and then replied.

“What do you wish to say, Human?”

The others looked from her to Ken as he introduced himself.

“I am Kenjiro Murata. I would like to introduce myself to fellow soldiers. May I ask your name?”

Again, he spoke directly towards the Dullahan in scale armor. She nodded after a moment.

“I am Etretta Fulvrie. I greet you, Kenjiro.”

She spoke his name somewhat awkwardly, but Ken pretended not to notice. He nodded towards her and she nodded back. Then Ken turned to look at the Dullahan sitting across from her, the one in iron armor.

There was a flicker of surprise as the Dullahans noticed Ken’s action. The Dullahan in iron armor glanced at Etretta. There was a flicker of approval in her eyes as she nodded slightly at him.

He introduced himself in a gravelly voice. He was named Lethic, and the other three Dullahans introduced themselves, in the order of the quality of their armor, not where they were sitting or their age. Kenjiro hid a smile. He was right!

“What is it you have come to say, Kenjiro Murata?”

“I wish to apologize for my comrade. He does not understand your culture, and he may have offended you. For that I am very sorry.”

Ken spoke to Etretta, and the group at large. He bowed first to Etretta, and then to Lethic. The Dullahans stirred, murmured quietly. Etretta’s eyes were sharp on Ken. She had a very fine sword and she, unlike the others, was an experienced soldier in Gravetender’s Fist.

“Humans often make mistakes. We are used to it. But you think you understand our ways, Kenjiro?”

“I would not say I understand, but I hope to know more. Your people are a very impressive one.”

Ken met Etretta’s eyes for only a moment before looking away. He had a sense that staring at a Dullahan’s head was too intimate. By contrast, staring at their armor was a sign of respect.

Again, his intuition paid off. Etretta cradled her head, growing visibly more relaxed as she and the others rested their heads on the ground or their laps, not holding them stiffly as they did around strangers. Was it a sign that they didn’t think they were in danger?

“I accept your apology, Kenjiro. I would speak with you more if you are willing. Are there still drinks to be had?”

Kenjiro smiled. And after a second, so did Etretta. As it turned out there was still alcohol to be had, although they had to pass by several comatose bodies to get to it.

That night, Quallet swore a blue streak and threatened to thrash anyone too drunk to do their duty awake. It was up to Ken and the other Humans to get the people who’d literally passed out while drinking up and somewhat sober. More than one person was stumbling as they headed out into the night.

The work was still desperate, still dirty, and this time, Kenjiro slipped while carrying a Dullahan’s corpse and found a pile of maggots squirming down his armor. He lost what food he’d eaten, but it was a Dullahan, Lethic, who pulled him up. Quexa burned the maggots off the front of his armor as Luan and Aiko helped get the rest out from under his armor.

Small things. Kenjiro stumbled back into camp too tired to walk properly and reeking of filth. As his head hit the ground he heard a voice in his head. It had a surprise for him.

 

[Warrior Level 4!]

 

[Negotiator Class Obtained!]

[Negotiator Level 2!]

[Skill – Amateur Linguist obtained!]

[Skill – Polite Demeanor obtained!]

 

—-

 

On the sixth day, Ken watched the fighting. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes he could ignore it, when he was talking with people, watching the different species interact, but other times it was too raw, too visible to ignore.

Each day, the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company lined up their forces and sent them into the valley to fight. It wasn’t just like two masses of soldiers charging at each other, though. Both sides kept forces hidden in the trees, or moving around the outsides, clashing, trying to strike the enemy from behind.

Flights of arrows flew from the galloping Centaurs, and they charged into the armored Dullahans with lances and spears that pierced through the heavy armor. The Dullahans brought forth a group of [Mages] that blasted groups of warriors apart until a Centaur charge forced them to fall back as the furious Centaur warriors hacked apart a group of Lizardfolk assigned to guard the [Mages].

It was terrible to watch. Terrible, and yet some part of the fighting called to Ken. Not the blood. Not the limbs and hacked open flesh, but the moments of heroism. They still shook his heart. He saw a [Soldier] hold off three Centaurs with a Skill that made his blade dance and create a whirlwind of metal that held the warriors off until his comrades could join him. He saw a [Mage] raise an emerald shield up and calmly walk through a hail of arrows.

That was the glorious, magical part of the battle. But it was savage and merciless too.

A group of Centaurs had roped a Dullahan commander and were dragging him across the battlefield, howling war cries as the soldiers tried to free their leader. They kept dragging the Dullahan across the broken ground long after he’d stopped moving. When they cut him loose, the Dullahan’s corpse lay there. Ken saw the red streak it had left and turned away.

“Bloody horrific, ain’t it?”

Someone joined Ken as he watched the Centaurs regrouping for another charge. He saw Daly and another Australian girl standing at the edge of the neutral zone and staring down at the carnage. Daly nodded to the young woman.

“This is Paige. Paige, this here is Ken.”

“Pleased.”

Paige offered her hand and Ken shook it lightly. She stared down at the battlefield, face grim. She didn’t flinch away, though. Everyone from Aiko to Luan had gotten used to far worse, roaming the battlefield at night.

“They line up on the battlefield like gentlemen, and then start tearing each other to bits each night. What kind of place is this?”

“Better than if they fought at night, too.”

Daly shrugged, but Paige frowned.

“I heard someone got killed over by where the Untimely Demise lot were working. Not from an undead—they got shot.”

“By who?”

Both Ken and Daly looked at her in alarm. Paige didn’t know.

“I heard the Captain was asking about it. But I didn’t hear if he got an answer.”

Ken stared down at the valley, where Dullahans were marching towards the Centaurs, driving them back. It was incredible that after each day there were enough soldiers to keep fighting, but apparently both companies were sending their forces into the valley, rather than keep fighting and destroy the landscape around them. They were trying to wear each other down, rather than risk mutual destruction.

“So they’re just gonna keep tearing each other apart until one side starts winning? Sounds like the dumbest war in the world.”

“Sounds like every war.”

Daly and Paige were arguing as Ken excused himself. He’d seen enough bloodshed, and he had to think. Think about his new classes, for one thing.

[Negotiator]. Ken had told Luan and Aiko about it immediately of course, but no one else. He hadn’t known it was a class you could get, but it made sense. And the Skills he’d gotten! [Polite Demeanor] and [Amateur Linguist].

He could understand [Polite Demeanor]—apparently it made him look and smell less like someone who lifted corpses each day. According to Luan and Aiko, it made them want to talk to him more than anyone else, if only to escape the foul odor everyone else in the company had.

But [Amateur Linguist]? That was more intriguing. Ken had tried to use it, but apparently it was a passive Skill rather than one he could use. It seemed to help with his ability to speak English, and perhaps other languages, if he knew them.

The Skill didn’t make his speech that much markedly better, but suddenly Kenjiro could understand words in English without first having to translate them into Japanese. In short, he began to think in English, which made his ability to reply and comprehend what people were saying far easier. Aiko was purely jealous.

“So unfair! I want that Skill!”

Ken was very grateful for it, but he had no idea whether having the [Negotiator] class was a good thing, or whether it was useless. Luan was of the opinion any class was good news, but Kenjiro had heard a girl from the Netherlands saying that one class was best because of…something to do with maximum levels in a video game? Her opinion was being hotly debated among those who played video games.

He didn’t know what he was looking for in camp, aside from a distraction, but Ken found it in an instant when he saw Captain Quallet arguing with a group of Centaurs, one of whom was wearing important-looking armor. Well, arguing was a bit of an understatement. Quallet was bellowing at them.

“We can’t do our jobs if you lot won’t give us access! I don’t—no, I don’t care where your patrols are! The corpses are there, and if you want us to get rid of them, you’ll give us access!”

He was yelling at the Centaur officer, who was getting more offended by the minute. Ken hurried over, not knowing what he was doing, but knowing in his heart that Quallet was doing exactly the wrong thing if he wanted to convince the Centaurs of anything.

Unlike Dullahans and Lizardfolk, the third predominant species of Baleros, Centaurs, were neither taciturn nor talkative. They probably fit between both Lizardfolk and Dullahan temperaments when it came to how social they could be, but, and this was a big but, they had a temper. Collectively. As a species.

If there was a ranking for bad-tempered species, Centaurs would probably be at the top of that list, competing for first place with Drakes and Minotaurs, although Ken had never met representatives of those species.

Centaurs were touchy, prideful, and reminded Ken a bit of his grandmother. They didn’t accept bad manners at all, and the slightest offense was instantly corrected, regardless if it caused trouble for all parties involved. Right now Quallet was digging himself a hole by shouting at an officer.

The angry [Mercenary Captain] had a hand on his axe and the Centaur officer looked ready to pull out his bow and shoot him. Kenjiro heard the Centaur speaking curtly to Quallet.

“Our territory is being patrolled to keep the damned Dullahans away from our camps. Twice now they have tried to attack us with [Rogues] and [Assassins]. My [Commander] demands to know how we know your forces will be trusted.”

Quallet growled.

“I told you, you empty-headed donkey—”

Ken saw the Centaur officer’s eyes narrow and jumped into the conversation. Literally. He nearly knocked Quallet aside. The [Captain] stumbled, eyes widening with fury. He rounded on Ken, but Ken was busy speaking to the Centaur officer. He spread his arms wide, smiling as best he could.

“Honored friends, we would humbly like to request permission to cross into your territory. We intend no disrespect, but we…must painfully intrude because of our duties. We mean no offense. And we will identify ourselves as best we can.”

The officer eyed Ken as Quallet opened a furious mouth, and then closed it as he saw what Ken was doing.

“Hmf. So you say. But how will we identify your people?”

“Banners. We have one—”

Again, Ken interrupted Quallet. This time the [Captain] let him speak.

“If it is agreeable, we will raise our company banner. It is illuminated, and the rest of our company will carry lanterns to identify ourselves. We will respond to any challenges, and, we would like to cooperate more sincerely, we will stick to an agreed-upon area of your choosing.”

It was what Quallet was going to say—what the Gravetender’s Fist company did every time, but the wording of it was key. Ken deferentially let the officer think for a moment, and then the Centaur spoke grudgingly.

“That is adequate. We will specify the location before nightfall. Do not stray.”

Ken bowed his head and thanked the Centaur as he and his soldiers trotted off. Then he turned and saw Quallet staring hard at him. Part of Ken’s elated heart went up his throat. But Quallet didn’t berate him. Instead, he nodded at Ken.

“Good job. You have some kind of [Diplomat] class?”

“Um. No sir. I have just received the [Negotiator] class.”

“Same thing.”

Quallet grunted. He paused, and looked at the Centaur’s backs. Then he spat. Ken winced, but none of the Centaurs noticed.

“In that case, you’ll be dealing with both sides from now on. I hate bowing and scraping to the Centaurs, but they’re touchy. As for the Dullahans—if it comes to it, just bow to the one in the most polished armor. You know that?”

Ken nodded. Quallet eyed him and then clapped him on the shoulder. Ken staggered.

“Keep it up. If you can talk us out of more trouble, I’ll give you a bonus.”

He walked off. Ken massaged his shoulder, wishing people weren’t so intimate. But he smiled. And later that day, dozing, he leveled up again. Then he woke up. His smile faded. Ken went back to the battlefield and began hauling bodies. There was no happiness in that.

 

—-

 

This night Gravetender’s Fist was working in a wooded area, part of the Centaur’s marked territory. They’d heard a stern injunction from Quallet and the other officers not to stray far from the banner, and each group had filled their lantern’s oil so it shone brightly in the night.

Now Ken and the others walked past trees, some marked by combat, felled by blasts of magic or powerful Skills. They had to be especially alert for zombies hidden in the shadow of trees, but they were used to the routine enough to talk in low voices.

“They are talking about leaving?”

Aiko whispered to Luan as Ken helped both of them drag a heavy Lizardman in broken armor to the pile. Luan nodded, looking angry.

“The Americans want to go. They’re saying this job is shit—which it is—and they want to abandon the company. They’re saying we can desert and head back to one of the cities, sell our swords and armor maybe.”

“That is a bad idea. Isn’t it?”

Ken stared at Luan, heart pounding at the thought. Leave the company? If they did, they’d have to leave the neutral zone. At night or by day made no difference. If they were caught—

Luan nodded, looking angry.

“I told them—the others told them—it’s a terrible idea! But the Americans are fed up with hauling these bodies. I can’t blame them for that, but a handful of maggots here is better than dying. They think we can do it though, and they’re going to bring it up tomorrow.”

“We must talk to the others.”

Aiko’s face was pale. Luan nodded, and shifted his hold on the Dullahan.

“Shit. I can’t see. Where are the others?”

“Back there.”

Today Ken, Aiko, and Luan had paired with Quexa and three other Lizardfolk. It was Quexa who had the lantern. Ken lowered the Dullahan’s body while Luan adjusted his grip. They waited for the Lizardfolk to catch up—they were struggling to carry an obese Centaur.

“Never thought I’d see a fat Centaur. He looks round. I wonder if that’s how they got him. Too big of a target? Or was he too slow to run away? If a Centaur is too fat, does it just waddle around?”

Luan commented as he watched the Lizardfolk swearing loudly, trying to move the Centaur.

“At least it was not a zombie. That would be very hard to kill.”

Ken grinned, imagining an undead Centaur waddling towards him in the darkness. Aiko giggled, putting her hand up to her mouth and then snatching it down. Her hands, like every other part of her body, were filthy.

Luan laughed. He turned towards Ken, about to say something, and then there was a whistling sound. He blinked, and Ken heard a thunk.

Something sprouted from Luan’s chest. He gasped, and then Aiko screamed. The Lizardfolk dropped the Centaur and Quexa shouted.

Attack!

Shouts rang out as shadows in the forest suddenly turned into galloping shapes. Ken reached for Luan as his friend sagged to the ground.

“Luan? Luan?

There was an arrow in his side. Ken reached for it automatically, but someone caught his hand. A Lizardman shook his head as Quexa ran over, waving her lantern and shouting desperately as the Centaurs galloping around them.

“We’re not enemies! Gravetender’s Fist! We’re—”

There was chaos. Ken heard pounding feet and voices, and then officer Raeh was there.

“Back off!”

He shouted at Ken and the others and fumbled at his belt.

“Healing potion. Here! Snap the arrow off and pour it in—the arrow should come out. I’ve got to stop us from being killed!”

He stood up and waved his hands at the Centaurs, shouting. Ken bent over Luan. The man’s face was pale and beaded with sweat. Ken reached for the arrow, hesitated.

“I’ll hold him. Do it.”

Quexa and the Lizardman seized Luan. Ken looked at Aiko. She grabbed the arrow and he used his hands and tried to snap it.

It was hard. The arrow’s shaft was thick and as he moved the arrow Luan woke up and began screaming. Ken heard Quexa shout and he tried to break the shaft. He felt it splinter, and then it snapped.

“Healing potion!”

Aiko pulled the bottle out frantically and removed the stopper. She splashed the liquid into Luan’s wound and Ken watched the skin seal over. The broken wood shaft of the arrow popped out of the wound, but the arrowhead did not. Had it passed through his body? In any event, Luan stopped thrashing.

“Luan?”

Ken held his breath. Then Luan opened his eyes. He blinked, and then spoke.

“I thought I was a goner.”

Luan grinned at them, face covered in sweat, still very pale. Ken and Aiko smiled in relief. Luan laughed shakily. He sat up to say something, and then his face went white. He cried out in agony.

“What’s wrong? Luan?”

Aiko reached for him, but Luan knocked her hand away. He pressed his hands towards his side, and to Ken’s horror, he saw the wound was opening back up. Luan fell back, screaming again as the wound tore open a second time.

Horrified, Aiko reached for the potion to use it again, but Quexa stopped her. She called out.

“It’s not working! Sergeant Raeh!”

The Centaurs were gone, at least for now. Raeh came running back over, demanding to know why they hadn’t used the potion. When he heard what had happened he swore.

“It was some kind of enchanted shaft. Damn those four-legged bastards!”

He knelt by Luan’s side as the younger man cried out in pain. Raeh didn’t touch the wound, but he looked grimly at the head of the shaft.

“Whatever’s in there is still cutting him up from the inside. You—boy. Did the entire arrow come out?”

“No—no, only the—the shaft.”

“Damn it. It was an enchanted arrow after all!”

Raeh looked grimly at the wound. He beckoned for Quexa to bring the lantern over, and peered at the oozing wound. He pulled a knife out grimly, and then hesitated.

“I can’t…tell where it is. I need to cut it out before the healing potion can work, but—”

“Cut it out?”

Aiko was horrified. Raeh helplessly looked around Luan’s side as he thrashed.

“It could be anywhere in there. The enchanted arrowheads are nasty—some of them move. If I don’t get it right off, your friend will die. We can’t use healing potions until I get it—I—”

His hands were trembling. He didn’t know where to cut, and he thought he’d miss. Raeh hesitated, and Ken saw his hand tighten on the grip of the dagger. He raised it, and Ken caught his arm.

“No!”

“It has to be done! Move over boy—I’ve got only one chance to help your friend. It’s that or slit his throat, because he’ll die in agony—”

“No! There has to be a—a hospital, yes? A doctor? Someone who can perform surgery?”

There had to be. But Raeh just stared at Ken and shook his head.

“There’s no one like that.”

He raised the dagger, and Ken felt true despair in his heart as he saw Raeh’s haunted gaze. That was when Quallet found them. The [Captain] ran towards them, axe drawn, [Sergeant] Xor following.

“Raeh! What the hell’s going on here?”

Raeh explained in short sentences and both Quallet and Xor knelt by Luan. Their appraisal of the situation was the same.

“It’s got to come out, but damn me if I don’t know where. ”

“He’s losing blood. A bad cut and he’ll be dead in minutes. We can’t fish around in his guts, Captain Marshhand. It might be kinder to—”

Xor was speaking, but it all seemed far away. Ken stood in an oasis of shock and horror, watching the moment play out as if it were on a screen or far away. There was static in his ears. Aiko was gripping Luan’s hand, he was screaming—Raeh had the knife.

Then Quallet looked up. He had the same empty look in his eyes, as of someone expecting to see only death. But he saw Ken, and something flickered in his gaze.

“No. Not us. There’s another way.”

“What?”

Quallet stood up. He turned to his two officers.

“I’ll handle matters here. Raeh, get these two an escort and a white flag. There’s a spot to the north where a [Doctor] works. Have them get—Luan—over there. If they’re quick and lucky, this [Doctor] might be able to save him.”

“Are you sure?”

Raeh looked skeptical, but Quallet nodded.

“It’s their best shot. If we try, he’s dead either way. You know that. There’s no way we’ll find an arrowhead, but if what I’ve heard about this ‘Last Light’ are true, the [Doctor] might be able to.”

A [Doctor]. The word dragged Ken back into reality. He looked at Aiko, and saw the same desperation in her eyes. It was something to cling to. Ken knelt by Luan as Raeh turned and started shouting.

“Hold on, Luan.”

It was a stretcher they used to carry Luan, the same kind they used to haul bodies or bits of bodies. It was filthy, and Luan screamed when they put him on it, but they had no choice.

They carried Luan on the stretcher, Ken, Aiko, and Quexa, while the Lizardman carried the white flag. They ran out of the woods, trying to run and not jostle Luan or trip all at the same time. They ran through the forest as the sun began to rise, searching desperately, praying.

That was how Ken met the [Doctor] known as the Last Light. He arrived in a small camp as the sun rose and Luan’s blood ran from his side. It dripped from the stretcher and fell onto the wet ground, among the grass and mud. Bugs landed to feed on the red liquid, and in the valley, two armies gathered to fight once more.

And the bodies came in, the wounded, the desperate. Ken and Aiko stood with Luan, one among many. Waiting for her, hoping she was real. The voices cried out, begged, pleaded. For salvation, relief—

For a [Doctor].

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.04 D

Quallet Marshhand was shouting at a Centaur. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. Centaurs were belligerent, touchy, and the only way to get them to agree to something was to flatter them. But Quallet was fed up, and there were some times when he just needed to scream at something.

Like now.

The Centaur commander was clearly unhappy at being shouted at, and kept trying to snap at Quallet. His soldiers were also trying to be menacing, but Quallet knew he was in the right. He snapped at the ash-colored Centaur as his company worked in the darkness, putting the undead to rest and burning the rest of the corpses.

“No, you listen to me. That was my company you shot at! We announced ourselves and carried both a banner and night lanterns! How could you not see—”

“He was not standing with the lantern.”

“He was ten feet away from it! How could you not tell they were together? They were hauling a dead Dullahan. If that didn’t tip your idiotic soldiers off—”

“The Dullahans have disguised themselves so before.”

The Centaur was unmoved. He glared down at Quallet, looking uncomfortable at his patrol’s attack on Quallet’s soldiers, but equally enraged.

“The Dullahans have been attacking our camps disguised as your people. They, damn them, have done this twice now!”

“That does not justify what your men did! You attacked my soldiers—shot one with an enchanted arrow! If he dies—”

“If he dies, we will pay the blood price. But we will not change our methods. Not now.”

The officer’s face had locked up into a stubborn rictus. Quallet stared at him, shaking with fury.

“And how am I supposed to stop that from happening again?”

“Stay within our designated areas. Identify yourselves.”

“We did that—if you want our company to do our duty, keep your soldiers away from mine! Because I promise you, if this happens a second time I will cancel our contract and demand full pay for—”

“Enough.”

The Centaur cut Quallet off and the [Mercenary Captain] nearly drew his axe right there and then.

“We must continue patrolling. I will instruct my soldiers and tomorrow negotiations will begin over reparations and perhaps change the location your company works. Until then, keep close to your lanterns.”

He whirled and trotted away, rather than continue arguing with Quallet. His soldiers left too, wincing as Quallet let loose a set of invectives that made the battle-hardened warriors flinch. Quallet would have liked to do more than curse.

But there was nothing he could do. Quallet stomped away to speak with Raeh and Xor. He immediately pulled back all of the company within range of the banner and made them move together at all times. Less corpses would be disposed of, but he wasn’t about to lose more soldiers than he had.

Luan. The enchanted arrow had gone deep into his side. Quallet had seen Raeh’s eyes, seen the fear. The only way to get it out was to cut into the flesh and bone and find the arrowhead…a tiny thing somewhere in all that blood and guts. There was no way Luan would have survived if Raeh had done it. Maybe this [Doctor] could save him. But Quallet feared the young man was already dead.

 

—-

 

“Luan? Luan! Stay awake. Please!”

Ken knelt by his friend’s side, speaking urgently to Luan as his eyes flickered. The black-skinned South African was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead.

He was dying. Blood was seeping from his arrow wound, staining the clumsy bandage that Aiko had tied around his side. The one who’d tied it, Aiko, was holding Luan’s hand as he groaned and shivered. That was all she could do. Ken looked around frantically.

“Is the [Doctor] here? My friend needs help!”

He was speaking—shouting at—a pale warrior with a halberd. He was a Selphid. His body was that of a Lizardman, but the scales were pale, close to white. The body was dead, but something else looked down at Ken and shook his head.

“Wait. The [Doctor] is still sleeping. She has worked without rest for over a day now. When she wakes, she will see your friend.”

Ken opened his mouth, but the Selphid stared at him.

“Quiet, or I will remove you. That will not help your friend.”

Ken closed his mouth. Luan was at the head of a line of wounded soldiers. There were only a few as the fighting had barely begun. It was just past dawn. But some of the soldiers were badly wounded, bandaged, unable to be healed by potions, carried by their friends to wait for the [Doctor] like Luan.

Some were already dead. Ken’s stomach was a knot of fear, but he made himself grip Luan’s other hand and wait.

“Give him more healing potion, Aiko.”

She did. Raeh had pressed the remaining bottle into her hands as he’d sent them to look for the [Doctor]. It could not heal the wound so long as the enchanted arrow was in place, but every time she carefully poured more into the wound, Luan’s color would get better and he seemed to grow in strength. But then the arrow’s magic would open the wound again, and he would scream.

Life went in, life went out. But Ken saw that the healing potion was not putting as much in as went out of Luan over time. He was getting weaker. He needed help. And the [Doctor] was asleep.

It felt like hours before she woke. When she did, Ken knew in an instant because the Selphid who had been standing guard over the lines of the wounded turned his head. From a small tent a form emerged, blinking in the light of the day. She turned her head and Ken saw a Human face. For some reason that reassured him. He had wondered if the [Doctor] was a Dullahan, but she looked…normal.

Then she began to lurch down the hill and Ken wondered if he’d made a mistake. She couldn’t be who Luan was waiting for.

When Kenjiro first saw the woman known as the Last Light, the famed [Doctor] of the battlefield up close, he thought he was looking at another zombie. Her skin was olive in color, but pale. Her hands were covered in blood, as was her clothing. Her brown hair was covered by an odd cap—a cut-down leather helmet stained with sweat.

She looked as if she needed a [Doctor] herself. One of her arms was practically white, as if blood flow had been constricted there. Her steps were brisk, but she stumbled twice as she approached the line of wounded. There was red in her eyes. Broken blood vessels.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

“What happened to him?”

Ken looked at his friends. Quexa and a Lizardman had come with them, helping carry Luan. They were sitting by Luan, and looked at Ken. So did Aiko. So Ken took a breath and tried to explain.

“He—he was shot by an arrow. A magical—he does not heal. It is here.”

He showed the woman the wound and the [Doctor] knelt. She appraised his side for a second and then stood. She nearly fell down again, and the Selphid guard caught her.

“Arrow wound. Understood. Don’t move him. Stay with your friend. If he wakes, don’t let him get up. Keep him still, got it?”

“Yes, but—”

Ken broke off. The woman was already moving past him, speaking to the soldiers second in line. She knelt by a man with a broken sword blade protruding from his stomach, nodded. Ken stared at the piece of metal—it was frosted over. Magical? The man with it in his stomach was shaking uncontrollably and moaning. But the [Doctor] did not see to him either. She moved on to the next wounded soldier, then the next.

“Wait!”

The [Doctor] had nearly reached the end of the line when Ken ran towards her. The Selphid barred the way. Ken stopped and pointed at Luan.

“Will you help him?”

“Yes. Later. I have other patients to attend to first.”

Ken turned and saw two other Selphids with pale bodies carefully picking up the Soldier with the enchanted blade in his stomach. He gaped.

“But we are—first!”

The woman shook her head.

“Not the point. I am triaging. I must decide who needs attention first. This is not a situation where the first who arrive get treated first. I will save those who need my help most, and then move on to the less critically injured.”

She’d raised her voice so everyone waiting could hear. Ken understood her words, but couldn’t accept them.

“But my friend—”

“He has more time. I will see to him when I can.”

The [Doctor] turned away. Ken took a step, but the Selphid barred his path, his face grim. Ken stared helplessly at the Lizardman’s face and the intelligence lurking behind the dead features. He saw the [Doctor] move on, and then hesitate. She turned and spoke crisply.

“I am a [Doctor]. That means I save lives, no matter who it is I treat. I will try to save your friend—if I can. But I can’t promise anything. I will get to him as fast as I can. But you must wait.”

And that was it. Ken went back to Luan. In less than a minute, the woman had finished her surveying the patients. She marked them—Ken could see how she pointed and the Selphid guard laid colored stones by the wounded. Green for the least wounded. Yellow for moderate wounds and red for those about to die. Black meant they were dead or…or they weren’t going to be treated.

Luan was yellow. He was going to die, but not as soon as some. The [Doctor] strode up to a tent where the other Selphids had carried the first patient. Someone came out with a bowl of healing potion he dribbled on those with the red stones. It helped.

Ken applied healing potion to Luan’s wound. The skin closed. Broke open. Luan screamed. He waited, staring at the tent. It felt like hours passed before the tent flaps opened and the man with the enchanted blade in his stomach was carried out—minus the blade.

That was the first. There were five more to go. Ken watched another body go in as a group of ragged Human soldiers stared at the tent. Hours passed—Quexa told him it was minutes. The tent flaps opened, and a corpse came out.

Ken felt his stomach drop. Another body went in as the Selphid guard laid the body down and the soldiers, the friends of the female Lizardwoman who’d taken five arrows to the chest, wept and clung to each other in grief. The tent flaps were already closing around the third wounded soldier marked with a red stone.

A corpse came out. Another body came in. Another corpse. The fifth soldier lived, but his arm was gone. As the sixth came in, Luan started gasping and his eyes started rolling back into his head.

“Luan!”

Aiko was clinging to him, whispering to him in English and Japanese. But it was no good. The wound kept bleeding and the healing potion had run out. Ken stared helplessly at the stained bandages, crimson from all the blood loss and remembered some of the medical techniques he’d seen on TV. He had never been trained, but he couldn’t just sit back any longer!

“We should—出血を止めまれ! Apply compress—”

He reached for Luan’s side, guided by only a few memories of what to do with an open wound. Apply pressure? Where? Along the edges?

Aiko was white-faced, hands hovering over the open wound. Ken heard a shout as he reached for Luan.

“Don’t touch him!”

The Selphid guard stopped Ken as Quexa and the Lizardman stood up, just as worried. The Selphid pulled Ken back, explaining as Ken protested weakly.

“It’s an Evercut Arrow. It cannot be removed without opening him up, you see? If you shake your friend about, it will cut through his insides. Do not move him any more, and do not let him move.”

“But he is dying.

“Yes.”

The Selphid looked him in the eyes, calmly. He had seen death. He lived in a corpse. He pulled Ken back as Quexa took Aiko and hugged her.

The Selphid’s name was Calectus. He made Ken sit, drink some water from Ken’s water flask. Ken had forgotten he had it. Calectus didn’t give Ken any false assurances, or hopes. He just told Ken to leave Luan, to not make things worse.

“Hope that he lives long enough for Doctor Geneva to see him.”

So Ken did. He prayed under his breath by Luan’s side as the sixth patient left the tent a corpse. Then it was Luan’s turn.

 

—-

 

Geneva didn’t calculate her success rate as she worked. If she did, she would have given up long ago in despair. But she couldn’t ignore the brutal arithmetic of life and death.

Some lived, some died. Sometimes Geneva would save four, twelve people in a row. Then she’d be wondering when the next patient would come in that she couldn’t save. Or sometimes she’d fail to save five people in a row, and keep praying the next patient was treatable. Because they had to be. The next one had to be. It was a game her mind played. It tried to find logic and patterns in chaos.

As the Selphid assistants took the sixth body outside, Geneva rested her hand against the table. She knew who was coming next. The black-skinned youth with the enchanted arrow in his side. She didn’t know if she could save him.

“Be ready Okasha. I need you to move fast. He will have lost a lot of blood and I need to find the arrow before I can heal him with a potion.”

“Understood.”

Okasha moved Geneva’s right arm up, blotting at her sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. Geneva saw the flaps open, and then the young man was on the table in front of her.

“Beginning the incision.”

Geneva didn’t need to do any diagnosing. She knew what had hit the young man. The Roving Arrow company had begun using the Evercut arrows a few days ago and Geneva had seen too many cases of these wounds to count. The arrows lodged in the inside and kept moving, slowly digging through organs and preventing healing until the patient died.

Swiftly, she cut with her scalpel across the young man’s chest, cutting open cloth, and then she cut again, opening up his side. She didn’t worry about infection or disease—her leveling up had granted her the invaluable Skill of [Sterile Field], an upgrade over [Sterile Equipment]. Nothing in a radius around her would be affected by unsanitary conditions, although they would if they left her presence.

So Geneva’s scalpel was clean as it sliced into the young man’s side. He opened his mouth and cried out—he was awake. The two Selphids immediately leapt forwards and held him down as Geneva tuned out the sounds he was making. She adjusted for his struggling and cut.

“I can see the entry wound. Going deeper.”

His flesh parted under the fine blade. Geneva stared into pulsating insides and saw red. The arrow had cut into the young man’s insides. The blood was concealing everything. Geneva’s eyes darted around, looking for the telltale glint of metal. Nothing.

If she were in a hospital she’d have a suction machine to clear away the blood. Here she only had—

“Towel.”

Okasha moved Geneva’s right hand at her command, sponging away blood. She put the towel aside, picked up another one. It was horrible, unsanitary, and Geneva’s only option.

“Water.”

She had some water that she used to rinse away the last of the blood. Now Geneva could see. And she saw…

Nothing. She could tell where the arrow had ripped through the young man’s side, into his liver. But it wasn’t in his liver anymore. He had stopped struggling, either passed out from the pain or…no, he was still alive. But she had to move quickly.

“Where did it go? Do you see it?”

“There.”

A voice in Geneva’s ear, too quiet for anyone to hear but her. Geneva felt her hand move. She could see the passage of the arrowhead now, though. From the liver, something had cut…Geneva saw an opening in the stomach lining and went for it. And at last she saw it, a tiny piece of orange metal, glinting and—moving—among the red flesh.

“Forceps.”

They were in her hand. Geneva knew what to do now, and carefully maneuvered them towards the arrowhead as it squirmed, cutting into the stomach. She took a breath, and then gripped it tightly. Instantly, she felt tension in the forceps as she tried to lever the arrowhead out of the flesh.

“It’s fighting me. Careful—”

Geneva twisted, and then flicked the arrowhead out of the wound. It flew off of the surgical table and onto the ground, still buried in a bit of flesh. One of the Selphid aids ran over to capture the arrowhead, taking care not to let it touch his skin.

“There. Check for fragments—where’s the healing potion?”

Okasha had it ready. Geneva swept through the rest of the body, but found nothing else wrong. She was running out of time.

“Apply the potion now.”

She normally used it sparingly, but the arrowhead had cut through so many parts of the body…Geneva closed the stomach, liver, and other damaged organs and then sutured the incision she’d made before closing that too. It helped, she found, and reduced the need for as much healing potion.

And then it was done. The young man went out and Geneva heard a scream of relief and shouts. That lifted a tiny part of her spirits. But then the next body came in, this time a soldier who had some kind of spell that was eating away at his legs, both of them. She had no way to stop it. She had to amputate. And then…

And then it was evening. The bodies stopped coming in. Either the soldiers were being killed off without a chance to be rescued, or all the injuries were healable with potions. That happened. Geneva stumbled out of her tent and found herself blinking up at a sun setting in the sky.

“Miss [Doctor]?”

A voice interrupted her. She turned and saw a man in armor with a helmet tucked under his arm and an axe at his belt. Calectus, the Selphid guard and highest-level warrior who’d volunteered to protect her, was watching him warily. Geneva took a step and nearly fell. The man caught her arm.

“Thank you. Ah, can I help you?”

“You already have, Miss. My name is Quallet Marshhand. I am the commander of Gravetender’s Fist, a suppression company hired for this engagement.”

“Oh. The ones who dispose of corpses.”

Quallet nodded as he and Geneva sat on some chairs that someone had found. He studied her, and she studied him. He was much what she had expected from a company commander. She’d seen and treated many by now. She was clearly not what he’d been expecting, though.

“This morning you saved one of my soldiers. I am grateful, although I don’t know what the custom is. My company can offer you—”

Oh. That was why he was here. Geneva sighed as she felt exhaustion catching up with her. She cut Quallet off brusquely.

“I’m a [Doctor]. I don’t charge fees for my work. If you want to donate, that’s fine, but I tend to each patient that comes to me without bias. I don’t take sides in war. Saving lives is my only priority.”

He blinked and considered this, not offended by her abrupt interruption.

“I see. In that case, let me offer you some money and my thanks. The young man you saved—he’s a good soldier.”

“They all are.”

Geneva tried to smile at him, and failed. She stood and shook Quallet’s hand. He gave some coins to Calectus—she saw silver and coppers, no gold. Geneva didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. She didn’t really care. Some commanders gave her nothing if she saved hundreds of their men, others, like Quallet, felt the need to come and thank her for each one.

She wasn’t doing this to be paid. She was…she was…she just had to do it. Because she’d sworn an oath? Because it was right? No. Because it was all she could do. It was all she could rationalize herself doing in this terrible world filled with blood and death.

Troubled by that thought, she turned away and nearly fell. Her leg shot out as Geneva nearly collapsed forward. Okasha steadied Geneva and spoke.

“Rest.”

“I’m fine. I should stay up. If there’s more—”

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night. If there are more wounded, I will wake you. But your mind is exhausted. You sleep. I will eat and rest us both.”

“I—I should—”

Geneva shook her head as she felt at her pocket. But Okasha was insistent, and Geneva knew what she was about to do.

“Sleep, Geneva. You must sleep. You have worked enough.”

Darkness engulfed Geneva’s mind in a moment. She felt oblivion come. It was welcome.

 

—-

 

Okasha had never invaded a living person’s body up until the moment a few months ago when she had had no choice. It was anathema to her kind, and punishable by death. But a body was a body, and she had adapted quickly and learned that a living body was far different from a dead one.

For one thing, a living body reacted to secretions Okasha could produce, as well as the ones it naturally secreted. Okasha had learned that long ago and made use of that fact to get Geneva to rest when the woman needed it.

She just had to trigger Geneva’s brain to secrete a little bit of the chemicals that induced drowsiness, the thing that Geneva called ‘melatonin’.

Oh, the things Humans came up with. How could they come up with a name for something Selphids had poked and prodded at for millennia? And yet, Geneva had told Okasha things about how the Human body worked that even the Selphids hadn’t known.

“Or perhaps we did know, once. Before our kind was hunted for the crime of stealing bodies from the living.”

It was Geneva’s voice, but Okasha who whispered with it. To differentiate between the two, Okasha lowered the range of Geneva’s vocal chords to make her voice deeper. She steered Geneva back towards camp, heading towards the [Doctor’s] tent.

Geneva’s mind was asleep; Okasha was in control. The Selphid only took full authority over her body when Geneva was asleep or in dire need. And she was uncomfortable with that, to be honest. What she was doing was abhorrent to Selphid culture. It had been banned by ancient treaties under threat of total extinction for their race. If Okasha was revealed to be possessing a live body, she would be destroyed, she had no doubt.

And yet, Geneva would be paralyzed without her. For all the [Doctor]’s genius, she had no knowledge of a way to cure damage to the spinal cord, and she had been struck by Thriss’ mace on the back of her neck. She would die, unable to move anything but her head without Okasha. And she couldn’t die. She was too valuable to the world.

Okasha saw that. That was why she helped Geneva, looked after her. That was also why six Selphids had joined Geneva’s camp. It was one of them who walked towards Okasha now. Calectus, most senior and highest level of the Selphids. He had come at Okasha’s behest, and he knew more than he let on.

For instance, about the fact that Okasha was in Geneva’s body. He knew Okasha had taken over Geneva as well—Selphids could see through body postures better than anyone else and so his face was disapproving as he looked at Okasha. He still had not forgiven her transgression, and spoke to her brusquely, as a senior to a junior.

After all, Okasha was only a Level 23 [Rogue] and now, a Level 15 [Medical Assistant]. Whereas Calectus was…

A Level 36 [Honor Guard]. Okasha stood in awe of him and humbly bobbed her head as Calectus motioned her to the tent where food was served to the wounded and Geneva, when she remembered to eat.

“She is asleep?”

He asked this as brusque confirmation as Okasha ate with Geneva’s body. The Selphid paused to savor the hot food—it was tastier than when she inhabited a dead person’s body. Geneva’s taste buds were all intact, and the sensation was blissful.

“Yes. She didn’t level today.”

“You can tell when it happens?”

Calectus frowned at Okasha as the Selphid nodded.

“If I listen, I think I can almost hear the announcement myself. But it’s always inaudible…I wonder if our predecessors worked with their hosts, rather than just controlled them?”

“Idle speculation. It was a mistake and it cost our kind everything.”

The older Selphid was disapproving. Okasha nodded meekly. He studied her, frowning as she finished her plate and filled it with a second helping. Geneva needed the energy.

“Do not take risks, Okasha. I do not like you forcing your host to sleep; even that is risky because we do not have the experience of interacting with a living host. Take no chances while you are working with her. Let her take no chances. The value of Geneva Scala’s life far outweighs yours or mine. So we have agreed.”

Geneva nodded. Calectus paused. She looked up at him. The Lizardman’s body he had recently inhabited was all very well, but she knew he was more at home with Dullahans. She coughed as a bit of food went down her lungs and fished it out with her Selphid body.

“How long will you stay with Geneva, Calectus?”

He shrugged.

“As long as it takes. If there is any Human, any person in this world that can save our people from the Wasting, it is her. Allow her to reach Level 30, and then, perhaps suggest to her that it is time to leave. I do not like the way this battle is going. Both sides are growing far more…savage.”

Okasha nodded. She’d felt it too. She and Calectus were soldiers, and the use of Evercut arrows spoke to a desire to hurt the enemy badly. Such arrows could only be used once and they were expensive…the Centaurs wanted to beat the Dullahans at all costs.

The two Selphids made no more conversation. Okasha finished eating and returned Geneva to her tent. There she made Geneva lie down. Time to sleep. Okasha let herself drift, relinquishing control of her body. Selphids slept like Humans.

A few hours later, Geneva awoke. She sat up slowly, and whispered.

“Okasha?”

There was no response. It was dark out, and the Selphid was asleep. Geneva was about to get up to pee—that was what had woken her up, but she felt at her pocket first.

Tucked away in her pants was a small stone. Geneva carefully pulled it out, trying to sense if Okasha was waking up. She was not.

Slowly, Geneva brought the stone up and tapped the surface. Instantly, she heard rustling sounds, and then a voice.

Or perhaps we did know, once. Before our kind was hunted for the crime of stealing bodies from the living.

It was in Geneva’s voice, but she had never said the words. Geneva shivered as she listened on. The small stone she held carefully between her fingers as it replayed the events of the last hour after she’d activated it.

It was a small voice recorder, a magically carved rune embedded in the center of an azurite stone. Geneva had bought it a while back and Okasha had forgotten she carried it. It took just a touch to activate. Geneva could do it when putting her hands in her pockets and the Selphid wouldn’t pay attention if she wasn’t in full control of Geneva’s body.

“Hm.”

The conversation between Okasha and Calectus played as Geneva lay back in bed. She listened; closing her eyes for a moment, and then shook her head.

They should have asked her. But help was help. She stood up, and went to pee. In the morning there would be more wounded to tend to, and Geneva was still tired. This was her routine. This was how every day went.

This was her life, now.

 

—-

 

“Luan-san, you’re awake!”

Ken and Aiko were there when Luan opened his eyes, as evening had begun. He sat up, gasped, felt at his side, and looked around.

“What happened?”

“The [Doctor] healed you. Can you tell? Do you remember?”

Aiko hugged Luan fiercely as he blinked, confused, and then put his hand to his head. He shook his head as Ken tried to give him an explanation of all that had passed.

“Shame. I thought I was a goner.”

He stood up, shakily, and then felt at his side again.

“I’m cured! I can’t believe it. What was the [Doctor] like?”

“Very strange. She was…she was very much like a doctor from our world.”

Ken told Luan about what had happened as Aiko went to get him some food and let the others know Luan was awake. Luan frowned.

“Like how?”

“She was talking about ‘triage’ and needing a ‘blood transfusion’ and many other complicated terms. I did not know there were [Doctors] in this world.”

Luan frowned.

“That is odd. How would someone know about blood transfusions here? Unless…does everyone know about that? That is a very advanced medical concept, I think.”

Ken nodded. Then he hesitated. Aiko rushed back in with some hot gruel and Luan devoured it. Ken took Aiko aside and whispered to her.

Blood transfusion. That is—what is a ‘transfusion’, Aiko?

“輸血.”

“Oh! That is odd! Luan, do you think she might be—”

Luan stared at Ken, and both felt a sudden jolt of excitement. It couldn’t be. Could it? Ken tried to remember—it was a young woman, a Human young woman who’d talked to him. A [Doctor]. That was a word from his world. Here [Healers] were far more common. Could it be? Was there someone else?

“Maybe.”

Luan put a hand to his side again, still not quite believing he was cured. He and Ken speculated about whether a person from this world would even know what a transfusion was before Aiko told them there was trouble outside.

It was the Humans. Or rather, Ken, Aiko and Luan’s group. They were arguing around the fire. They had been arguing for hours, apparently, but Ken had been too preoccupied with Luan to notice.

Now he saw Johanas shouting at Daly, pointing back at the battlefield where the Dullahans and Centaurs were still fighting.

“Those things killed Jessica! And those fucking Centaurs nearly killed Luan! I’m not sticking around to get killed. Let’s get out of here and—”

“Fuck that!”

Daly was standing across from Johanas with a group of Australians. There was a clear divide in the group and it turned out they were arguing about leaving. Ken stared as Luan groaned and Aiko helped him into a seat. Only the groan turned out to be about the issue, which Johanas had brought up and Daly and the others didn’t want to hear.

“We’re not leaving, you bloody idiots. You heard what the Captain told us about deserters—”

“Better than dying here or hauling more fucking corpses!”

The Americans were clearly ready to split. They’d been rattled by Luan getting shot last night, and that, on top of having to deal with dead bodies every night had been the last straw. The Australians were of a different opinion, as were the other young men and women in the group.

“You wanna go? Fine. But we’re not on board with this. Just because you lot are fed up, doesn’t mean we all want to risk our necks.”

Daly was arguing with Johanas. The American young man clearly wanted everyone to go with him. He turned to the group.

“In that case, let’s vote! Democracy! Everyone who’s in, raise their hands—”

Hands shot up, but Paige shouted as she crossed her arms.

“Screw your democracy! Over a third of the group is you lot. We voted last time, and that’s how we ended up here.

There was a general agreement. Johanas flushed and opened his mouth angrily to retort. Ken turned to Luan. He caught sight of Xor and Raeh watching the disturbance at a distance, but neither officer seemed inclined to stop the fighting so long as there wasn’t violence. Quallet was ducking back into his tent—Ken spoke to Luan.

“What do you think, Luan?”

“What do I think?”

Luan’s face was still pale, but he bared his teeth.

“I think the Americans have a point.”

Ken and Aiko looked at Luan, shocked. He shook his head.

“Friends, I don’t know about you two, but I am not looking forward to going out there again. I just got shot. But—”

He frowned as the debate ended without a definitive conclusion. Daly took a swing at Johanas and both sides pulled the two apart before they could start brawling. Luan watched everyone disperse and shook his head.

“—But I don’t think abandoning the company is any better. Let’s talk to Daly and see what he thinks.”

It turned out that Daly and the other Australians were dead set against leaving and refusing to consider the matter.

“It’s not a vote, alright? We’re going to stay no matter what the others do.”

Daly spoke curtly to Luan as Aiko supported him. Ken’s attention was drawn to a short, furry creature that Daly was bending down and petting. It had green fur and a white belly and huge, round ears, a long cord-like tail and small paws. It was cute. Ken had no idea where it had come from.

“What is that, Daly?”

“Cute, ain’t it?”

The Australian young man grinned, forgetting his earlier ire as he bent to feed the thing a bit of bread. It squeaked—a surprisingly deep sound—and nibbled at it as two more hopped out of the brush.

“They just popped up while I was snacking. Friendly as you like. Go on, pet them.”

Ken did. To his delight, the rodent rubbed its head against his hand. Aiko immediately bent to pet it, while Luan took a seat on the ground.

“It’s like a quokka, I think. Doesn’t it look like that, Daly?”

Paige, another Australian girl with a scarred-over bite wound on one arm reached out and stroked the little furry creature’s head. Soon, she and every Human in the company were trying to touch the affectionate creatures. Ken felt himself smiling—until one of the Lizardfolk noticed what was going on. Ken heard a shout and saw Quexa running over excitedly.

“Ooh! Look! Beriats! Don’t let it get away!”

She ran over to the large rodent that Ken had been holding in his lap. It froze at the sight of the Lizardgirl and then leapt from Ken’s lap and tried to run into the forest. Too slow. Quexa caught up with it and lifted her foot with a triumphant yell.

She stomped on the green-furred rodent’s back, breaking its back with a sickening crack. Paige cried out in horror, but in a moment the other Lizardfolk were running over. The Beriats darted away, but the Lizardfolk grabbed them and beat them against the ground, using the Beriats’ tails as a handle.

There was a moment of shock as the Humans stopped shouting and the Lizardfolk happily lifted the corpses of the Beriats up. They blinked at the stunned Humans.

“What?”

Quexa frowned.

Aiko burst into tears. Luan went to hug her as Ken edged between her and the Lizardgirl. The Lizardfolk were getting insults from all sides and were clearly not understanding the issue.

What? We’ll share. Beriats taste good when cooked. Or raw!”

It took some doing for Ken to smooth ruffled scales—and explain to Quexa why the Humans were upset that a bunch of cute animals had been butchered before their eyes. Quexa and the other Lizardfolk didn’t really understand—they were used to killing livestock themselves, and they regarded Beriats as a pest that ate grain and stole food, for all they weren’t a physical threat.

They were a pest. But they were cute. Ken felt that should have saved the Beriats as he watched the Lizardfolk happily skin them and roast them over a fire. They had brightened up everyone’s day, and now they were dead, made into hot food the Lizardfolk did indeed share around.

It was fitting of Baleros, of this place with as many horrors as marvels. Ken just wished the Beriats didn’t taste so good. He tactfully did not eat his portion anywhere around Aiko, but he was too hungry for hot meat to turn it down when Quexa offered. Not to mention that it would have offended the Lizardgirl to have refused.

 

—-

 

That night, Quallet mustered Gravetender’s Fist and gave them a short speech before sending them out. They would no longer be working near the Centaur’s camp he promised, but they were still expected to do their jobs. He didn’t address Luan especially, but everyone knew Luan had been saved by a [Doctor]. Luan’s group was also assigned to an area close to where Quallet planted the company banner, with less corpses and danger overall.

It still didn’t make picking up bits of dead bodies easier, but at least Ken could detach his conscious mind to do it. He only paid attention to make sure Luan was fine, but the healing potion had restored the young man’s strength, and Luan was in better physical shape than Ken. He was still jumpy and kept watching the shadows, but he was alright.

However, trouble started as dawn began to break. Luan pulled Ken aside as Aiko stabbed a few bodies, looking for undead.

“Hey Ken, have you seen any of the Americans?”

“No.”

Ken immediately felt worried, remembering the argument of a few moments ago. Luan hadn’t seen them either, and it turned out no one had.

“I don’t know where they are. Neither does Daly or anyone else. They’re not where they were supposed to be assigned. Xor’s kicking up a fuss looking for them. Let’s get back to camp. I’ll tell you if something happens.”

Worried, Ken finished his duties. Quallet heard about the missing Americans and would have gone looking, but it was too close to dawn. Furious, the commander ordered the company back and they reached their camp. Ken tried to stay awake as he heard Quallet interrogating Daly and the others about where Johanas and the others had gone, but he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept since Luan had been shot, so he laid his head down…

“Ken. Ken! Wake up!”

It felt like a moment had passed. Ken groaned as he felt someone shake him. He protested, but the hand came again, shaking him roughly.

“Get up!”

“Just a moment Luan…”

A hand dragged Ken out of his bedroll. Ken heard Luan’s voice as he woke up a bit more, and only now registered the tension in it.

“Ken, wake up. It’s the Americans.”

There was something in Luan’s tone that took the exhaustion right out of Ken’s mind. He got up at once, blinking around.

It was just past dawn. He hadn’t slept an hour. But the instant Ken saw Luan’s face, any thoughts of sleep fled.

“What is it?”

“Follow me.”

Luan stepped out of the tent without explaining. Ken followed. There was something hollow in his stomach, a terrible foreboding. He was not filled with dread so much as a…certainty. He didn’t want to be right.

Ken stopped when he reached the edge of the neutral zone, a place where he could look down into the valley. He expected to see the soldiers fighting, but neither side had begun. Instead, in front of the Dullahan army there were a group of eight kneeling figures. Ken’s heart stopped when he recognized them.

Johanas knelt beside five girls and two guys, all American. They were lined up in front of a Dullahan. A Dullahan with an axe.

Ken didn’t need any more context. He stared, white-faced at Luan. Aiko was there, trembling. So were the other Humans and the rest of Gravetender’s Fist.

“They got caught sneaking through the forest last night. They’re—they’re going to be executed.”

Executed. Ken stared down at the kneeling group of Humans as the Dullahan with the axe shouted something and the soldiers behind him roared. He felt a ringing in his ears.

“We have to stop them.”

“How?”

Luan looked at him. Ken had no answer. The Dullahan stepped forwards and Aiko made a sound. Ken didn’t realize he was next to her until he was putting his hands over her eyes.

“見ないで,愛子.”

She didn’t protest. Ken stared down at the bodies, feeling sick, horrified. The axe came up—someone stepped in front of him. Ken saw black skin. He stared at Luan’s back.

“Luan—”

“You don’t need to see it.”

Luan’s voice was low. He blocked Ken’s view. Ken opened his mouth, and then heard the scream. It came from Paige. She stumbled back and he heard Daly shout and turn away.

Ken heard another shout, and more screams. He saw Luan’s back trembling. There was another roar from the Dullahans, more screams, and then Luan stumbled away. Ken heard him throwing up with several other people, not all of them Human.

It was over. Ken stared down at the valley as the Dullahans raised their weapons and shouted at the Centaurs, who shook the ground with their hooves and roared back.  He saw bodies without heads, a red axe being wiped clean by one of the Dullahans and horror in the eyes of the other Humans.

The battle began minutes later. But Ken stood there, just staring at the place the bodies had been. Johanas’ corpse was soon lost among the fighting. But Ken remembered it. He wondered if he’d be assigned to dispose of it that night.

In that moment, Ken knew he could never go back. He looked at Luan. The young man was wiping his mouth. Vomit had stained part of his shirt. He looked at Ken, and Aiko grabbed the arms of both. Tears were streaming down her face.

“I can’t do it.”

That was all Luan said. Ken nodded.

“We must go.”

“We do, and we will die.”

Aiko’s face was drained of color. Luan looked at her, and then at Ken.

“The [Doctor] knew about blood transfusions. Maybe she’s from our world.”

It was a slim hope, a slim chance. But Ken grasped at it.

“We can ask her.”

“How?”

Aiko stared at the fighting. If they went out without a banner, they would be a target for both sides. But they’d navigated the fighting once. If they kept clear of it, and most importantly had a banner—

“A white flag. That was what Captain Quallet told us to use.”

Ken stared around, hoping to see it. Luan paused.

“They keep the flag with the company banner. It’s in Quallet’s tent, and there’s always a guard. But you can probably talk him into giving it to us.”

“But it’s dangerous—”

Ken hesitated. Luan looked at the battlefield and came to a swift decision.

“I can’t be part of this. We can’t. Let’s go.”

 

—-

 

“Another world?”

Geneva had been sharpening her scalpels with a whetstone when the group of two young men and a young girl had rushed into their camp, waving a white flag. She hadn’t recognized them at first, until she’d looked at the tallest young man’s side. She hadn’t paid attention to his face, but then she remembered the shorter young man who looked almost Japanese.

And then he’d spoken, and the world turned upside down.

The scalpel fell from her fingers. Instantly, Geneva bent and recovered it from the dirt. She stared at Kenjiro, Aiko, and Luan as if they were ghosts.

“You. You’re all from—”

“You know about blood transfusions. You saved my life. You operate on people, and we’ve heard that you appeared a few months ago. We appeared last week. I’m from South Africa. This is Ken and Aiko. They’re from Japan. Are you…like us?”

The black young man—Luan—looked at Geneva. She felt Okasha moving inside her, whispering.

“Another world? Geneva, what—”

“I am.”

The word passed from Geneva’s lips. She saw the Japanese girl put a hand to her mouth, and the young Japanese man sag. With relief?

“I don’t believe it.”

Luan stared at her. He walked towards her hesitantly, and reached a hand out. Geneva stared at it. And then she rose and took it.

“I’m Luan Khomala, from South Africa. I am—I used to be a paddler. In training for the Olympics. Who are you?”

Geneva felt the grip, strong and sure. A pulse beat through Luan’s fingers, and she stared into dark brown eyes, a strong, smiling face with short hair. She hadn’t looked at his face before. Her voice was hoarse as she replied.

“I—I’m Geneva Scala. I was…a medical student. I’m from America.”

She saw Luan’s smile vanish as she said where she was from. Suddenly, Ken had lowered his head and Aiko was crying. Geneva looked at them.

“What?”

 

—-

 

“I didn’t know. I had no idea there was…anyone from my world. I never had a chance to ask around or—I didn’t know.”

Geneva sat with the others, in a rare break from the fighting. No—it wasn’t a break. It was that the fighting had been too fierce for anyone to bring the wounded to her, so Geneva actually had time to talk. The irony of that was bitter on her tongue as she sat with Aiko, Luan, and Ken.

And spoke. It was the first time Geneva had really talked with—with anyone. She heard the three out, listening mainly to Luan as he explained the incredible circumstances that had led them onto the same battlefield as her. Incredible, but not unbelievable. She had had the same experience. In Baleros, it was hard to find paying work for those who were unskilled—except in war.

It was the deaths of the other Americans, the other people from her country that shook Geneva the most. She hadn’t heard about the executions. There had been a group of people from her world, from where she lived, perhaps from the same state, and they had lived and died so close by without her ever knowing.

“I can’t stand this place. I’ve seen and heard of horrible shit in the countries where I come from—there are African warlords who’d fit right into this place. But I can’t just do my job disposing of dead bodies while it goes on.”

Luan gestured with a shaking hand at the cover of the forest, beyond which he could hear and see the fighting going on. He looked at Geneva.

“How do you stand it? You’ve been through, what, three battlefields?”

“Four. Counting this one.”

Geneva stared down at her hands. She’d seen so much blood and death over the past month—more bodies and horror than she’d seen in the worst videos of ER rooms at hospitals. Somehow she’d kept her sanity and mind through it all. She’d grown numb to it, at least in part.

“What is it you’re doing, Geneva-san? Why are you here?”

That came from Ken, the young Japanese man. He leaned over the table, looking curiously at her.

“Were you hired? Are you being paid to save people?”

“No. Not at all. I’m not here to…I do my job. I try to save people. That’s all.”

Geneva tried to explain. The others tried to understand. Geneva stood up and paced around, grateful that Okasha was just listening to all this. She didn’t know if she should tell them about her.

“I—I was trained to be a doctor, a medical practitioner. I wanted to be a surgeon. And this…I never graduated from medical school, but I still believe in the Hippocratic Oath. I see people dying. Soldiers. And I can help them. There are no medical techniques in this world. No one knows about suturing, or surgery—they don’t know about blood transfusion. Or blood types.”

Something took a hold of her tongue. Geneva found herself correcting her statement.

“Well, Selphids do. But they don’t share that knowledge.”

The others looked at her and Geneva tried to pretend nothing different had happened. She continued.

“So I do what I can. I patch people up—I can deal with injuries that healing potions can’t fix, like the arrow that hit you, Luan. But I can’t stop the fighting. I’ve just done what I can. That’s all I can do. I’d like to help you three, and the others, but…I can’t do anything.”

The three exchanged hopeless looks. Geneva stared at them. She knew what suppression companies did. She’d seen the undead rising—had one appear on the operating table before Okasha bashed its brains in. That hadn’t violated her oath, but it had disturbed her. There were magical, fantastical things like the undead and mages in this world, but people still bled and killed each other like they did in hers.

And now there were people in need, people from her world, frightened, without any way to protect themselves, stuck in a war and dying. Geneva felt the same urge as she did when she saw someone who was wounded. She had to help.

But how? She paced back and forth and came to a quick decision.

“If you can leave your company—I’ll make sure you’re fed and have a place to sleep here. I can’t, won’t leave. Not until this is over. But you’ll be safer here than you will out there.”

Luan looked at her. He was Geneva’s age, maybe older. He stood.

“It’s not just us. There are more—there were more, but there are still at least forty people. Can you feed us all?”

Geneva had food. The Selphids had food, rather. They’d brought it with them and provided a lot of the supplies she needed. She hesitated, and then nodded. She wasn’t sure, but she had only one answer in her heart.

“Only people from our world, though. I can’t ask the people with me to guard more than that. Luan, Ken, Aiko…I don’t know if you’ll be safer here than in your company, to tell you the truth. I don’t have a company, and I don’t dare leave this area.”

They nodded. Luan stood and looked towards the sky.

“We’ve got to go back.”

“Will you be safe going back? I could ask Calectus to—”

“We will be fine. I am a [Negotiator] and we have a flag. A white one.”

Ken reassured Geneva, although she wanted to be the one to do that to him. He was pale, as was Aiko and Luan. They’d just seen their friends killed and now Geneva was handing them a hard choice. They looked at her. Aiko bowed and so did Ken. Luan nodded.

Then they were gone, leaving Geneva alone. Only, she was never alone. Okasha had heard the entire thing.

At that moment, Geneva couldn’t have cared less.

 

—-

 

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.”

Ken looked at Luan as they found their way back to camp. Luan’s face was set. He looked at Ken and Aiko.

“I’m going to go with Geneva. I can’t do this, guys. I can’t—can’t go out there and keep wondering if I’ll die the next time a patrol thinks I’m an enemy. I nearly died once. I won’t risk my life to clean up after a war. I don’t know if you’ll come with me, but I’m sorry. I’ve made up my mind.”

The two Japanese college students blinked up at Luan. Ken and Aiko shared a look. Aiko was the first to speak.

“I…don’t want to ever stab a dead body again!”

“Me neither.”

Ken felt his entire body resonating with Luan’s statement. He took a breath.

“I will go. And I hope—I hope the others will come too.”

 

—-

 

“No.”

Daly raised his head and shook it. Ken saw the motion, recognized it, and still didn’t comprehend.

“No? Why not?”

“I’m not going, Ken. Even if this [Doctor]’s from our world—I’m going to stay in the company.”

He was sitting by the fire, somber, and he’d been alone until Ken and Luan had come to talk with him. None of the others were in the mood to speak, but Daly’s decision stunned Ken. Luan sat next to Daly, eyes on his face.

“Are you worried about being safe?”

“Not that. I just don’t think leaving the company’s a good idea.”

“Daly, what we saw this morning—”

The young man from Australia swore and turned to Luan, eyes overly bright.

“I know what we saw. But the way me and the rest of us figure it—we don’t have a choice. We signed on to be soldiers, and if we desert now, we’re stuck in the same boat.”

“Geneva says she can protect us—”

“Maybe she can, maybe she can’t. That’s not the point!”

Daly raked his fingers through his blonde hair. His hands were shaking, but his voice was more controlled when he spoke.

“We may not like what happened, but every bloody bastard out there is higher level than we are. The Captain is right. This is the safest way to level up and learn how to fight. So long as we don’t try to run.”

“So what? So you’ll all gain levels fighting. And then what? Will you join up as a soldier? Keep working here?”

Luan folded his arms. Daly shrugged.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. No one has. But if we don’t have a way to defend ourselves, what’s to stop us from getting shot? Or getting killed like Johanas and the rest?”

He looked meaningfully at Luan as he said that. Ken didn’t know what to say, but Luan shook his head.

“Daly, after what I’ve seen, I don’t think any amount of levels or Skills or weapons is enough. Fighting in these wars, with these companies…if I can help it, I’d rather not fight at all. I have something to live for. Someone to live for.”

Someone? Ken looked at Luan, and then at Daly as the other young man shook his head.

“I guess that’s the difference in the way we see things. Some days it’s fine to run. Other days you’ve gotta buckle down and fight.”

And that was it. He refused to go, and told Ken and Luan the same went for the rest.

“We’re sticking together on this. Each one of us. We’re a team, and a lot of the others are decent sorts. The Centaurs are right bastards, the Dullahans are stuck up, and the Lizardfolk love killing cute things, but they’re all like us. We’re a company and we’re not going to abandon each other.”

There was something wonderful about what he said, and also…Ken felt drawn to what Daly was saying, but he shared Luan’s horror. And he agreed with Luan. It was one thing to risk his life, but for this? To haul dead bodies away so more people could fight? That was senseless to Ken, more than the call of staying with the company was.

Ken and Luan didn’t just ask Daly of course. Aiko was asking some of the girls she knew, but the answer was the same. The others wouldn’t join up with Geneva, who they’d never met. They were going to stick together, to keep working. They’d been shaken by the executions of that morning, and they had seen the truth in what Quallet had told them. Only one of them had died so far while clearing the undead. But those who had fled had died. True, Johanas and the others had only been a fraction of the American group, but no one, including Ken, thought the others had survived.

In a strangely perverse way, the executions had brought the rest of the Humans, the rest of Gravetender’s Fist closer together. They were a proper company now. Only Luan, Aiko, and Ken couldn’t be part of it.

“We’ll be watching for you lot. If you survive the fighting…well, we’ll see then, won’t we? Watch how you go.”

Daly shook Ken’s hand, as did the others. That left Ken, Luan, and Aiko to march up to Quallet’s tent as night began to fall. Ken wondered if they were doing the right thing. Johanas and the others had fled without a word. What would Quallet do if Ken told him to his face that he wanted to quit?

Stare. That was the answer. The [Mercenary Captain] was getting ready for the night’s work. Now he turned and stared at the three.

“If you go, you’ll be deserters. You saw what happened to deserters this morning. Why risk it? And why tell me?”

“Because we want to be honest about it.”

Luan met Quallet’s eye. The Captain eyed him back and nodded to the forest.

“So you’ll just run off and pray you don’t get spotted by a patrol? Because if you do—”

“No. we will go to the [Doctor].”

Quallet paused.

“The [Doctor]? Why—”

“We know her. She’s…from where we are.”

The Captain frowned. He looked at Ken, then at Aiko, and then Luan. But it was Ken his eyes settled on, and Quallet remembered his promise to give Ken a bonus. He shook his head.

“I won’t stop you. But if you leave my company, you’ll be on your own. That [Doctor] seems competent, but she has no company. She’s got a handful of soldiers protecting her, and she won’t have enough healing potions to do her job forever. Not at the way this war is going. What makes going with her better? She’s one person. A single [Doctor]. Alone.

“She’s not alone.”

Aiko was the one who said it. Ken and Luan closed their mouths and looked at her. She stared at Quallet, eyes still red from crying, but resolute. She spoke carefully, forming the words in English.

“She is not alone. We are like her. We are not…not soldiers. She is like us. She does not kill.”

“Neither does my company. We fight undead. We dispose of the dead. What makes her work any different from the work we do?”

“She saves lives.”

Luan spoke. Quallet opened his mouth, and then Ken interrupted him. He looked at Quallet, and a slight suspicion made him speak.

“Captain Quallet. May I ask a question?”

“What?”

“You are a smart captain. You are experienced as a leader. You heard us arguing. So…”

Ken hesitated. He looked at Quallet.

“…Did you tell the Dullahans that our friends would try to run away last night?”

Aiko gasped. Luan’s eyes widened. Quallet just stared at Ken, and then he turned away. Ken stared at his back, and then he walked out of the tent.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.05 D

Once, Geneva had been terrified for her life. She had been a new recruit in the Raverian Fighters, a soldier; for all that she’d been a [Doctor]. She had faced her worst fears, treating her fellow soldiers and enemies alike. She had…failed…so many times. Failed to save lives.

At some point, that feeling had eclipsed her regard for her own life. She just couldn’t muster the same feeling, the same fear of dying as she used to. Everyone was dying. Everyone on the operating table was a life. What did Geneva have to fear from an arrow or a sword in the gut? She faced her worst fear every time she saw light slipping from the eyes of the people she treated.

She had lost her fear. Only, she’d found it again. Now she was afraid. Geneva had woken up after another of Okasha’s enforced naps to find three more souls in her camp. Three more bodies among many. Only, these ones were special.

Kenjiro Murata. Aiko Nonomura. Luan Khomala. Three people from her world. Now, under her care.

Geneva had no idea what to do with them. She had spotted them approaching, waving a white flag, across the edge of the valley. Twice, groups of soldiers had raced towards them and there had been a tense moment where swords had been drawn. Only, Ken had talked them down both times, pointing towards Geneva’s camp.

Now they were here, eating food, talking quietly among themselves. They had a haunted, shell-shocked look, that of people who’d seen too much, too quickly. Geneva understood the feeling.

She was talking with Calectus, who oversaw the other Selphids that had volunteered to be her assistants. Geneva had thought it was odd at the time, that so many Selphids should want to help her. But she’d had volunteers from other soldiers before and hadn’t had the time to worry about it.

Now she knew it was because the Selphids wanted her to help them. That was fine. Geneva’s purpose was to help people. She didn’t care. But she wondered if Calectus believed in what she did, or if he thought all her struggling to save lives was pointless. What did Selphids think about the living, anyways? They inhabited dead bodies. They would have wanted Geneva to fail more often.

But there was a living, mortal compassion in him. Geneva had seen him comforting the dead, and he had spoken to Ken as well. He had dead eyes, literally. But the thing that used the dead eyes was living. The Selphids understood loss just as much as anyone else. They also understood danger, more acutely than Geneva did. They were soldiers, and knew war.

“These three are deserters, Geneva. They will be killed if they leave your camp.”

Calectus gestured at Luan and the others. Geneva nodded.

“And if they stay in the camp? Can you protect them?”

The Lizardman’s face grimaced.

“As much as I can protect you. You have no company—but you are known as the Last Light.”

“Yes.”

Geneva hated that title. The Last Light? It was too fitting, and not at the same time. She was not some kind of quasi-goddess, the guardian who stood between life and death. She was just a [Doctor], and not a fully-trained one at that. If a true heart surgeon had come from her world, or a decent anesthesiologist, or someone who knew how to make—make penicillin or any one of the things Geneva so desperately needed—how many lives could they have saved?

“My reputation is the only thing keeping us alive, is what you’re saying.”

Calectus bared his Lizardman’s teeth.

“That, and the fact that we don’t stray from our camp. I can make sure the three are safe, but that only is true if they stay within the boundaries of the camp.”

Geneva looked around. The ‘camp’ was little more than a collection of tents in a clearing. It was not a large area—a space had been cleared for the wounded to lie on pallets before going into her operating tent. There was a place for her to sleep, tents for the Selphids and the wounded who would rest, a tent filled with supplies and the healing potions she had, not to mention extra bandages, scalpels, needles…and that was it.

She sighed. It wasn’t a good place for people to be cooped up in, but it was better than nothing. She nodded at Calectus.

“Okay. Just…give them space. It’s not hard to feed them, and we have room.”

He nodded, and Geneva went over to talk with Ken and the rest. They looked up as she approached and smiled at her. Geneva tried again, but a smile wouldn’t come out. She stood awkwardly in front of them, aware of the dried blood on her clothing. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone for a long time. She just did her job.

“Calectus says you’ll be safe, so long as you don’t stray. I can’t offer you protection outside of the camp and maybe not in it. I’m not part of any company.”

She blurted out the details. Luan nodded.

“We understand, and we’re grateful for all of this, Geneva. You didn’t have to do this. We won’t leave the camp.”

“I—you’re welcome.”

It felt strange for him to thank her for anything. Geneva looked around, trying to say something, anything. Condolences for the friends that had been executed? She didn’t know their names.

It was Aiko, the young Japanese girl with red eyes who spoke up.

“Um, Miss Geneva-san…”

“What?”

“If you are not a company, why do you have that…flag?”

She pointed and everyone turned to look at the banner over Geneva’s tent. Geneva stared up at a crude pole of wood, atop which sagged a white flag with a red cross painted in the center.

“That? It’s not a company banner. It’s a symbol. I use it to tell soldiers that I’m not a fighter.”

Ken stared at it. The banner was too limp in the lack of a breeze for the red cross to be too visible, but he figured it out after a moment.

“The symbol for hospitals. The red cross.”

“It’s also the symbol of the Red Cross organization. They’re an international organization that does…does work like this.”

Geneva had seen the parallel, although she felt like she was stealing the identity of that group with her symbol. Ken nodded excitedly.

“Oh! Yes! I have seen them on the news before. Do people in this world know the symbol?”

“Some have associated it with me. But it’s not something that will protect you.”

“Sort of hard to see.”

Luan commented neutrally. Geneva shrugged. It was a flag. She didn’t need that, but it helped sometimes. She heard a shout and her head snapped around. Someone was running, galloping towards her camp. She saw Ken and the others tense, but it wasn’t soldiers coming for battle.

Four Centaurs raced towards the camp, supporting a fifth Centaur between them. Geneva saw more soldiers rushing behind them, taking the opportunity to find a gap in the fighting and head their way. She raised her voice, turned, and found Calectus striding towards her.

“Calectus, I’m going to triage. I need you to wake up one of the others and get them ready for operating. You lot—”

She turned. Ken, Aiko, and Luan had already backed off to a respectable distance. Geneva nodded at them. The first wounded body came in, a Centaur who was missing a leg and had some kind of javelin buried in his side. It was barbed and would have to be cut out. As Geneva began to work, calling out to Calectus to bring another healing potion, she lost track of her newest guests.

 

—-

 

Diagnosis. Incision. Cut away damaged flesh. Suture. Use healing potions. Geneva was grateful for her limited supply of potions. She didn’t have much—most of it had been donated to her by people she’d saved, or come from Calectus and the other Selphids. Geneva rationed it, using the dependable sutures where healing potions weren’t necessary. She had to stitch people up, save them. Making them well enough to walk out of her camp and keep fighting wasn’t her goal.

It was tiring, backbreaking work. Surgery could be precise as grafting onto a heart, or as crude as sawing through bones. Or sawing through a Dullahan’s armor to get to their damaged innards.

Maneuvering a Centaur around on her table was just as hard. Geneva and her helpers had to do lifting at times, and it was just as well that some of Okasha’s Skills made Geneva’s right arm far stronger than her left. Too, Geneva could concentrate solely on her left hand while Okasha operated her right, as well as her legs if necessary.

Small blessings. Geneva was busy wiping down her table, removing blood, scat, and urine that her latest patient had covered the surface with, when someone timidly entered the tent. Geneva looked up, expecting the next patient, and instead found Aiko.

“Is something wrong?”

“I—”

The young Japanese girl opened her mouth, inhaled the scent of the urine and feces, and gagged. She took a moment to collect herself while Geneva swept it all off the table and washed it all away with soapy water.

“I want to help. I would like to help you. If I can.”

Geneva blinked at Aiko. She stared at the young woman’s pale face.

“Why?”

Aiko hesitated. She looked at Geneva, and then at the blood on the table and paled, but when she raised her head, there was determination in her eyes.

“I am not brave like Ken or Luan. I…I do not like fighting. But I have been sitting in camp, and I see so many hurt people…I want to help them. Do you think I can?”

Her question struck Geneva in her heart. It was a reflection, an echo of what Geneva had thought as a girl. She stared at Aiko, and then nodded. It wasn’t just the determination that swayed Geneva, made her take a chance on Aiko. It was the compassion.

Aiko was breathing heavily as she looked at the blood. She’d been pale-faced staring at the wounded. She looked at Geneva, wavering.

“I am sorry. I know I am a coward—I am afraid of blood and guts—”

Geneva reached out. Her hand was covered in blood and she stopped. But then she reached out and touched Aiko lightly on the shoulder. The girl’s eyes turned to the blood, but she didn’t flinch away.

“Unwilling to fight doesn’t mean ‘coward’. If you have the stomach for it, I’d welcome a second pair of hands.”

“I will try.”

Geneva nodded. Something…she felt like she had met another Okasha, perhaps. Other soldiers had come, the Selphids were able assistants when it came to holding the wounded down, but few had the temperament to be part of the operations, to see the horrific injuries and try to fix them. Perhaps Aiko had what it took, perhaps not. But she could certainly try.

“What should I do?”

What could she do? Geneva blinked, thought for half a second, and then thought of all the things a surgical assistant would do, all the things that Geneva had to do herself.

“Thread the needles, sharpen scalpels…hand me objects. Make sure the healing potion is ready for when I need it. If you can handle the first hour, I’ll teach you how to sponge blood away properly and see what else you can do.”

She was showing Aiko how to put everything close to Geneva so Okasha could grab it when the tent flap opened and a screaming man came in. He fainted as the Selphids put him on the table. Aiko was shaking, but she didn’t run or faint as Geneva inspected the gaping wound in his upper thigh. Geneva nodded to the two Selphids, one a female Dullahan, the other a male Centaur, both with pallid skin.

“They’re here in case the patient wakes up. If they do, back away. I’ve had them try to cast spells, stab me with hidden daggers…we have no anesthesia and they sometimes wake up as I’m cutting into them.”

The words should have terrified Aiko. They would have terrified Geneva had she heard them before she’d come to this world. But the girl had lived on the battlefield at night for over a week now. She’d carried corpses, stabbed undead, risked her life and gone through it all. A coward? No. Cowards ran, froze up, and didn’t act. Aiko could act. Her hand was steady as she held a suture and towel in both hands. Geneva nodded to her.

“Let’s get to work.”

 

—-

 

Aiko was brave. Ken knew it, Luan knew it. They sat together, watching bodies enter and leave Geneva’s tent, and both of them thought the same thing. Only Luan gave voice to it.

“Ken, I feel worthless.”

“I feel the same way.”

They saw Aiko appear outside and hurl a bowl of—was it crap?—out of the tent. They’d seen her working with blood and worse on her clothes, and yet she was still in there. Helping Geneva save lives.

Ken and Luan weren’t in there. They hadn’t thought of going in and offering to help. When Aiko had said it, Ken had wanted to go in with her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face the horror of what he saw outside.

Just the thought of seeing Geneva operate, of watching her slice into someone and being asked to hold them down, or sew something shut filled Ken with mortal dread. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just about bravery; it was about being able to look at that without freezing up. Luan couldn’t do it either.

“I’m ashamed to say it Ken, but I feel like we’re useless here. I think we were right not to keep going to Gravetender’s Fist, but…”

Ken nodded. But they were doing nothing here, and that was worse. Worse, because when you stopped to stare at what Geneva did, there was no helping but feel small.

She saved lives. Soldiers came in, wounded beyond belief, carried by friends who begged her to save them. And she did. Sometimes she failed, but Ken had seen bodies go in, pale-faced Humans and Centaurs who he would have sworn were dead come out, weak, but alive.

It was humbling. And more, it made Ken question what he’d been doing. He’d put down dead bodies. Why hadn’t he spent his time saving them?

“What can we do to help?”

“I don’t know.”

Luan shook his head. He was staring at the flag over Geneva’s tent again. The red cross was barely visible behind the white folds of the flag. He muttered to himself.

“She really needs a banner. Or a sign.”

“Why? So everyone can see?”

“It’s a symbol, Ken. It means…it means do no harm. It’s one of the most powerful symbols from our world. Everyone should know what it means.”

Ken nodded slowly. The red cross. The symbol of hospitals, of an ambulance. Of…life. He understood Luan.

“But there are no more flags.”

“We have a white one.”

They’d brought the white flag from the Gravetender’s Fist company. As Luan had pointed out, they hadn’t received any pay, so this was the least of what they were owed. Ken nodded, thinking.

“But it is white. We’d need red paint.”

“Or blood…no, we’d need paint.”

Luan shook his head, and Ken shook his head as well. Blood was…wrong. And the bugs would probably be attracted to it.

“Where would we get paint?”

“I know where. But I do not know how we would buy it.”

Ken hunched his shoulders as Luan stared at him. The South African young man opened his mouth, frowned, and then felt at his pockets.

“If you need something to sell…what about this?”

He put something in Ken’s hand and warned him not to touch what was inside. Ken opened the tightly-wrapped ball of cloth and recoiled from the small, pointed orange tip of an arrow. Luan’s grin was twisted.

“That’s what Geneva pulled out of me. It’s still active. Magical. I bet you could put it on an arrow and shoot it. I hear they’re expensive. Know anyone who might buy it?”

Ken nodded slowly. He wrapped the arrowhead up and looked at Luan.

“I think I might.”

 

—-

 

War vendors were ostensibly [Merchants], but ones who had a huge escort, many items for sale, usually had at least half a dozen bags of holding, and made a living selling to companies that were fighting. They could provide anything from magical potions to weapons to information—all at a steep price.

Ken had seen Quallet negotiating with the sole war vendor in the area to buy food for his company. The neutral zone shared by all three undead suppression companies was adjacent to the war vendor’s zone, although a set of very well-equipped guards patrolled the border.

It was to this area that Ken made his way. It was frightening, not to mention dangerous, going through the valley, even with a white flag, but he’d done it. Alone, too. He’d insisted to Luan it was the best way. In truth, Ken was worried Luan might be hurt. Only one of them needed to risk their lives.

Now Ken approached the war vendor, flanked by two very tall Lizardmen with swords. He spotted the [Merchant] in question in a moment. He was familiar to Ken, although they’d never spoken.

The Naga with golden scales and resplendent jeweled clothing was sinuously twined around what looked like a circular couch, meant for someone just like him. It was more like a spiraling staircase upwards, in truth, with a spot for his more humanoid torso to rest while his snake-like lower body twined around the bottom. He uncurled and rose up, at least nine feet tall as Ken approached.

The Naga was male, although his genitals weren’t visible—Ken had no idea where they might be, as the Naga’s lower half was like a snake’s—and he smiled down at Ken.

“Ah. I have seen your face before, young Human male. Have you come to sell or buy? Or just to look some more?”

He remembered Ken, which was a good sign. Ken gulped and bowed as the guards stepped back from the Naga. He clearly wasn’t regarded as much of a threat, because the Naga waved them further back as he eyed Ken up and down.

It wasn’t rude to stare at Lizardfolk…and the Naga was apparently what Lizardfolk could become. Quexa hadn’t given Ken all the details, but Lizardfolk could change forms like…well, like Pocket Monsters, to be honest. What did Americans call it? Oh, right. Pokémon.

Ken stared at the Naga, giving him a slow look from top to tail in return. The Naga appreciatively wiggled his tail at the scrutiny.

“Ah, you know our customs. You are an interesting Human. What are you called?”

“I am Ken. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet with you. May I ask your name?”

Ken bowed his head, and the Naga smiled wider. He spread his arms, showing off bejeweled fingers.

“I’m Xalandrass, inquisitive little Human. But you may call me ‘Xal’, as I know Humans are not as adept at speaking as other races.”

Ken nodded, and took a breath.

“Honored Xalandrass—”

The Naga laughed in delight. Ken smiled a bit.

“Honored Xalandrass, may I ask if you buy items such as this?”

He took the balled up piece of cloth and unveiled the enchanted arrowhead. Xalandrass peered at it and then smiled knowingly at Ken.

“An Evercut arrow? Where did you get this?”

“A friend had it.”

“In him? Oh, I heard about that incident. A dangerous thing, when a company attacks the very people they have hired. But then, I share some of the blame. For I sold these arrows to the Roving Arrow company to begin with.”

A part of Ken’s chest tightened at that. Xal watched Ken’s face.

“Do you hold a grudge, little Ken?”

“I do not believe I should blame you, Xalandrass.”

“Ah, but the Honored Xalandrass is gone. Oh well. But to answer your question, yes, I would buy this back from you. It can certainly be reused, so I could offer you gold…but why do I think you have risked your life to come here for more than that?”

Ken nodded. He took a breath.

“I would like to barter with you, Honored Xalandrass. For paint. Do you have anything I could use to color with?”

The Naga had begun laughing again, but he stopped. He didn’t look surprised by Ken’s request, merely thoughtful. He tapped his lips with a long finger for a second before nodding.

“Paint? Curious. A Human child comes to me with an enchanted arrowhead, where another came with a device that made light. What does it mean?”

He was watching Ken. Ken kept his face politely blank. Xal smiled knowingly.

“Hm, hmm~. I think we have a deal, little one. Paint I can easily obtain—I have some with me. Dried packets that need only water. It’s a very handy tool for marking the ground with, and for marking armor. Dullahans love the stuff, so I have every color available. Which would you like?”

“Red, white, and black colors, please.”

“Only that? Anything else? I have many magical artifacts for sale. For the right price, of course.”

Xal flicked his fingers, Ken saw one of the wagons behind him move. Objects floated upwards and around Ken as the Naga gestured to each one, speaking softly, enticingly.

“Here’s one that will shield you from arrows…for a time. Or how about a shield that creates a burst of light when struck? Everyone but you will be blinded. Or what about a charm to amplify your voice? That’s a favorite among commanders like your Quallet Marshhand. My apologies, former commander, isn’t it? I’ve heard you’re with the famous Last Light. What’s she like?”

The question came out quick and fast, but Ken was ready for it. He bowed his head politely towards Xal.

“I am sorry, but I came here only to buy and sell. I cannot give information I do not have the right to.”

The Naga smiled, this time with regret.

“Ah, too clever. You came prepared, not at all like the other one. It is enjoyable talking to you, honorable Ken. A shame there is no profit in it. Very well. I will give you paint—and coin, since the paint is not worth an Evercut arrowhead. And you shall go speaking of how fair I am. And then, perhaps when the Last Light needs healing potions or needles, she will send you again, hm?”

Ken smiled politely.

“It is my deepest hope, Honored Xalandrass.”

The Naga laughed.

“Pretty liar.”

 

—-

 

The next day, Geneva stumbled out of her tent, a piece of dried jerky in her hands. She had woken to the sound of the wounded. She approached the line of wounded, and paused as she realized something was off.

What was it? Geneva looked around, frowning, and then saw the signs.

Huge sheaves of bark had been peeled from trees, hammered onto slats of wood, and pounded into the ground. A white background with a red cross had been painted on each one, and the signs were ringing the camp, marking it.

But what was most striking was the sign that stood tallest of all. A sign that shook Geneva to her core.

The Red Cross Company.

It was simple, direct, and it spoke to her. She stared up at the sign as it proclaimed…what? That they were a company, a fighting force? One of the many groups in Baleros?

No. That they were something else. The Red Cross. Here. Geneva looked around, and saw Ken and Luan waving at her. They had paint all over their bodies and their hands were red from work.

She looked at them, and felt the urge to smile. It didn’t come out, but Geneva inclined her head. Then she got to work.

 

—-

 

An incident occurred as Ken and Luan were painting a final sign to put up. They heard a roar and dropped what they were doing to hurry over to a vantage spot to look at the battlefield. There they saw a group of Dullahans, carving through the Centaur’s forces.

Ken had seen the battle go back and forth day after day. There was never a clear winner; if one side started pushing too far, more reserves would come flooding onto the battlefield and force the enemy back. It was a war of attrition between both companies, or at least, it had been. Apparently, someone had decided to end things.

Six giants walked across the battlefield, each one at least twelve feet tall. They were Dullahans, only…not. To Ken, it was like seeing a miniature robot warrior, like Gundam, a giant of metal and motion. But they were Dullahans. They had all the features of a Dullahan, only their armor had been scaled up in a massive way.

But their heads were the same size. It would have been ludicrous, with the tiny helmeted heads of the Dullahan on top of the massive, armored bodies, were it not for the deadly way in which the Dullahans controlled these oversized armored titans.

They were quick. And strong. One of the Dullahans lifted a massive greatsword as tall as Ken and cut a Centaur apart in a single strike. He roared and charged into the line of Humans and Centaurs and Lizardfolk, and Ken saw blood and limbs and screaming as the five other Dullahans rampaged into the enemy lines with him.

“What is that?”

Luan was staring at the Dullahan giants, mesmerized. Ken had no answer, but Calectus came up behind the two and spoke.

“War Walkers.”

The two looked at him. Calectus nodded towards the Dullahan titans, quietly serious.

“They’re one of the most dangerous types of Dullahan warrior on the battlefield. Their class is an advancement of the [Juggernaut] class. If they’re coming out, it means the Razorshard Armor company is determined to win at any cost.”

“And that means what?”

Calectus paused.

“It means Geneva will have more work to do.”

 

—-

 

The Dullahan [Juggernauts] inflicted terrible damage onto the Centaurs. Terrible damage…in return for their lives. Ken watched, spellbound, as each of the War Walkers fell after taking down scores of their enemy with them. It was a simple casualty of their size. For all their strength and armor, enchanted weapons could harm them, and the Centaurs galloped around the Dullahans, shooting arrows at them, charging into them with lances…

It was a bloody cost. In the end, the last [Juggernaut] fell as the Centaurs pulled back, sorely devastated. The War Walkers were down…

But not dead.

One of them lived, at least, enough for a group of smaller Dullahan to retain hope. Ken saw them lifting one of their fallen giants up and approach the tent. He shouted for Geneva, who’d finished for the day. The [Juggernauts] left little wounded as they fought.

“We come for aid. Please. Help us.”

One of the Dullahans in the group approached as Geneva ran towards them. Ken stared at the massive form of the Dullahan War Walker, supported by twenty of his lesser brethren. He was a true giant, and far too large to stuff into Geneva’s operating tent.

He was also on the verge of death. Countless arrow holes filled his body, and his left shoulder was nearly severed from his body. He had lost so much blood it was painting his blue armor. Ken thought there was no way Geneva could save him.

But she didn’t hesitate.

Aiko! Start removing armor! The rest of you—show me where he’s wounded! Get the armor off of him!”

She began ordering the Dullahans as they spread out around her. Geneva leapt onto the wounded [Juggernaut]’s shoulder and listened as one of the Dullahans explained. He’d been riddled with Evercut arrows, and they were cutting him apart from the inside. Geneva nodded. She knelt by the first wound, where armor had been hacked away, exposing only blood and guts.

“[Flash Hands]. [Flawless Cut].”

Her hands blurred. Ken saw the scalpel she was holding disappear in her left hand, and then Geneva was cutting deep, deep into the War Walker. Luan hurried over to Ken’s side and stopped as he saw Geneva working.

“My god.”

Geneva’s hands were a mirage of moving afterimages as she cut into the giant Dullahan’s flesh. Her left hand cut, her right hand moved flesh aside. She was tracing the path of the arrow, assessing the War Walker’s condition. He wasn’t going to survive long. Geneva paused, and placed a hand on his chest. She spoke.

“[Hemostatic Pause].”

The blood leaking from his wounds…stopped. Ken heard some of the Dullahans gasp, but Geneva was already speaking.

“I have six minutes and forty seconds. Aiko, I need healing potions and the dropper. The rest of you—point out to me where he was shot!”

She dove back into the Dullahan’s body. In moments, she’d pulled out the first Evercut arrowhead and flicked it onto the ground. Ken helped contain it. Geneva was working fast, faster than she had with Luan. The Dullahans were pointing out every wound, and she pulled eighteen more arrows out in minutes. Geneva paused as the last one came out and closed her eyes.

“[Detect Injury]…there’s one left. Somewhere in the upper right side of his chest.”

She found it. Then she came to the shoulder. Now the [Juggernaut] could be healed, the wounds in his chest were vanishing. But his shoulder was hanging on by a literal thread of flesh. The Dullahan who’d requested Geneva’s help looked grim, but resolute.

“His life is all that matters. If the arm must come off—”

“Not yet.”

Geneva looked towards Aiko. The Japanese girl had something in her hands that she’d been using to pour the precious liquid into the wounds. A dropper, medieval style. It didn’t have a rubber bulb, but it could be used to measure small amounts of the healing potion. Geneva beckoned for it, and then spoke out loud.

“The suturing will take time and full concentration. I need you to hold the arm—and keep it steady. I will reconnect each nerve and muscle and heal it when it is in place.”

“What?”

Luan stared. Ken stared. What Geneva was saying sounded impossible—but then she began.

“Muscle. Connects to…”

Ken saw her right hand move. Geneva stared at it, as if she hadn’t expected where it was going, but then she connected the red piece to the second piece, and dropped a minute bit of healing potion on it. The link formed.

“I’ll need to graft connections. You—open up his leg armor. I’ll need to make an incision—major artery is here…connects…here.”

The work took over an hour. Ken couldn’t watch half of it. But he saw Geneva reconstruct the giant Dullahan’s arm, piece by piece. And when it was done, when the flesh had healed and sealed over entirely, he had seen every part of the arm reconnected. Ken had no doubt that when the War Walker awoke, he would be able to move the arm.

“A healing potion couldn’t have done that. No way. The arm was severed—it can’t heal when that happens. But she put him together. Just like that.”

Luan was staring at Geneva. She’d practically collapsed after it was done, as had Aiko. They were resting, but the Dullahan soldiers were still there. The one who was probably their officer was looking around for someone to talk to, so Ken walked over.

“Thank you. We will report this to our superiors.”

The Dullahan bowed at the waist deeply, like a Japanese businessman meeting his company’s CEO. Ken bowed his head as well.

“I will convey your thanks to Geneva-san.”

The other Dullahans crowded around Ken, speaking the same words.

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t right that Ken was the one they spoke to, but it was as if they were transmitting their feeling to Geneva. Some clasped Ken’s hand, a gesture he’d never seen among Dullahans. Then they were marching the massive War Walker back towards their camp.

Calectus spoke when they were gone.

“Dullahans never bow that low.”

He was staring at the direction they’d gone. Ken nodded. The Dullahans had shown more emotion, more deference in that moment then he’d ever seen Xor give Quallet.

“That was extraordinary, wasn’t it?”

Calectus hesitated.

“It was impossible. A spell might have saved that Dullahan—but no potion, aside from the ones a Named Adventurer would use. But a single person did that. Geneva did. With her Skills.”

He turned, shaking his head.

“It might not have been a good thing to save him. But I could not stop her. She will level from this, I have no doubt. And yet…”

“What?”

Calectus turned to Ken.

“She saved a War Walker, someone deemed dead by his enemies. She changed the battlefield, preserved a part of the Razorshard Armor company’s strength. She is no longer a small asset, something that can be ignored. Now she is a powerful ally…or a dangerous enemy.”

He looked concerned. And he was right to be. The next day, one of the commanders of the Razorshard Armor company came in person.

 

—-

 

The [Commander] in charge of the division of the Dullahan company the War Walker had been assigned to was named Grishka. She had brilliant yellow armor crossed with blue, and it was made of some kind of gleaming metal that looked too brilliant to be steel. Geneva insulted her in the first moment by refusing to see her until she’d finished with her patient, a wounded Lizardwoman.

When she did have time to speak to the Dullahan, at Ken’s panicked insistence, Geneva was direct.

“Commander Grishka, I apologize if my ignorance has caused offense. However, my policy as a medical practitioner is to treat all my patients equally, regardless of rank, gender, or species. I do not discriminate. That means I also do not take sides, or rewards, for the work I do.”

The Dullahan lifted her head up with her hands, tilting it from side to side as she regarded Geneva’s bloodstained clothing and hands.

“I respect your decision, Human. But your actions have saved one of my most dedicated soldiers, and for that my company owes you thanks. This gift is an expression of that. Will you not take it?”

She had brought a chest full of healing potions and several bags of gold with her. Geneva stared at the gold and looked past it in a moment. But the healing potions kept her eye. She hesitated.

Her position was to be neutral. Inoffensive to either side she tried to help. But at the same time, Geneva knew that her own supplies of potions were limited. And they were practically exhausted from treating the War Walker yesterday. She didn’t know whether refusing the gift would be better, and realized she had no choice. It was a simple binary between saving more lives, or not being able to because she had no more potions.

She inclined her head.

“Donations are acceptable. Please know this will not change how I work in any way.”

“It is acknowledged. The Razorshard Armor company thanks you for your actions. We will ask your assistance with other soldiers who are wounded.”

Commander Grishka spoke formally, and then used her hands to raise her head so she could whisper in Geneva’s ear.

“And I thank you personally as well. The War Walker you saved…is my second brother.”

She left. Geneva stared at the potions and the gold. She ignored the gold and grabbed a potion.

“Aiko, we’ll test the effects of this before using. Let’s get back to work.”

 

—-

 

The Centaur group galloped into camp a day after the incident with Commander Grishka. Luan and Ken were busy creating bandages that could be tightened and used on the wounded who came into camp when a group of Centaurs raced towards them, weapons drawn. They nearly ran over the two and would have stormed right into Geneva’s operating tent had Calectus not stopped them with his halberd.

“Our [Captain] was wounded in battle! Help her!”

The lead Centaur, a brash, tall roan with chestnut hair and wild, long locks shouted at Geneva as she came out of her tent. He and his friends had their weapons drawn, and they were protectively encircling a Centaur whose belly had been cut open. Her entrails were being held in place by another Centaur’s hand.

“Put down your weapons! Violence is not welcome here!”

Geneva snapped up at him. The lead Centaur snarled and darted towards her, stopping only when Calectus swung his halberd in the way.

Help her!”

Geneva gestured back into her tent, where her current patient, a Dullahan, was screaming.

“I have a patient I have to attend to first—”

Now! Or I will cut your guard down and everyone else in this camp!”

The Centaur was practically mad with emotion. His friends were restraining him with difficulty. Geneva grew very still and spoke calmly.

“Threatening me or anyone in this camp will not save your [Captain].”

“She is my mother.

That stopped Geneva. She stared at the pale Centaur with long hair, and then at the Centaur who’d threatened her. Geneva stepped towards her and inspected her. She nodded slowly.

“She is savable, but there are five patients that will die immediately without my help.”

“You would put her life ahead of—”

I do not take sides.

Geneva snapped up at the Centaur, making him back down a step. She looked at the others.

“I will save your [Captain] if I can. I will do everything in my power to save her. But I can save other lives first. You will wait with her over there—my assistant will tell you how to keep her stable in the meantime. But you will wait and if you threaten or harm anyone in my camp, I will not help her.”

She met the Centaur’s eyes.

“I am a [Doctor]. I am on everyone’s side and no one’s side. Do you understand?”

He wavered. Geneva walked back into her tent. She saved the Dullahan’s life, failed to save two others who came after him. She saved the rest, and the [Captain]. When it was done, the Centaurs stood around their Captain, who had the strength to actually stand and move, however weakly. Geneva had told her to rest, but the Centaurs were adamant they had to bring her back to their camp. It would not be safe to leave her here, they told Geneva.

The son of the [Captain] cantered over to Geneva with Calectus watching warily. He stared down at her, and then awkwardly knelt in front of her. He had tears in his eyes when his mother had walked out of the operating room.

“I will remember this.”

Then he got up and raced with his companions out of the camp. Geneva watched him go. The next day, a gift came from the Roving Arrow Company. It was twice as much gold as the Dullahans had given her, and another crate of valuable potions.

 

—-

 

“A gift? More like a bribe.”

Calectus shook his head over the gold and the potions, for all they were welcome. There was no returning them either—the Centaurs had dropped the money and potions in the camp and departed without so much as a word. Ken understood the meaning behind it, although Geneva did not.

“Why did they give me more? And why bribe me? I told them I wouldn’t take sides.”

Luan explained for her as he and Ken helped sharpen some of the tools Geneva used to cut into her patients.

“The way the Centaurs see it, if they offer the same amount as the Dullahans or more, you’ll be more inclined to stay neutral.”

Geneva shook her head, troubled by the politics of it all.

“I have to stay neutral. And they have to understand it.”

Ken was about to suggest that he go to each company and explain just that when he heard a series of rapid, urgent horn calls from the battlefield. He and the others knew that spelled trouble and all of them were on their feet at once.

Only this time, the trouble didn’t come from the ground. Calectus was the first to spot the two figures falling from the sky, because he’d been looking for them. His voice was loud in the silence as everyone looked up.

“Air strike. [Mages].”

They were flying. It caused a hush across the battlefield as soldiers looked up and saw the two figures falling out of the clouds, and then flying across the battlefield. They were both wearing robes which shimmered with magic and fluttered in the wind. Calectus could identify their company at a glance.

“That’s the Tripartite Law company. It’s a three-person company that specializes in mass area of attack spells.”

“There’s only two of them.”

Calectus’ face was dark.

“Two is more than enough. I recognize them. Up there, that’s the Firebringer, Zalthia Werskiv. And the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus.”

“Zalthia?”

Geneva started. Ken looked at her.

“Do you know her?”

Geneva’s face was pale.

“I’ve met her before. She burned half a forest down and slaughtered the Raverian Fighters. If she’s here—”

“The Roving Arrow company has her contract. They’re trying to end this now. She’s going to hit the battlefield—”

A roar engulfed Calectus’s words as Zalthia Werskiv shot a pillar of flame downwards. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that Ken only felt the impact as a rush of hot air blasted him and the others in the camp. His eyes were searing, and when he looked again—

A huge hole of scorched bodies had appeared in the center of the Dullahans formations. Around the area of death, soldiers ran screaming, bodies aflame. Still more fell, choking, as the hot air and smoke suffocated them. In one moment, the Dullahans were retreating; the few who were still upright helplessly shooting arrows at Zalthia and watching them swerve away.

But then the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus moved. He opened his hand, and a black mist swept downwards. It covered the entire western wing of the battlefield, hitting the soldiers who hadn’t been touched by Zalthia’s fire. Ken saw people clawing at their throats, Lizardfolk trying not to breathe, Dullahans throwing their heads to try and get clear of the mist—breathing—falling.

“Gas attacks. Chemical warfare. Or this world’s equivalent.”

Luan’s face was pale. Geneva was just staring. Ken stared as the [Mages] flew higher, their work done. The battlefield had been turned over in an instant. The Centaurs were cheering, shooting at their foes, but they were retreating.

“Why?”

Calectus replied.

“It’s too dangerous for them. The mists still linger. When it dissipates, they’ll fight again.”

His words were prophetic. The mists lingered for over ten minutes. When they were gone, the burnt soldiers and ones who had gotten clear of the worst of the gas were still on the ground, dying. But the Dullahans had pulled up more forces and they met the Centaurs in another clash of bodies.

The fighting hadn’t slowed. In fact, it had grown fiercer as the Dullahans tried to exact vengeance on the Centaurs who were pressing their advantage. But that wasn’t what the people in Geneva’s camp saw.

“They’re dying.”

The soldiers who’d inhaled part of the mists, the gas, were choking, suffering. They weren’t dying, but they couldn’t move. Both sides ignored them, too focused on the enemy to worry about helpless victims of the attack. And the burn victims—they were screaming for aid.

“They won’t come here. Not for hours.”

Calectus predicted as Geneva strode back towards her tent. Some of the wounded were already trickling in, but only a few. The majority were stuck out there, unable to be rescued.

Helpless.

And that wasn’t right.

The feeling rose up in Ken, hot and fierce. He was just standing here, while Geneva and Aiko worked to save lives. But they couldn’t do anything for the people out there. No one could. They were being left to die, with both sides too occupied to go out and help them!

“Ken.”

Luan put his hand on Ken’s shoulder. He was looking at the wounded, the same helpless fury and desperation on his face. But he’d seen what Ken was thinking and had stopped him.

“It’s suicide, mate. If we go out, we’ll get shot. We’re deserters, remember?”

“No we’re not. We have a company.”

Ken pointed to the flying red banner. It was flapping in the wind caused by Zalthia’s spell. The red cross flew high. They were the Red Cross company. It wasn’t just a name.

“But they don’t know that. In there—even if we had a flag, we look like everyone else.”

Luan was speaking sense. A soldier was a soldier, and there were Humans on both sides. Ken clenched his fists.

“But—”

“The only people who are safe in this kind of thing are…are people like the Gravetender’s Fist company at night.”

Luan shook his head as he stared across the valley. Gravetender’s Fist had to worry about this issue, but they solved the problem by being a target. They carried lanterns, made noise, had a banner with an illumination spell sewn into the fabric—all so that people knew they weren’t the enemy. Even that didn’t work all the time.

“We can’t do anything, Ken. We’ll just be targets.”

“Targets.”

Ken paused. He stared at Luan. Targets. He’d studied about World War II. It wasn’t a popular subject in Japanese curriculums, if it was taught at all, but Ken had studied it in university and read western textbooks as well as Japanese ones. He’d seen pictures of people who wore targets every day.

“Ken. What are you thinking?”

Luan stared at Ken, looking worried. Ken looked at Luan. The young man still had some of the leather armor he’d been issued. So did Ken. It was dirty, brown, closer to black, and could probably do with polishing.

“Or paint.”

“Paint?”

He stared at Luan, and then at the cans of red and white paint that Aiko had used to decorate the camp. Then Ken looked at the flags. White and red. A target. A symbol.

“Luan, I have an idea.”

“Does it involve us risking our lives?”

Ken nodded. Luan blew out his cheeks. Then he looked at the battlefield, at the wounded.

“It is worth dying for?”

“Nothing is worth dying for. But this—this is worth living for.”

Ken grabbed Luan and dragged him towards the paint.

 

—-

 

Daly was sitting, watching the fighting with the rest of Gravetender’s Fist while he ate in preparation of the night’s work. He was dreading it. No one could have missed the air raid by the [Mages], and the bodies were littering the valley floor. But work was work. He adjusted his belt, and looked across the ranks of his company.

Quexa, the Lizardgirl with the [Sorcerer] class was sitting next to Paige. They’d become friends ever since Ken had left. The Lizardgirl hadn’t understood why Ken, Luan, and Aiko had left. In explaining their feelings to her, she and Paige had gotten to know each other.

Now the Lizardgirl was watching the violence below, tail twitching. Daly understood the feeling. You could get used to the death, but never comfortable with it. It was always—

“What the fuck?”

Paige stood up. She’d seen something. Daly’s head snapped back to the battlefield. His mouth dropped open.

“What are those idiots doing?

Two figures had suddenly charged onto the valley floor. They stood out at once, partly because of the flag they were waving desperately and partly because of their armor.

It was white. Pure white, only there was a stripe of red crossed with another stripe on their shoulders, chest, helmet, and back. It took Daly a second to recognize it.

“A red cross? Are they…medics?”

“What are they doing?”

Quexa had spotted them. She leapt up, full of fear and Daly’s stomach twisted into a knot as he saw soldiers from both sides take notice of Ken and Luan. He saw Luan plant the flag in the ground, and then Ken raised something. A shield. It had the same cross of red on it.

And the soldiers saw it too. They hesitated. They watched as Ken and Luan sprinted away from the flag, and straight into the area that had been blasted by Zalthia. They ran towards one of the fallen soldiers, armor black with soot, and lifted him up.

“I don’t believe it.”

“What? What are they doing?”

Quexa shook Daly as he stared down at Ken and Luan. They had a stretcher of some kind, and they were easing the burnt soldier onto it. As he watched, they lifted it up and began to run back towards the camp they’d come from.

“No way!”

Paige was on her feet. Ken and Luan were carrying the wounded soldier, running for all they were worth as arrows flew around them. A group of soldiers broke off towards them, and froze as they saw what Ken and Luan were doing.

The rest of Gravetender’s Fist had noticed what was going on. Daly saw one of the Centaurs rear up in surprise, and then a girl from Bosnia shouted.

“Look! That’s Ken and Luan!”

Both armies had noticed the two insane young men by now. Daly saw a flight of arrows land behind Luan, and then saw the commander shouting at the archers. His heart was pounding. Would they stop firing? Ken and Luan had to run faster!

He leapt to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Go! Run you bastards!

He was far too far away to be heard of course. But other people heard him and took up the call.

Run Ken! Run Luan!

Get out of there!

Run you slow sods! RUN!

Soldiers were turning. A group of Centaurs on the battlefield raced towards Ken and Luan and broke away at the last second. Now all of Gravetender’s Fist was cheering and shouting, and the noise was spreading to the other companies.

Heads turned. Ken and Luan raced towards the flag they had planted, and then Daly saw a group of soldiers running to meet them. They grabbed the stretcher and Ken and Luan reversed direction. The soldiers, Selphids, ran back with the burnt soldier towards camp and Ken and Luan ran back towards the fighting.

“Other way! Other way!

Some people were shouting that. But now Daly knew what they were doing, and he saw Ken and Luan running towards a Lizardman who’d been trampled. He was clear of the immediate fighting and the two loaded him onto another stretcher.

“Medics! They’re medics!

Daly shouted at Quexa, who looked at him, uncomprehending. No one from her world had a word for what Ken and Luan were doing. Saving soldiers was one thing, but who would run into the fighting and out each time?

Heroes.

Daly shouted. He waved his hands, screamed at Ken and Luan as they raced across the battlefield. The soldiers were fighting around him, but they saw the red cross and didn’t attack.

Why? Did they remember that sign as the symbol of the Last Light? Had their commanders told them to avoid fighting? Were Ken and Luan just not a threat? Or did they see what they were doing?

It was impossible to say. But Daly watched, heart pounding, as Ken and Luan made six more trips out into the chaos, finding the wounded on the edges of the fighting. They didn’t run into the heart of the battle. They stayed to the most distant peripherals, finding those who cried out for help.

And they ran with every bit of energy they could. Their lives were on the line. They raced across the broken ground as Gravetender’s Fist shouted at them from their position above. The Humans were cheering, shouting and screaming at the two figures as they sprinted towards the downed Lizardman with the stretcher.

“Incredible.”

Daly looked over and saw Etretta, one of the most senior Dullahan soldiers, staring at the battlefield. He nodded to her, and she walked over.

“What did you call them? Medics? Is that a class?”

“If it wasn’t before, it is now.”

Daly knew that in his heart. He knew the two would have the class the instant they slept. Etretta looked at him curiously.

“They are brave. Is that a thing Humans do? Save each other? Save the wounded?”

“Not all Humans. But it’s what we used to do. We still do it.”

“There is no sense to it.”

Etretta shook her head. Daly nodded. The Dullahan nodded as well.

“But there is something noble about it. Foolish, and noble.”

“Yeah.”

Daly was smiling. He stared at Luan as he and Ken collapsed by their camp. He couldn’t see too well from here, but he thought they were laughing.

“It’s crazy. But I guess they thought it was worth dying for.”

 

—-

 

Dying. Geneva stared down at the coughing, gasping Human on her operating table. He was trying to breathe, trying to inhale past the magical mists that had scarred his throat and lungs. He looked up at her, begging to help.

And she couldn’t help him. Geneva had never been trained to handle gas attacks. She had none of the experience she needed to help him, and she had no tools.

Gas attacks. Chemical weapons, or this world’s equivalent. They had been banned since World War II. The ban hadn’t held, but it had been imposed because of just how deadly gas could be.

Deadly, and ineffectual. Geneva’s uncle was a history buff and he had lectured her about how gas attacks weren’t as useful when both sides had become aware of the dangers and issued gas masks. Allied soldiers could still gun down their opponents while gas floated around them.

Yes, ineffectual. The words were a mockery to Geneva now as she watched the soldier before her suffer. Ineffectual if you had the proper ways of preventing it. But if you had inhaled the gas—what could Geneva do?

The effects of this were similar to mustard gas, for which there was no known treatment. The best way to deal with it was to avoid exposure—or decontaminate. Geneva snapped out of her trance and looked at Aiko. The girl’s face was pale as she stared down at the young man whose skin was already blistering.

“What can we do Geneva…?”

Geneva’s hands moved. She began slicing clothes off the soldier, removing his armor. She had a rag mixed with charcoal over her face, and she was going to relocate outside to give the soldier as much clean air as possible.

“Wash their skin with soap and water. If they’ve inhaled the gas, we’ll make them gargle water. They need pure, clean air. We could bleed them to reduce their blood pressure, but I don’t have… I don’t have…”

She had nothing she could use. Nothing at all. Geneva did everything she could. She washed the soldier’s skin, tried to bleed him to lower blood pressure—but he couldn’t breathe. And she had no respirator, no way of helping. The gas had vanished far faster than mustard gas, but the effects were permanent.

The soldier died as Geneva helplessly watched. He wasn’t the only one. The next soldier who came in had the same afflictions. And the next. Geneva couldn’t take it. She left the tent after trying to open the last soldier’s airways and found Ken and Luan.

They were grinning, exhausted, covered in sweat, their freshly-painted armor running slightly in the heat. They had carried the soldiers here. Geneva stared at them. They had saved the soldiers, brought her ones she could save. She didn’t want to say what she had to.

“Geneva-san! How did we—”

“You can’t bring me any more gas attack victims. I can’t help them.”

Ken’s smile vanished. Luan sat up.

“What’s wrong?”

Geneva’s hands were shaking. She raised them, let them drop.

“There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. The gas is in their lungs. They can’t breathe and I can’t save them. If you bring them back here, all I can do is let them die. You cannot rescue them. I can’t give them treatment, and there are other soldiers I can save. Do you understand?”

They stared at her. Ken opened his mouth.

“But—”

Luan grabbed him, shook his head. Geneva put her hands to her eyes. The world was swimming. She hadn’t cried about the dead before. But now—

“I can’t do anything.”

“We understand.”

Luan was the first to speak. He got Ken up, nodded to Geneva. There was an echo of the pain she felt in his eyes, but he was taking charge.

“We’ll find others. Come on, Ken.”

He took Ken away. Ken’s eyes followed Geneva. She felt like they were accusing. She watched Ken and Luan head back to the battlefield, risking their lives to save others. Geneva clenched her hands together, helpless.

She squeezed her hands tightly until Okasha made her stop. When Geneva looked down, she saw her untrimmed nails had cut into her skin. She watched the red droplets fall onto the jungle floor, and then went back into her tent and continued operating until every last one of the gas attack victims had died.

 

—-

 

There was no glory in this. No brilliance. The elation Ken had felt at saving lives had vanished. Now he ran, heart pounding out of his lungs, desperate. Guilty.

Geneva had wept. She couldn’t save them. Ken skidded to a halt with Luan as he heard a desperate cry. He saw a soldier, a young Dullahan woman crawling towards him, pushing her head across the ground. He started towards her, and then realized she was a gas victim. Her skin was blistering, her eyes damaged.

“Ken.”

Luan looked at Ken, and there was mortal horror in his eyes. Ken looked at the young Dullahan and turned. He heard her call out weakly.

“Wait. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ken stared at her. Luan turned away, choking. Ken turned. He saw more wounded up ahead. Burn victims. Those he could save. He heard the Dullahan cry out desperately. Ken turned his head.

“I’m sorry!”

The next person they found was a Dullahan, male this time. His skin was so badly burned that they could barely touch him. They had to, and he cried out as they put him in the stretcher. But as they ran back to the camp, he was sobbing in relief. He clutched at Ken as Ken handed him off to the Selphids.

“Thank—thank you.”

The Dullahan looked Ken in the eye as Ken arranged his head next to his body. Ken looked at him, and remembered Johanas’ face as the executioner held the axe over his head. He nodded without words and stood up.

They went back in twice more, Luan and Ken. Then they collapsed, too tired to move. Ken stared at Luan, Luan stared at Ken. The laughter they’d shared after saving their first soldier was gone. But Luan sat up and held out a hand.

“Worth living for.”

Ken took it.

“Yes.”

They saw the burned Dullahan they had saved among the living. That was enough. Ken collapsed into his bed and cried and laughed at the same time.

 

[Medic Class Obtained!]

[Medic Level 4!]

[Skill – Quick Sprint obtained!]

[Skill – Sympathetic Ear obtained!]

 

—–

 

“You are rescuing far more Dullahans than Centaurs.”

That was the only thing the Centaur messenger said to Geneva three days later, after he’d galloped into the camp. She was busy working, but he had insisted upon speaking with her. Now that Luan and Ken were working with several of her Selphids to find the wounded on the edges of the battlefield, she had a steady stream of patients. They knew what to look for as well. Some soldiers could be saved.

But not all of them. And their actions had consequences, although Geneva would never have asked them to stop. She stared calmly back at the Centaur who was glaring at her and replied simply.

“We try to save everyone.”

“But you rescue more Dullahans than Centaurs.”

“Centaurs are heavier.”

It was the plain truth. For as heavy as a Dullahan could be in full plate armor, they were still far less heavy than a Centaur, which was a horse and half of a person fused together and possibly wearing armor as well. Even with a group of four, the [Medics] could barely transport a single Centaur while arrows and magic were falling around them.

Still, the truth wasn’t enough sometimes. The messenger’s eyes narrowed.

“We are watching you. Save Dullahans if you will, but your impartiality seems biased towards them.”

He whirled without giving Geneva a chance to speak and galloped away. She was troubled by that confrontation and spoke to Ken and Luan when they came back.

“Try to save whoever’s closest. That’s all we can do.”

That evening, a group of armed Centaurs rode into camp. They’d come for all of their wounded, and insisted on taking them all back to their camp. There was no stopping them, for all Geneva argued that the wounded needed to rest and would be safe here.

The Centaurs left, with their escort of warriors watching the woods warily as their wounded limped or were carried back to their camp. Geneva watched them go. She was worried.

So was Luan.

“Escorts now? What happens if the Dullahans send an escort at the same time the Centaurs do?”

“I run out and stop them from fighting.”

He laughed. Geneva did not. The next day, the Dullahans began sending escorts as well. They never clashed with the Centaurs since the Dullahans arrived in the morning and the Centaurs at night. But she felt it was only a matter of time.

 

—-

 

Six days after Ken and Luan had begun acting as [Medics], they were interrupted on their way back from the battlefield. A group of eight Centaurs appeared and cornered them and the two Selphids that Ken and Luan had gone out with.

None of them were armed. That was for the best, because the Centaurs were armed. They surrounded Ken and Luan as the [Medics] raised their hands.

“We’re not warriors. We’re trying to save your friends—”

“Save the Dullahans, more like.”

The Centaurs closed in. Ken and Luan looked around, suddenly worried. One of the Centaurs tore the flag that the Selphids were carrying away and hurled it to the ground. Luan turned, outraged.

“Hey! What’re you—”

A club knocked him to the ground. Ken cried out and ran for Luan, but a blow caught him on the back of the head. He fell and heard the Centaur leader bark an order.

The Centaurs began trampling over the fallen. Ken felt a hoof come down on his hand and shouted in agony. Something kicked him so hard he heard a crack and the world went dark and sound and feeling became one drumming whirl of agony.

“Ken! Ken! Answer me, man!”

He was conscious of someone shaking him awake. Luan was kneeling over Ken, trying to get him to wake up. Ken opened his eyes, and Luan and the two Selphids dragged him back towards the camp.

Ken had a concussion. Luan had several bad cuts and a cracked rib. Both Selphids had broken bones—the Centaurs seemed to have focused their anger on them. Both needed new bodies, which wasn’t an issue, but the attack was.

Geneva banned Ken and Luan from going out for the rest of the day and tomorrow. Neither Ken nor Luan objected.

“I can ask to talk with their commander. But I can’t promise you’ll be safe. None of us are safe. We can only appeal to both side’s sense of morality and hope they respect what we’re trying to do.”

Appeal to their morality. Ken had to have Luan repeat the phrase several times until he understood it. When he did, it didn’t reassure him. Morality in Baleros was…unreliable. Could you really appeal to the commanders of both companies? Ken doubted it, no matter what Geneva said.

Perhaps it would work in America, or other parts of the world. It might even work for the Centaurs. They were honorable—they took pride in not committing shameful actions. An ambush to them was not shameful, nor was a surprise attack; that was simply a good way of fighting wars. But Dullahans—

They gave Ken an uneasy feeling in his stomach. They reminded him of how the soldiers of Japan were said to have fought, once. The Dullahan didn’t think of things like honor when it came to war in the same way Centaurs did. Suicide attacks, traps, killing prisoners, it was all to win. It reminded Ken of an American expression. A Japanese ideal. What was it? Oh, yes.

Victory at any cost.

And while Centaurs were committed to the idea of honor, it only lasted so long as they thought the other side was playing by the same rules. If they thought there was just a hint of underhandedness, there went the need for honor as well. The beating had been a warning. Play fair or we will kill you.

He wished he knew what he could do. But there was no good answer, and in the meantime the battle between the Centaurs and Dullahans had entered its final stages. Both sides had dealt each other terrible blows, and now the fighting was at its fiercest. It sometimes rampaged into the night, forcing the undead suppression companies to stay where they were rather than get caught up in it.

Dullahans mounted night attacks and Centaurs attacked at all hours. Gravetender’s Fist and the other companies had to stay in close proximity to one another to stay safe. It was getting worse and worse, and Ken had seen soldiers start to stab the enemy’s wounded rather than let them get to Geneva. But she refused to leave and kept working.

It was the sixteenth day since Ken had reached the battlefield when it happened.

 

—-

 

“I won’t go Okasha. Not yet.”

Geneva was arguing with Okasha again. It had started four days ago, and the Selphid had grown more relentless day after day. She wanted Geneva to abandon the camp, to leave the battlefield where the Razorshard Armor company and Roving Arrow company seemed determined to destroy each other at last. But Geneva couldn’t do it.

“There are countless wounded coming in each day. I can’t just abandon them—”

“It is growing less safe, Geneva. We don’t have the soldiers to protect you if we’re attacked.”

“If we’re attacked, it means my status as a [Doctor] is meaningless, Okasha. I have to trust that my neutrality will be respected.”

“Trust.”

Okasha said the word as if it was foreign. She shook Geneva’s head.

“This is not your world, Geneva. Both companies have shown that they are willing to do whatever it takes to win. And that means you and your friends from another world may be targets again. Please, leave. I can talk to my people; find you a safer place to work. They could guard you—”

“And what will happen if I take their side, Okasha? Should I enlist in their company and start healing only Selphids?”

Geneva snapped and Okasha fell silent. Geneva felt guilty, but she went on.

“I can’t take sides. Even your side. The moment I do, I lose the only thing that protects me. I need to help everyone.”

“But our world isn’t like yours. We aren’t—we don’t obey rules of war, Geneva. Magical gas attacks, attacking civilians—some [Strategists] will do anything for victory.”

Geneva knew that was true. She lowered her head.

“Something has to be the same. Something has to be. If there’s no hope for basic decency between enemies, the faintest belief in the rights of others…then what hope is there?”

Okasha had no answer. Geneva would have argued with her more, but a group of wounded soldiers came in. Dullahans, all comatose. The group of Humans who’d brought them had no idea what was wrong.

“I think—they were hit by a [Sleep] spell. Or something. But they won’t wake up. Can you—can you check on them? Make sure they’re alright?”

“I will.”

They could be tended to later. Geneva had no good way to deal with magic, but she was content to let them rest so long as they didn’t show other symptoms. Besides, she had to deal with a group of wounded Lizardfolk that were due to leave with the Dullahan escort this morning.

The escort of armed warriors that came for the Razorshard Armor company’s wounded was three times as large as last time. Geneva frowned when she saw that, but didn’t object. The Dullahan in charge nodded to her as his men began to trek back to his camp. They’d gotten fifty feet away from her camp when she heard the frantic horn calls. They were the same ones she’d heard now and again.

Air raid.

Geneva looked up at the sky, expecting to see one of the two Tripartite Law company [Mages] descending over the valley floor. Instead, she saw a woman flying down.

Straight at her.

Geneva’s heart stopped. She saw Zalthia Werskiv heading straight towards her, hands aglow with fire magic. She was coming for Geneva?

No. The [Doctor] realized what was happening too late. She ran forwards, towards the departing escort of Dullahans, shouting, waving her arms.

“No. No! Stop!

She screamed up at Zalthia, the Firebringer. The [Mage] flew down as the Dullahans cried out and loosed arrows up at her. Some were turning to flee, others blowing on their horns desperately. Geneva ran towards them, trying to get in the way, to stop Zalthia.

Too slow. A fireball fell from her hand, like a fiery meteor towards the earth. The shockwave flung Geneva back. When she got up, she saw only smoking ash. The escort had been obliterated.

She looked up. Zalthia looked down at Geneva. Was there a smile on her lips? She pointed past Geneva.

At her camp. The Firebringer flew past Geneva, conjuring fire from her hands again. She strafed Geneva’s operating tent, throwing a ball of fire that exploded and set the damp canvas ablaze. Then she shot a stream of fire from her hands, raking across the sleeping tents. And the supply tent.

Geneva saw the tent containing the healing potions, her bandages, all of it, go up in a blue and green fireball of twisting colors. Zalthia paused as she saw the magical conflagration and then decided her work was done. She flew off into the air, leaving the camp ablaze.

“No.”

She couldn’t believe it. The Centaurs had paid her to attack Geneva’s camp. Geneva’s legs buckled. She sat. Her mind was whirling. Where was Aiko? She was…she’d been with the wounded. She might be safe. Ken and Luan were out looking for people. They were safe. But the camp?

“Gone.”

A voice spoke quietly in Geneva’s ears. Okasha did not gloat. There was sadness in her voice.

“I warned you. This world is not yours, Geneva. There is no mercy here. No quarter. Your world is gentler, nobler, I think.”

Geneva stared at the burning camp. She felt something wild, hysterical, bubbling up inside her. She laughed.

“No. It’s the same. The exact same.”

The same as the worst of her world. How could she have thought it would be otherwise? They bombed a hospital. Just like her country had. They attacked the wounded. Just like they did during the war. Every war. Snipers shooting medics.

It was exactly the same.

Geneva didn’t know when she started laughing hysterically, only that she couldn’t stop. She sat in the dirt and laughed, parts of her clothing burning, her operating tent and the camp burning before her eyes as smoke drifted up through the jungle canopy. She only stopped when she heard a voice.

“There’s the [Doctor].”

She turned. A Dullahan was looking at her. One of the Dullahans that had been brought in, apparently asleep. He was holding a sword. In a moment, Geneva knew why he was here.

The blade was red. The bodies of the wounded soldiers lined up in front of her tent—Geneva stared at a motionless Centaur’s form and then the Dullahan.

“Why?”

He had no words to answer her, but he strode towards her. Geneva didn’t move, but Okasha did. She made Geneva leap to her feet and run. But there were more than one of the Dullahan assassins in the camp.

Another leapt out at her. Okasha, using Geneva’s body, whipped out one of Geneva’s scalpels and cut him along the face. He cried out and Okasha tried to plunge the wickedly sharp blade through his eye. Geneva’s hand shot out—

And stopped.

“No.”

Geneva caught her right arm. She heard Okasha cry out, felt the Selphid try to override her. Geneva didn’t let her. She clamped down on every muscle in her body, overriding Okasha’s desperate attempts to move with sheer will.

“I swore an oath.”

The Dullahan was cursing. Geneva turned and saw the first one striding towards her. It wasn’t a he after all, but a she. The Dullahan had dark red armor and a shortsword in one hand.

“What oath?”

She looked at Geneva curiously. Geneva spread her arms wide. She felt her world melting around her. Despair was in her heart.

“I will do no harm. I will not let my patients come to harm. I will do what I can to save lives.”

“Noble.”

The female Dullahan nodded. She looked at Geneva and shook her head.

“But flawed. This is war. And in war, we do what we must.”

She ran Geneva through, blade plunging into her stomach. Geneva gasped, stumbled back, and fell. The Dullahan stabbed her in the stomach twice more, and then bent. She cut Geneva’s throat and turned away.

“There’s one more. The helper. Find her. Kill her. The two [Medics] don’t have their Skills. Let’s go before that damn Selphid gets to us.”

The other Dullahan nodded and the two moved off. They ran as Geneva lay on the ground, blood pooling on the ground as her camp—and her cause—burned down around her.

 


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1.06 D

Kenjiro’s grandfather had died the year Ken went into university. He had been 88 years old at the time. Ken had fond memories and bitter memories of his grandfather, many having to do with how his father and grandfather used to bring up old arguments when they met.

They came from two different generations. Ken’s father had been born after World War II. His grandfather…had lived through it. He had been fifteen when Japan surrendered. When Ken was little, and when he was growing up, his grandfather would sometimes tell Ken stories of living through those last year of the war, when U.S. planes would drop bombs across Japan.

There was little guilt in his grandfather’s eyes for the war. Japan had fought, and it had lost. America had dropped its bomb to end all bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Now there was peace. But there would always be a bit of hatred in Ken’s grandfather. Not just for the bomb, but for the nights he’d spend staring up at the sky as bombs fell.

Ken remembered how his grandfather’s hands shook, recalling the days when fire would rain down from the skies. It had seemed like all of Tokyo was aflame, at times. Now Kenjiro wondered if this is what his grandfather had seen.

Fire. Geneva’s camp was aflame. The mage, Zalthia, the Firebringer, had set it on fire. But that wasn’t all.

“Ken. Ken!

Someone was screaming at him. Ken looked around. His head felt empty. His ears were ringing from the explosions. He realized he was standing around aimlessly as Luan charged over to him. He had a mace in his hands. He was bleeding.

“Luan-san.”

“Ken! We’ve got to get out of here! There are soldiers in the camp! They’re killing the wounded!”

Ken stared at Luan. He was in shock. He trotted after Luan as the South African young man cursed and shoved at Ken, getting him towards a patch of trees. Ken stared back at the tents. Everything was on fire. The [Mage] had set fire to every bit of the camp. Nothing would be left; the flames were too strong to fight. She’d hit the operating tent. Why? What harm could Geneva have done? What could Aiko—

He blinked. A part of Ken woke back up.

“Aiko!”

He looked at Luan. The older young man—no, the man’s face was gray with the horror of what he’d seen, but he was holding his mace, ready to fight. Ken looked around.

“Where’s Aiko? Luan, did you see—”

“I don’t know. She might have been in the tent—hold on, Ken!”

Ken didn’t listen. He raced towards the burning operating tent, halting only when he heard the sounds of fighting. It was coming from the camp, and Luan, running after Ken, stopped when he heard it too.

“An attack?”

Ken looked at Luan. The man hesitated.

“Maybe. The airstrike was one thing. Maybe they sent people to make sure we’re all dead? Come on, let’s see. Be ready to run or fight!”

Creeping around blazing tents, flinching from the heat, Ken and Luan finally saw what was going on. A group of warriors was struggling amid the burning wreckage. Dullahans and a lone Lizardman that Ken recognized.

Eight Dullahans were fighting a lone figure in the center of the camp. Each Dullahan was armed with a weapon, and they were fighting in unison. Their movements were precise, and Ken and Luan knew any one of them could have killed both Humans in a moment.

But the enemy they were battling didn’t fall, despite half of his body being burned black and the numerous wounds he had taken. Calectus snarled, his Lizardman’s body twisting and lashing out with his long halberd. A Dullahan with a shield blocked the blade and stumbled back; Ken saw the shield deform from the impact.

“Calectus-san!”

Ken whispered. Luan nodded. His face was pale.

“I—I don’t know if jumping in will help or not. They’re moving too fast for me!”

“Do not. They are all too strong.”

Ken tried to grip Luan, in case he ran in. The Dullahans were armored and Luan only had the painted leather armor and crude mace to fight with. He’d die in a second.

“Yeah, but he can’t take them on alone—”

Calectus whirled as a Dullahan launched an arrow. It buried itself in his shoulder, piercing through the chainmail he wore. The Selphid didn’t stagger or fall, though. Instead, he turned and leapt towards the Dullahan who’d loosed the arrow. He swung his halberd and the Dullahan fell as the tip of the halberd sliced through his armor.

Another Dullahan ran at Calectus from behind and two more closed in. Ken saw Luan tense, and tried to grab him. Then he saw Calectus turn and kick one of the Dullahans into the air. He landed eight feet away.

Both Humans froze when they saw that. So did the Dullahans, for a moment. The Dullahan that Calectus had kicked had been wearing iron armor, dark and sturdy. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds with it on, and Calectus had kicked him like a ragdoll. Ken’s eyes went to the fallen Dullahan and he saw an imprint in the iron armor.

The other two Dullahans backed away. Too slowly. Calectus whirled his halberd, and Ken heard a ripping sound as it cut through air and one of the Dullahan’s heads. The other one fell back fast and Ken heard her shout.

“Selphid is rampaging! Get back!”

The Dullahans immediately spread out, suddenly acting wary of Calectus. Ken didn’t understand. Rampaging? Was Calectus doing something? Then he saw the Selphid tense and bend his knees. He leapt—and kept going higher.

Calectus jumped up as if he were no longer weighed down by his armor or gravity. He leapt six feet into the air and one of his feet crushed a Dullahan’s helmeted head as he landed. He turned—two Dullahans were rushing towards him. Calectus ran one through and grabbed the other’s head. His hand was on the other Dullahan’s face as the Dullahan stabbed him with a dagger. Calectus squeezed—Ken saw his grip close and the Dullahan sagged.

Two left. One turned to run, the other, a female Dullahan with a sword, charged at Calectus. He met her with a roar and cut through armor and flesh with a single strike. He ran after the last Dullahan.

Both were coming towards Ken and Luan. The Humans backed away and the Dullahan saw them, hesitated, and looked over his shoulder. He saw Calectus coming for him and ran at the two young men, holding two hatchets in his hands. He never got to them.

Calectus’s halberd cleaved through the Dullahan’s steel armor and cut the Dullahan in half. Both torso and lower body spun away and Ken felt a splatter of blood hit his chest. He stared down at the stain on his shirt and then at Calectus.

The Lizardman’s dead eyes turned towards Luan and Ken. He shifted the grip on his halberd and Ken backed away. Luan raised his voice, shouting.

“Calectus! It’s us!”

There was a pause in which Ken thought he could see his life reflected by the tip of the Selphid’s halberd, and then Calectus lowered it.

“You two. You’re alive.”

It was a statement, not a question. Calectus sagged and suddenly he stopped being a one-Selphid army of destruction. Ken rushed over to him and stared at Calectus’ wounds. He had arrows in his shoulder and thigh, numerous bloodless cuts all over his body, and a deformed skull. If he were a living Lizardman, he would have long been dead. As it was, Calectus just looked exhausted.

“Are you hurt, Calectus-san? Do you need—”

Ken had no idea what a Selphid would need. A healing potion? Those didn’t work on the dead. Calectus shook his head.

“I have torn this body’s muscles and taken many wounds. I must find another. But later. Where is Geneva?”

“We don’t know. We saw the mage burning the camp and then saw the Dullahans—”

“Assassins. Zalthia was sent by the Centaurs, there’s no question about it. And the Dullahans felt like experienced [Soldiers], not mercenaries for hire. Only one of them ran.”

“You mean…both sides attacked us?”

Ken stared at Calectus. The Selphid nodded shortly.

“There may be more about. Help me find Geneva.”

“And Aiko! She is—Luan, the operating tent!”

Remembering, Ken and Luan both ran for the tent, Calectus following and warily looking around. Ken shouted the moment he saw the tent wasn’t completely engulfed by the flames. He ran towards the smoke, screaming.

“Aiko! Aiko!

The tent was billowing black smoke from the inside. Ken took a breath and rushed towards the opening. He saw fire, felt the heat and saw a dim table—and a body, burning. He ran to it and tried to drag it out.

Ken!

The flames burned Ken’s hand. He dragged at the body, screaming inside while he tried not to breathe. Someone grabbed him and dragged him out. Ken gasped for air as he cleared the tent. He looked down and saw…

A stranger. A dead Dullahan’s face stared up at him. She wasn’t wearing armor. She was one of the Selphids, only there was no life behind the dead face. Calectus leaned on his halberd.

“Tefiat.”

He shook his head as Ken and Luan looked at him questioningly. The Selphid inside was dead. Only now did Ken feel the pain in his hands and cry out. Luan reached for him.

“We’ve got to get healing potion on your burns.”

Ken shook his head.

“First Aiko. Where is she?”

“Ken?”

A voice from behind. Ken whirled, and then stumbled to his feet and ran. He ran around the tent and then saw Aiko. She was kneeling over another body. Another Dullahan. This one was wearing armor and had a sword.

He was dead. There was blood on Aiko’s hands. She looked at Ken, her hands shaking. She was alive. Ken sagged, and then took in the scene a second time. The Dullahan was dead, and Aiko was not. She had killed him.

The knowledge was in Aiko’s eyes, the proof of it on her crimson hands. She looked at Ken, shaking.

“I—I—”

Ken stared at the dead Dullahan. A scalpel was in his eye and another one was sticking out of his neck. The young Japanese man was no expert, but it looked like an artery had been sliced. His armor was painted with red.

“Aiko!”

Luan ran towards her and hugged her, ignoring the blood. Aiko stared at him, and then at Ken.

I killed him, Ken. I did not mean to, but I was afraid—

You—you did the right thing. He would have killed you.

Ken replied automatically, but he was still staring at the dead Dullahan. He’d never killed anyone. He’d killed undead, as had everyone else, but Aiko had—had she taken him by surprise? Defended herself and gotten lucky?

Calectus interrupted the moment. He snapped at Aiko as he surveyed the area.

“Have you seen Geneva? Do you know where she was?”

“No, I—”

Aiko seemed paralyzed, but she snapped out of it as she focused on the question.

“I do not know. I think she was at the edge of camp. Maybe?”

“Spread out and search! If you find anyone, run and shout for me!”

The Selphid ordered the Humans. He was more concerned about Geneva than the others, even the other Selphids. Ken looked at Luan and Aiko. She was shaking and he was holding her, trying to comfort her. Luan looked at Ken.

“Go. Find Geneva. Aiko and I will search in a moment.”

Ken didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak to Aiko too, but Luan was already urging Aiko to move. They all sensed it. Geneva’s camp was the target of the attacks. It was inconceivable that she wouldn’t have been the first one both the assassins and Zalthia went for.

It wasn’t hard to find her. Ken was the first to spot the lone body in front of the blazing inferno that was all that remained of the Dullahan escort. He ran towards the body, shouting for Luan and Aiko. They ran towards him as he skidded to a stop and stared at Geneva.

She was dead.

There was no way she could be otherwise. Her throat was sliced open, exposing red blackness. Her stomach had been pierced multiple times by a blade. Ken stared down at Geneva and felt hot tears coming to his eyes. He turned away as Luan reached her and cried out. Aiko buried her head in her hands, smearing her face with blood.

“Geneva.”

She was gone. But then, to Ken’s horror, the eyes of the corpse opened. Geneva’s still body moved, and a hand rose. It covered her throat and Ken saw her open her mouth.

“Help me.”

Ken screamed and leapt backwards. Luan stumbled back and Aiko shouted in horror. Geneva was dead. There was no way she could be alive. But the voice that rasped from her throat sounded like her. Geneva’s eyes had opened and they were staring right at Ken. How could she be conscious? How—

Had she become undead? Was this some kind of zombie? Geneva stared at Ken. He looked at her, shaking.

“Who—Geneva-san?”

Her eyes flickered. The voice lowered, deepened.

“No. I am Okasha. I am a Selphid sharing Geneva’s body. Her mind is unconscious and she has been wounded badly. I am keeping her body alive. Do you have a healing potion?”

“I—no.”

“Calectus might have one. I’ll get him.”

Luan backed away. Ken heard him running and shouting for the Selphid. Ken just kept staring at the thing possessing Geneva’s body. A Selphid? But he thought that Selphids could only inhabit dead bodies. Could they do it with living ones? And if so…

“Geneva is alive?”

Aiko knelt by Geneva—by Okasha—and stared in horror at the wounds in her stomach. She reached for them, hesitated.

“She is wounded. Badly, I think.”

“Yes.”

Geneva’s hand stayed clamped to her throat. Her eyes moved down to look at Aiko.

“Her heart has stopped. I am manually pumping blood throughout her body. Her body and mind have gone into shock, but I am maintaining a flow of blood to all parts of her body. I have stopped her external bleeding, but I cannot continue this forever. Please. Help her.”

“I—I cannot. I do not have sutures or a needle. You need a healing potion.”

Aiko was helpless. Ken knelt by her and looked into Geneva’s eyes. He addressed Okasha.

“Can you hold on? Will Geneva-san die or—or bleed?”

He stared into her stomach, at the red wounds. There was…something there. Something vaguely orange, blocking the wounds, just inside of the body. The Selphid? Ken shuddered as it slowly undulated. Geneva’s voice replied, cold and distant.

“Geneva Scala cannot die. I will not let her.”

The wording of that made Ken’s blood freeze. Then he heard a shout. Ken turned his head and saw Calectus charging towards them, Luan following.

“Geneva!”

He tore a potion from his belt and splashed it on her wounds. The thing that called itself Okasha pointed out each of the injured sites, telling Calectus to wait while she held together parts of Geneva’s internal organs to be healed in turn. Then the stomach wounds closed and Geneva sat up, her throat mended.

She was alive. Just unconscious, as Okasha reported. But she was alive. Only…what was she?

Ken didn’t know. He realized there was a lot he didn’t know, but then Calectus was telling everyone to run into the forest. Ken did, and suddenly he was staring around, seeing the shapes fighting in the valley, hearing the horn calls. Now that the trials of now were over, he realized the entire valley had descended into hell.

The fighting had begun sometime after Zalthia’s airstrike. Only it wasn’t the controlled battle in the valley. Soldiers charged each other on the hills; mages blasted each other and tore apart the tree cover. The fighting was everywhere.

Everywhere.

 

—-

 

In the moments spent crouched, watching mages send arcs of magic raining down into the forests and hearing Calectus report that the Centaurs and Dullahans were fighting all over the valley now, cutting any hope of escape off, he listened to Okasha explain what she was. What Geneva had lost. Why they were…together.

“A Selphid living in a Human body.”

Calectus nodded. He’d come back with another body after going scouting. This time he was a Dullahan, head firmly locked into place. A female Dullahan, in fact. He—or was it she now?—still had her Halberd, and the deathblow Calectus had given her body was an open gash, gaping at Ken. He looked away, seeing hints of movement from within. The same thing was in Geneva.

“Why?”

“Her spine is broken. A bone on her neck was crushed when a soldier hit her there. Without me bridging the connection, she would have been unable to move.”

Okasha was sitting, looking at Ken and the others. Aiko and Luan were starting at her, almost unable to look away. Okasha was Geneva and wasn’t Geneva at the same time. She spoke with Geneva’s voice and shared her body, but all of her mannerisms, from the way she sat and the way she spoke, were different. It was terrifying, because it took everything Ken thought he knew about her and turned it upside-down.

The knowledge of Okasha came with the strictest of warnings which Calectus impressed on the three Humans. What Okasha had done was beyond blasphemy. Inhabiting a living body was something the ancient Selphids had done once, when they’d created a terrible empire. They had been overthrown, and ever since, any Selphid found to be inhabiting a living body was put to death.

As was its host.

“It is forbidden by every nation in the world. It would mean Geneva’s death and Okasha’s if it were found out. You will not tell anyone about this, or I will kill you. Not your friends, not your lovers—no other Selphids either. No one.”

Luan nodded as Calectus stared at him. Aiko and Ken nodded quickly as well. They were stunned by the revelation, but it wasn’t the most pressing issue right now. The battle going on between both sides was.

“Whatever the reason, the attack on Geneva’s camp seems to have been the start of all-out war. Both companies have abandoned their positions and are attacking with all their forces. It is a bloodbath.”

Calectus had scouted in either direction and found only fighting. There was no chance of running from the battle without meeting the other soldiers. Aiko’s voice was shaky as Luan hugged her with one arm.

“I do not understand. Why are they doing this now?”

“At a guess? Because one side got desperate. This is a mistake. Neither company wished to lose the majority of its forces, so they agreed to fight in the valley’s center until one side withdrew. Now? They will fight until one side is obliterated. The winner will be mostly destroyed as well, however. As will everyone in the valley.”

That included them. Calectus and Okasha were talking about what they could do when Okasha raised a hand.

“Geneva is waking up.”

Okasha got up and walked away from the others. Ken watched her back and saw Geneva jerk suddenly. She stumbled—he thought he could see Okasha stopping her from falling. Then Geneva’s mouth opened and she spoke to herself. A pause. A short sentence, and then Geneva replied to herself. It was creepy, watching her have a conversation with herself and yet not herself. Then Geneva’s head turned and she took in the smoldering remains of her camp.

“No.”

She collapsed. Her hands shot out, breaking her fall, and Geneva ended up sitting. She stared at the camp in silence. After a while, Ken stood up and made his way over to her.

“Geneva-san? Okasha-san?”

“We’re both in here, Ken.”

“Oh. Geneva-san…? Geneva?”

“I’m…here, Ken.”

Geneva’s voice was hoarse from the healing. But it was her. Ken thought it was. The horror in the [Doctor]’s eyes was too real to be anyone but her. Unless it was Okasha pretending to be her sometimes? No. He had to believe it was her.

“Are you alright, Geneva?”

“Alright?”

It was Geneva who looked at Ken, and he flinched away from her gaze. She stared at him, and then at her camp.

“They’re all gone. All the wounded, the soldiers—all of them. Just like that. The goodwill I built up, the lives I tried to save…nothing. It meant nothing.”

He looked at her. There was nothing he could say, so Ken didn’t try. He sat next to Geneva and heard her whispering. Was she talking to Okasha or him? Or neither?

“This was my fault. I thought I could stay neutral, avoid conflict. Instead I became a part of this war. I’ve—failed.”

She stared back at the camp, and then turned her head. Part of the valley had been set ablaze. Struggling soldiers were killing each other in the valley, in the forests. Neither side was falling back. It was to the death this time. The wounded would cry out, and the side that won would deal with them.

“It’s all burning.”

“We must go. It is not safe to hide here, Calectus says. Geneva, I am sorry, but we must run.”

Ken felt wretched saying it to her, but he had seen Centaurs racing through the trees not thirty feet away from where they were hiding. It was only a matter of time before they were found.

Geneva didn’t answer, but Okasha made her stand up. She spoke for Geneva, her voice lower.

“What are our options?”

“Run and fight, or hide and then fight.”

Those were the two conclusions Calectus had come up with. They could head in any direction, preferably away from the valley, but both companies were trying to flank each other and they could head right into a battle group. But if they stayed put, they’d end up meeting soldiers too. And there was no food or shelter here. Either way, it ended with a battle, and Calectus was frank about the odds she’d have against a group of Soldiers.

“I could kill the assassins—but only because I didn’t have to protect anyone. And they weren’t expecting a Selphid. They thought I was alive at first, or they would have aimed for me, not my body. If we run into anything larger than a group of ten, we all die.”

“So that’s it? We choose which way we think is less risky?”

Calectus nodded grimly. She nodded to the camp, checking to make sure her head was on right. Selphids couldn’t take their heads off like Dullahans could. At least, they couldn’t do it and not have the heads begin to rot.

“I had a group of soldiers who could have fought with us, but the airstrike and assassins killed them all. Without another force, there are not enough warriors. Okasha could fight—”

“No.”

Geneva interrupted. She looked at her hand and shook her head.

“I can’t. I can’t let her, either.”

“Just me, then.”

Ken and Luan looked at each other. They wanted to say they could fight, but only Aiko had ever killed someone. But what could they do otherwise? If they had to fight—

Ken had a thought. He stood up and looked up the valley, towards a hill. He tried to squint to see if there was fighting there, but couldn’t see anything through the trees. Luan saw where he was looking and spoke up.

“That’s right! What about Gravetender’s Fist?”

Everyone looked at Luan. He pointed through the forest, up the valley towards where the neutral ground was. Or had been. Calectus frowned and shifted her grip on her halberd.

“You think you can get them to shelter us?”

Ken, Aiko, and Luan traded looks. Luan nodded to Calectus and Geneva.

“We know them. Quallet’s reasonable…I think. There are a lot of our friends in the company. It’s worth a shot, and better than trying to get out alone, don’t you think?”

Calectus considered the idea, and then nodded.

“They’re the only other side in this mess. If we find them there, we can try to work together. Otherwise…we’ll still be closer to the edges of the fighting.”

It was a tenuous plan, but having agreed to it, Calectus didn’t waste any time. He had everyone get up and creep towards the neutral zone, stopping when they heard fighting in the distance. Calectus frowned, glancing up at the tall, broad-limbed trees and around warily. There was a problem.

“I can fight small groups, but if we run into a patrol, they will call for help. We need someone to scout.”

“I can—”

Luan spoke up, but it was Okasha who volunteered herself and Geneva.

“I’m a [Rogue]. I should do it, with Geneva’s permission.”

“Absolutely not. You’re valuable.”

Calectus snapped at her, but Okasha was insistent.

“I can do it, Calectus.”

“How? If you’re spotted—”

“I have stealth Skills. And I’ll do it from above.”

Everyone looked up as Okasha pointed at the branches. She looked at Calectus, then flicked her glance towards Ken and the others. Ken thought she was worried about them hearing, but the situation must have warranted it, so Okasha spoke.

“I’ll exceed Geneva’s limits. I can leap from tree to tree. I did it with my last body. I can do it with hers. Let me do it, Calectus.”

“Leap?”

Luan stared up incredulously at the treetops. The branches were thick and could probably hold someone’s weight, true, but jumping from one to the next would require inhuman strength! Or maybe the athleticism of a trained Olympian, neither of which Geneva had.

However, that wasn’t an issue, as Okasha explained to the Humans.

“We can exceed our limits for a brief period. It is a trick that pushes a body’s muscles and nerves past their physical threshold. Other species can do it in times of dire need, but we have no such limitations of the mind. The cost, however, is that the body we inhabit will degrade and break down far, far more quickly.”

“Yes, and doing that to a living body would be painful—”

Calectus was frowning and objecting, but Geneva interrupted. She looked from Calectus to the trees, to the other Humans.

“Let’s do it. If it means no fighting, I can bear the pain. Okasha, go ahead.”

Geneva’s head nodded and Okasha spoke.

“I will take over. Geneva, this will tear your muscles.”

Geneva’s gritted her teeth.

“I can heal them. Do it.”

Ken stepped back as Geneva’s knees bent and she lowered her posture. There was no sign she was…what had the Dullahans called it? Rampaging? But when Geneva leapt, it was straight up, nearly twice her height. She caught a branch and swung herself onto it, moving with incredible grace. Ken gaped.

“I’ll move ahead. Calectus, wait for my signal.”

She jumped from one of the branches to the next, a standing long jump that catapulted her to the next branch. Ken turned to Luan to ask the Olympian hopeful if he’d ever seen anything like it, and saw Luan’s slack-jawed expression.

“How can she do that?”

Aiko asked Calectus, who was scanning the trees from where Okasha had gone. The Selphid answered without turning her head.

“Humans, Dullahans, Lizardfolk…all of your species can do the same. Have you not ever heard of your kind performing great feats in times of need?”

Ken vaguely recalled a story about a mother who had lifted an entire tree off of her son. Or how a passerby would lift an entire car, thousands of pounds, off someone who was trapped beneath. He had no idea what the term for it was.

Was it really possible for everyone to do that? And if so, what could Selphids do with that kind of ability?

Ken looked at Calectus out of the corner of his eye. He—was now a she, and a she from a different species altogether. A Selphid could take over any dead body, and any living body. They could survive wounds that would kill a living person without injury, tap into strength they didn’t have…

They were frightening. Not only that, Ken had no idea how they thought or behaved as a species. He had only known Calectus and now, Okasha. Ken was glad they were on the same side, at least, for now.

Something flickered in the trees above him. Ken looked up and saw nothing in the shadows. But Calectus had. She pointed and snapped in a low voice.

“Go. Go!

Adrenaline and fear shot through Ken’s body. He ran, sprinting through the trees, tapping into a speed born of pure fear and proving the Selphids were right. Something moved above him and Ken flinched, but it was Geneva. She ran across a branch as thick as Ken’s waist and then leapt to a tree ahead of him.

Ken saw Geneva leaping from tree to tree like a monkey, moving with the same inhuman strength and speed that Calectus had displayed. She called down at Calectus and the others, directing them away from the fighting. Ken ran, lungs and legs burning, watching Luan run ahead of him and hearing Aiko struggling by his side. Calectus took up the rear, watchful, sometimes falling back to clash with pursuers.

When they broke out into the open and ran for the neutral ground Geneva landed and sprinted across the hundred meter gap in less than ten seconds. Ken tried to breathe and run faster as he heard shouts in the distance. However, if they had been spotted, the group of five was deemed less of a threat and no one came after them.

Geneva had paused in the first few trees of the neutral zone. She was sweating, and as Ken ran towards her and practically collapsed, he saw she was gripping her legs.

“Argh.”

Geneva’s face was twisted with pain. Okasha spoke with her voice.

“Try not to move. I am massaging the muscles and removing the…”

“Lactic acid. I can feel everything burning.”

“Torn muscle. I warned you. I am secreting a pain relieving agent, but you must use a healing potion.”

“Later.”

Luan raced into the grove, half-dragging Aiko. She was panting, a ragged note of pain in her voice from the extreme sprint. Calectus was last. An arrow was sticking out of her armor’s shoulder. Ken hadn’t realized they were being shot at.

“Are you alright Geneva, Okasha?”

“Fine. We could use a bit of the healing potion.”

Calectus handed the quarter of a bottle over, cautioning Okasha to be sparing. A few drops and Geneva’s expression of pain eased. She stood up, legs fully recovered from the muscle strain. Calectus shook her head as she studied Geneva.

“The ability to stop bleeding, move a body when critically injured and heal each injury with such precision…this is why it was made forbidden. It is too powerful. Too dangerous. Two souls in one body. Two minds, each with their own set of classes and Skills. An army of such warriors would be unstoppable.”

“Not if the entire world is after you.”

Okasha shook her head and then Geneva took back over. She looked at Ken.

“Are we at the neutral zone?”

“A bit farther, I think. This way!”

Ken took over and the group moved slowly through the forest. He thought they were close to the campground, and then heard a shout. A group of armed soldiers burst out of the trees, shouting. Ken saw Calectus drag Geneva back, leaving Luan, Aiko, and Ken to defend themselves. Luan raised his mace and then Ken heard a shout.

“Hold on! Hold on, you bastards! It’s Ken and the others!”

One of the charging soldiers halted and blocked the path of the others. He was holding an axe, and as he came closer, Ken saw it was Daly.

“Bugger me, you lot are alive!”

He strode over to them as the soldiers halted, although none of them sheathed their weapons. Ken nearly wept at the sight of Daly. He was alive! And now that Ken wasn’t terrified out of his mind, he saw more Humans and familiar Lizardfolk, Dullahan, and Centaur faces amid the soldiers.

Daly strode over and gave Ken a one-armed hug that impressed Ken with sweat, blood, and other body odors. Then he clasped hands with a grinning Luan.

“What happened? All we heard this morning was that the [Doctor]’s camp was attacked, and then it was like the world was ending! Both the Centaurs and the Dullahans started fighting everywhere and we’ve been attacked six times in the last hour!”

The young man from Australia led Ken and the others into the neutral ground while the other soldiers went to hide in the trees again. Daly had certainly seen war now, as had the others. He had a huge cut running down his neck and his collarbone. It had cut his armor in half, but it must not have been that deep, since Daly was still upright.

“The Dullahans are claiming that the Centaurs used [Mages] to burn down the camp, and the Centaurs are saying the Dullahans sent soldiers in to burn the camp and blamed it on them. Which side attacked?”

“Both!”

Daly stared at Ken as he and Luan explained what had happened. The Australian shook his head and spat.

“Lies from both sides. Fucking brilliant, am I right? At least Aiko’s safe too. And hey, who’s this?”

Only now did Daly spot Geneva and Calectus. His eyes widened as Ken told him who they were.

“The [Doctor]? I heard about her. The Last Light. You’d better see the Captain. He’ll want to know she’s here.”

Daly took Geneva, Ken, and the others to Quallet’s tent in the middle of the camp. Only this time, Quallet wasn’t the only person inside. When Daly knocked on the flap and ushered everyone in, Ken saw Quallet was standing with the other surviving neutral parties around a map of the valley.

Quallet was there, as was the female Centaur, the leader of Rot’s Bane. Ken thought her name was Exara. What was a surprise was seeing Xalandrass, the war vendor occupying a corner of the tent while he tended to his wounds. Quallet’s eyes widened on seeing Geneva, but when he’d heard what had happened—and heard Calectus was a Level 36 [Honor Guard]—he immediately made room for them around the map.

“Right now we’re holding position and trying not to be a target. But it’s only a matter of time before they send a big force our way to secure this spot, or messengers with an offer to join either side. I’m hoping for a messenger, but I think our chances are slim either way.”

There were symbols all over the map, glowing, indicating where the fighting was. Ken looked down at a shifting landscape of yellow and blue, engulfing every section of the valley and cutting off any hope for an escape route.

Exara, the female Centaur, gave Calectus a brief appraisal of the forces they had with them.

“They killed Ulvial in the first attack. I’ve taken command of the rest of his company with Quallet…we’ve also joined forces with the war vendor’s group. Their camp was also attacked. I’ll say this for the [Merchant], though—he didn’t hide. He crushed at least six of the soldiers who attacked him with his tail. Broke all their bones just like that.”

She nodded at Xalandrass. Ken approached the Naga as the others clustered around the table and discussed options. Technically Geneva was no commander, but the other captains seemed to think she had a place with them and certainly valued Calectus’ input.

Xalandrass had a potion bottle in his hands and was pouring it slowly over the cuts on his body with eyes closed. He opened his eyes warily and then blinked as he saw Ken.

“Ah, little Ken. I did not expect to see you. Alive.”

“Honored Xalandrass.”

The Naga laughed and then grimaced. Xalandrass had a deep cut down part of his serpentine tail, but he was healing that as he spoke with a potion. He’d thrown open his stores and supplied Gravetender’s Fist and the other companies with enchanted weapons and potions. It was one of the reasons why they’d been left alone; they weren’t an easy target. But it was only a matter of time.

He explained this to Ken in a lowered voice as the captains reached the same conclusion with Calectus. Xal’s face was grim as he gave their odds of surviving a flick of the tail.

“If we side with a company, we may have a chance. But what if the company we side with dies, or we are sent into a bloodbath? Or…I suspect we might be stabbed in the back once it is over, regardless. They have violated the terms of war all companies share, by attacking forces on neutral ground. I have had to kill several soldiers myself. It is not…well, it is ironic. And you escaped your attack with her, hm? The [Doctor].”

He grinned at Ken and his tail flicked delicately at Geneva. She was speaking with the others now, grim and horrified, but still determined. She was arguing against them trying to cut their way to safety, with only her convictions and no strategy behind her statements. For her, that was enough.

“So that is what she is like. I understand. It is hard to describe her.”

Xal looked thoughtful as he gazed at Geneva. Ken stared at the Naga, and looked hesitantly at the map.

“Honored—”

“Shush. Formalities and flattery are useful when bargaining and flirting, but not now, I think. Say what it is you need to say.”

The Naga flicked his tail up, touching it gently to Ken’s lips. He smiled at Ken. Ken nodded.

“Xalandrass, do you know who attacked Geneva’s camp? There was the Firebringer and Dullahans. Did one side do all of it, or was it both? And why? The soldiers love Geneva. So why…?”

The Naga smiled a touch sadly and shook his head at Ken’s naiveté.

“The soldiers don’t need to know a thing. A single [Strategist] could have ordered the attack, or the leader of either company. And both sides can deny attacking as well. The Centaurs can claim Zalthia was hitting targets of opportunity and failed to recognize Geneva’s camp. The Dullahans sent assassins so they could claim it was a rogue group or mercenaries sent by the other side to frame them. I do suspect it was both, but what does it matter? The deed was done and now we are stuck.”

Back at the table, the argument was getting heated between Geneva and the others. To Ken’s surprise, Luan was joining in the discussion, trying to convince Geneva they needed to fight. But she was insistent and Ken heard her adamant reply as Ken and Xal approached the table.

“There has to be another way. If we fight, we become a target for everyone. I cannot, will not end this all in senseless death.”

“There is no other option. We’ve agreed that staying here is riskier—either we die or they die. I won’t call that senseless!”

Quallet snapped at Geneva, resting his gauntleted hands on the table. She stared back and then flicked her eyes towards the tent. The roar of battle was background noise now, never ceasing.

“There’s a better way. I’ll go ahead of everyone.”

“What?”

The captains stared at her. So did Ken, Luan, and Calectus. Aiko had left, to wash off the blood of the Dullahan she’d killed. Geneva looked at everyone in turn, resolute.

“The soldiers know me. They know who I am. Maybe if they see me, they’ll stop fighting long enough for us to get through.”

“That’s suicide.”

Exara looked troubled, Quallet thoughtful. Calectus was dead against it, and surprisingly, so was Xalandrass. He slithered over to Geneva, smiling at her. She looked warily at him.

“I hate to disregard such courage, my fair [Doctor], but I must tell you that if you do that, you will die. To no good purpose, either.”

“Why? I understand the risks, but if I can get enough soldiers to see me—”

“Ah, but it is not the soldiers you must worry about.”

Xalandrass cut Geneva off. He flicked his tail, indicating both sides on the map.

“This has gone beyond simple infractions of conduct. Both companies have attacked neutral parties. One company might have broken the rules at first—and I would put money on the Dullahans being the ones—but both sides are party to this now. Any witnesses would bring back terrible retribution onto them. So it is in the best interests that no one survives this battle.”

He reached out with his Human-like hands and touched Geneva lightly on the chest.

“You may stop the fighting, but only for a moment. Both sides will want you dead, and will see it happen easily. All it takes is an arrow or spell, from either side. The victor can claim whatever they want, but so long as either group can claim it was an accident, the soldiers will believe it and more importantly, you will be dead. As will we all.”

Geneva stared Xalandrass in the eye, and then nodded.

“I accept that risk. I’m willing to die if you can escape. If I go out, I can at least buy you a few minutes maybe. Enough time for you to get clear of the worst of the fighting…”

“Unacceptable.”

Calectus interrupted. She leaned forwards, glaring at Geneva.

“You are my ward, Geneva. I cannot allow you to throw your life away.”

“What choice do we have, Calectus?”

Quallet cleared his throat.

“If we were to put up a white flag—it wouldn’t stop them from attacking, not now, but what if we negotiated? Swore an oath not to reveal what we saw—”

“We’d never get them to go through all the trouble of finding a [Mage] to administer the spell to every one of us in the company.”

Exara argued back. Ken looked at Luan, and silently, they left the tent while the others argued. Ken didn’t know what they should do, but he had no useful insights. Neither did Luan, so they went into the camp and tried to find their friends.

Daly was resting with the others. He had a bandage on his neck wound—not from Geneva, but courtesy of Aiko. When Ken asked about who was alive, he looked away.

“Etretta’s gone, Ken. She saved my life. Cold bitch walked in front of a lightning bolt for me. I didn’t get a chance to tell her—tell her—”

He lowered his head. Luan and Ken stared at him. Daly wiped at his eyes, swore, and told Ken where to find some of the others.

Ken found Quexa among the wounded. She wasn’t wounded now of course. Xal’s potions were keeping everyone healthy. But she was too injured to continue fighting.

One of her legs had been cut off.

“Hey Ken. I thought you were dead.”

Quexa smiled at Ken when she saw him approach. He stared down at her, at a loss for words. She glanced at the healed-over stump of her leg and then away. She smiled. Tried to smile. It was fake, but she chattered away as if it were nothing.

“Oh. They cut off my leg. Well, I say they—it was a Centaur. With an axe. And my tail. I’m more upset about my leg than my tail, I mean, I could live without my tail, but my leg—”

The Lizardgirl’s eyes filled with tears. Ken bent down and hugged her. She sobbed and clung to him.

This was war. Not suppression, hauling dead bodies and fighting the undead. This was war, and they were caught in it. Ken thought they would die, and Luan thought so too. After Quexa had cried herself to sleep, Luan found Ken, looking worried.

“They’re still arguing over what to do. It looks like we’ll try to fight our way through after all, but Ken…”

He shook his head. Ken stared at him anxiously. Luan had been unwaveringly brave and responsible, but now he looked like he was at a loss for what to do.

“It’s a mess, Ken. We have too many groups here to trust one another when we try to break out. That Xal guy, the Naga—he looks like he’ll make a break for it when the fighting starts. And Calectus is only concerned about Geneva. As for Quallet and Exara, how do we know either one won’t split or try to cut a deal with either side?”

Ken didn’t know. He remembered Quallet when he’d asked if the [Captain] had given up the Americans to the Dullahans. And Exara was a Centaur. Did that mean anything?

Someone strode out of the tent, amid the arguing. Ken stood and saw Geneva headed towards them. The [Doctor]’s face was flushed, and she looked angry and helpless.

“They won’t listen. I’ve told them that if we fight, we’ll only make things worse. We’ll become part of the enemy, not neutral! And we need to be neutral. If not—”

She looked at Ken and Luan, and both saw the pain in her eyes. Luan guided Geneva over to the fire. Amazingly, there was food being eaten even with the fighting so close by and occasionally hitting their camp. But people had to keep up their strength. He offered some very dry bread to Geneva as he spoke.

“You’re talking about aid workers, right? Neutral parties?”

Geneva nodded, looking frustrated. Luan nodded too. Ken vaguely understood what they were referring to. There were groups who went into war-torn countries or places where a war was going on. They were on no side and helped victims while trying to remain neutral. It was a good cause and it saved lives. Luan understood, but he did not agree with Geneva.

Médecins Sans Frontières. I know of them too, Geneva. But what they believe in…it’s admirable, but you can’t expect it to apply to things here.”

“I have to believe it. If not, what’s the point of believing in anything? If no one will believe in the rights of victims, in honoring the attempt to aid people—what can be done? Then the only way to resolve anything will be to kill anyone who disagrees with you.”

Geneva’s hand was white on her cup. Luan opened his mouth, and fell silent. Geneva stared past him, towards the battle between the Centaurs and Dullahans.

“Témoignage. That’s a word in French. It means ‘to bear witness’. That’s what Doctors Without Borders believes in. I thought I could be like them, or at the very least, like the Red Cross. So long as I could help—but there’s no one to bear witness to, and even if all I do is help, I’m still a target.”

There was something in her eyes, in her voice. Ken thought he saw hope dying in Geneva’s eyes as she looked at him and Luan.

“What good is neutrality if there is no one to witness it? What’s the use of honor in war—of morality when one side can throw it all away when no one’s watching?”

Neither young man could reply. Geneva got up without a word and left her full cup. She marched back into the tent and Ken heard her raised voice. After she’d gone, Daly came over. He squatted down, pressing at the bandage Aiko had put on his neck and grimacing.

“I heard what she said. That [Doctor]—Geneva, right? She’s the right sort.”

Ken and Luan nodded. Daly paused.

“Trouble is, she’s wrong about this. There’s no reasoning with those bastards out there. Who cares if we bear witness? What good will it do?”

He lifted Geneva’s cup to his mouth and drank it all down. Then Daly tossed the cup aside and grimaced.

“The world is watching. Isn’t that what they say every time shit happens? Back in our world, I mean. The world is watching. Well, I guess that makes everything alright, don’t it? Sure makes me feel better, and I’m sure the poor bastards getting shot feel better too, knowing that.”

He was right and wrong at the same time. Ken felt that. He thought Geneva was right, but at the same time, he knew Xalandrass and the others were correct as well. He spoke, letting his thoughts out one bubble at a time.

“I think the soldiers do believe in Geneva, Daly-san. Daly. If they saw her, they would stop fighting. However, the leaders of both sides will kill her. And then blame the other side for doing it.”

“Yeah, that’s the issue. I’ve heard soldiers speaking of the Last Light. They think she’s as close to a goddess as anything—although they believe in gods. But what can we do? If we surround her with soldiers, she’s a target just waiting for a [Fireball] spell. How can you stop her from being a target and still tell everyone she’s here?”

Daly shook his head. Ken stared at the cooking fire, and then at the tent. A target. That was the problem. If only both sides knew what was going on, but how could you tell them? Soldiers believed what their commanders told them—who’d listen to someone from the other side, or someone they didn’t know? You had to show everyone the truth, but how could you do that in a war?

At the head of the camp, Ken saw the company banner. The flag of Gravetender’s Fist soared above Quallet’s tent, shining though there was no sun on it. Why was that?

Oh, right. It had a spell on it to shine in the darkness. So that when everyone was working, people would see the flag and know the company was neutral. That was how it worked.

That was how it was supposed to work. The suppression companies were in the middle of the battlefield, a target for all sides, yet not a target.

A target yet not a target. Ken thought he was on the verge of something. He got up and walked over to the flag, studied it.

“Ken?”

Luan was on his feet. He approached Ken.

“What are you thinking, mate? Something on your mind?”

“Maybe.”

Ken took the flag. It glowed in the half-light of the tree’s shadows, a bright light. Something to identify the Gravetender’s Fist company. To keep them safe. They were safe because they were noticed.

He turned to Luan and Daly, the banner in his hands. Ken lifted it, and saw how both young men stared at it. There. Both of them were looking at the same thing. What if you did that for everyone? Was there a way? He remembered something Xalandrass had said he had in his inventory.

“I think I have an idea, friends. I know how Geneva can go out without being a target.”

“Really? How?”

Daly stared at Ken, and then at the flag.

“Are we going to send a message to one side then? Both?”

“No.”

Ken shook his head as he handed the flag to Daly, and then strode into the tent. He turned to the two of them, smiling.

“We will tell them Geneva is here. We will tell them we are here.”

“Who?”

Luan stared at Ken. Ken grinned.

“Everyone.”

 

—-

 

This was the last battle, the final engagement. The Centaurs and Dullahans were locked in combat, battalions maneuvering and charging into combat across the entire valley. A unit of Dullahans charged across the broken ground, trying to cut off a retreating group of Centaur [Mages]. Two wings of Centaur [Lancers] fell on the Dullahans, and both sides were swept up as a group of Lizardfolk rushed to the Dullahan’s aid.

There was chaos on the ground and in the skies. Arrows and spells flew through the air, making the mages capable of flight stay on the ground. Soldiers watched out for banners to identify friends from foes, but were ready for an attack even from allies. It was chaos.

In this situation, who could spend time looking for a third party? Anyone who took a step into the battle zone would be a target. But it was that very issue Kenjiro Murata thought he could solve.

He stood on the edge of the neutral ground, staring down into the valley. The shortest route away from the fighting was through an area where the fighting was thickest. The fact that the most soldiers were here didn’t bother him; on the contrary, it was better that he did this here, where there were more to listen.

“Here.”

Xalandrass pressed something into Ken’s hand. It was a lovely ring that might have been made of amazonite or a similar stone, inset with beads of clear glass that shimmered with magic. Ken took it and put it on. He didn’t sense a difference, but Xalandrass had assured him this ring was the most powerful one in his collection.

That meant the loudest. Ken took a breath, and looked around. Geneva stood next to Quallet, Exara, and Xalandrass. Behind them, the collective forces of Gravetender’s Fist, Rot’s Bane, the remains of Untimely Demise, Xalandrass’ guards, Calectus, Luan, and Aiko, were all waiting. They were all staring at him.

Ken had taken too deep a breath. He released it, took another shaky one, and then felt a hand on his back. Geneva stared into Ken’s eyes. Without a word, she nodded.

She trusted him. Ken felt calmer. He took a third breath, and then shouted.

“Ah. Hello? Excuse me!”

The words weren’t thunder. They were more like an earthquake, an avalanche, a blasting thousand-man-band’s worth of noise that cracked over the loudest explosion and roar of the battle below.

Xalandrass’ magical rings to amplify the voice were of the highest quality. Ken’s words made every soldier look up at him as a new target. Instantly, Ken saw archers taking aim, commanders, pointing, so he spoke.

“Please! Do not attack! We are not your enemy!”

A brief hesitation. Ken could see confusion on some faces. Who would fall for a lie like that? Who would be so brazen, so stupid?

Ken would. He motioned quickly and Geneva stepped forwards. Every eye focused on her, and Ken heard some cries of recognition.

“This is Geneva Scala, the [Doctor] known as the Last Light! Her camp was attacked—”

A roar went up. Ken spoke over it.

“By both sides.

Silence. Ken looked at Quallet. The man was pale-faced, but he remembered what to do and stepped forwards with Exara and Xalandrass. Ken pointed to all of them in turn. He had the battlefield’s attention, for the simple fact that he was loud and the soldiers believed in Geneva.

“This is [Captain] Qualass of Gravetender’s Fist and [Captain] Exara of Rot’s Bane! They are both suppression companies, and this is Xalandrass, a [Merchant]! They are all neutral parties in this conflict!”

By the end of that statement, Ken’s own ears were ringing. He could see Xalandrass wincing, as were the people around him. But Ken’s words had had an effect. Soldiers were staring at the captains and Xalandrass, all groups they knew were neutral in any war. Ken’s next words were simple, direct.

“We are leaving. If you attack, we will fight back. But we will not attack you. Please, do not kill us.”

That was all. He took the ring from his finger and put it in his pocket.

Both sides were staring up at Geneva and the others. The frenzy of movement below had become an oasis of inaction. But it couldn’t last. They had to move.

Ken looked at Quallet, Exara, Xalandrass—none of them seemed able to take the first step. Then Geneva moved. She made a sound like a sigh or a prayer and slowly began to descend into the valley.

The others followed. Quallet slowly walked down, axe at his side, looking warily at the soldiers closest to him. Ken followed, unarmed, heart beating out of his chest. Slowly, the rest of Gravetender’s Fist, the other soldiers, weapons sheathed, walked with him.

A sea of bodies were between them and safety. Ken’s heart felt like it would burst as Geneva slowly walked towards a group of Lizardfolk, bloody, spears held uncertainly. She was just staring at them. They stared at her.

They recognized her. How could they not? They might not have ever seen Geneva’s face themselves, but how many soldiers had they met who could describe the woman who’d saved them? And Ken had said it.

She was the [Doctor]. Would they kill her? She was unarmed. They were all neutral parties. And the soldiers stood, knowing that every single one of them had seen this. Would anyone dare attack them? How could they?

Everyone here was a witness.

Slowly, the ranks of soldiers parted. They stood aside, some stumbling back. Others dragged the wounded away. And the wounded did cry out for Geneva. She looked at them, face pale, and slowly shook her head. There was infinite regret in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She stared at the people she could not save.

Ken stared at the commanders. They would be the ones to order the attack. Some were shouting, their voices dim and muted in the silence. Others fought towards Geneva, but were held back. One raised a staff glowing with magic and was dragged from his saddle by his men.

They were a quarter of the way across the battlefield when it happened. Ken heard a group of Centaurs galloping, and suddenly the Dullahan’s side was ready to fight. He turned, about to put the ring on and shout, when he saw a group of Centaurs race out of the sea of bodies and slow to a stop. They flanked Geneva on her left, and Ken saw a female Centaur with a bow and a male Centaur he thought he recognized leading them. The female Centaur, a [Captain], shouted.

“Centaurs! You are to refrain from attacking at all costs. Any fool who disobeys I will personally shoot!”

Her voice rang out and the Centaurs around her put an arrow to their bows. Their tips gleamed with magic. Evercut arrows.

The words weren’t just for the people around her. The [Captain] was staring towards the skies, and Ken saw a shape that had been flying down out of a cloud fly back. Zalthia waved at Geneva from above as she reversed direction. Ken’s heart began to beat again. It stopped again when he heard the thump. He turned his head and saw a giant Dullahan, a War Walker with a huge sword advancing on Geneva.

The Centaur group backed up and looked ready to loose, but the War Walker began walking on Geneva’s right. The Dullahan head controlling the massive [Behemoth]’s body was deep and huge, as if his entire frame was a megaphone for his words.

I am Bastiom. I will cut apart anyone who attacks the [Doctor] or her company.

More Dullahans joined him. Now there was a stream of bodies, protecting Geneva as she led the small company across the battlefield. Ken stared. He recognized some of the people in the crowd. He had saved the Dullahan who walked on his right, shield raised towards his own side.

They walked on. Ken found himself walking faster, and then he was listening to Geneva. She spoke quietly with Luan, no longer at the head of the group. There was no need. The message was spreading.

“What can we do? They’ll kill each other when we’re gone.”

Luan was looking at both sides, shaking his head as he spoke to Geneva. Ken heard her low reply.

“We bear witness. That’s all we can do.”

They passed from the valley. Up ahead, the groups of soldiers were lessening. They were going to survive. Part of Ken didn’t believe it. Another part…another part wished the same could be true for the soldiers. He hoped that maybe, after they had left, the silence would continue. Perhaps the soldiers would put down their weapons, talk?

It couldn’t happen. Behind him, Ken could see some commanders moving their forces and soldiers bracing and drinking potions. The fighting would continue. This was only a brief interlude. Peace was a pipe dream.

But it was a dream Ken could believe in. And at that moment, he saw the same hope, the same faith, in Luan and Geneva’s eyes.

Luan stared at Geneva. She seemed lost, looking around, staring at her hands. She looked up at him.

“I don’t know what I’ll do after this. I can’t keep going back to the battlefield, but I don’t know…I don’t know what I should do after this.”

The tall South African man blinked at her for a moment, and then smiled. He looked thoughtfully at Geneva, and then at the sky.

“You know, I heard once that aid workers in conflict zones served for…let’s say a month. But after that, they were forced to take a vacation. In order to stay sane, yeah?”

“What’s your point?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to speak to her. Ahead, the forest opened up and a trail appeared. Quallet ordered the company to march faster as both Centaurs and Dullahans broke away, heading back towards the battlefield.

“You’ve been through too many battles, Geneva. Rest for a while. There’s good you can do away from the fighting. And we need you.”

She paused. Geneva closed her eyes, looked at Luan, Ken, and at Aiko and the others. She looked at the Humans from her world and then at her hands. Then she nodded.

“Okay.”

The word was all it took. Behind them, the young Japanese man known as Kenjiro Murata finally began to believe they would live. Ken stared up at the sky, filled with smoke, but incredibly blue.

Behind him, he heard a shout, and then a thump. He turned, and saw a plume of smoke rising. War. His spirits sank. Quallet had heard and ordered everyone to pick up the pace, now!

They marched on. Ken found himself trailing behind. He couldn’t help but stare up at the sky. He wondered…if there really was a safe place in the world. He couldn’t imagine it, surrounded by death and violence on all sides.

“Ken?”

He looked down. Geneva and Luan had slowed to wait for him. Aiko, helping Quexa move, had turned. Daly was waving at him. Ken realized he was standing still, staring as the group marched ahead.

Luan and Geneva walked back. Luan held out a hand and smiled at Ken.

“Let’s go.”

Ken stared at the hand. He stared at Geneva, and saw something on her face. It was faint, awkward, and full of regrets and sadness. But if you got past that, it looked almost like a smile.

He hesitated, and then took Luan’s hand, leaving the war behind. He went marching away, looking for an answer to his question.

 

—-

 

A week later, Ken found it. It wasn’t in words, and it didn’t come from a person. It was a slow realization that culminated in a moment where he sat on a white beach, staring out into the ocean.

In the days after they’d fled the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company, Quallet had taken charge. His only goal was to get them away from the fighting in case either company sent a force after them. They did not, whether because they were still locked in combat or thought it would be futile, Ken didn’t know.

But soon, as the danger became further and further away, the group began to splinter and think of their own needs. Exara was the first to leave with her company, and a good deal of the soldiers in Gravetender’s Fist left with their pay—doubled for combat duty—and drifted away at each passing village and town.

But some continued onwards. A good core of Gravetender’s Fist, some of Ulviel’s forces, and Xalandrass went on with the Humans from the other world. The [Merchant] was sick of combat, and he promised that if they travelled with him as protection, he’d take them to a lovely place where they could rest, safe and away from any danger.

Xalandrass was as good as his word, and the protection of a war vendor meant that the weary company could travel east, taking the main roads until they reached one of the island port-towns. This one was a small haven, not troubled by conflict.

It had a beach. And what a beach it was! Ken had never been to Hawaii, one of the Japanese tourist’s must-visit locations, but he’d heard tell of their amazingly scenic beaches. He thought, with no little amount of satisfaction, that Hawaii tourists would have given their left earlobes (and a lot of money) to visit this beach.

It was pristine, untouched by pollution, industrialization, or most other things that had ‘-tion’ in the word. The community of mainly Lizardfolk that lived by the beaches and fished for a living were only too happy to take the gold that Geneva had been bribed with and feasted the Humans and other soldiers when they arrived.

Now, Ken was on the beach, watching people play. He was not in the water. Instead, he was sipping from a very pleasant, fruit drink and watching Luan race across the water in a canoe.

The South African man was at home on the water. He’d found that the Lizardfolk used a similar device to a canoe and within the first hour had set about customizing one of their boats to his specifications. Now he was racing the Lizardfolk, most of whom were only too happy to teach an uppity Human a lesson on watercraft.

They had the shock of their lives. So did the other Humans, and Ken, honestly. He’d watched the Olympics, but he’d skipped over the rowing sections, and it was something else to see an athlete row in real life. Luan’s craft skimmed across the water, impossibly fast, and Ken saw a group of Humans and other races on the beach, screaming at him as the Lizardfolk wallowed in the water behind him.

“Go! Go you insane bastard!

Daly was screaming and chasing after a Lizardman who’d bet gold that Luan could never out-row one of his kind. Quexa was laughing and balancing on the simple prosthetic leg that Geneva had helped design, and Aiko was watching Luan, a flower hidden behind her back.

She was going to confess to Luan today. Ken had mixed feelings about that and let his gaze wander back to Luan. He was circling a small outcropping of rocks and coming back, his paddles smoothly cutting through the water. He really was incredible.

Ken was glad he’d been allowed to see Luan row. He looked up as the race concluded, and saw Geneva approaching. The [Doctor] wasn’t smiling, but neither did she look particularly upset. She just had to work on smiling. It had to be surprised out of her, but it was happening more and more of late. She sat next to Ken, and looked at Luan rowing.

“It’s a lovely place, isn’t it? There’s a girl from Ecuador and she tells me the beaches here are better than her home. Daly and the others say Australia has nothing like it either.”

Ken nodded. He felt at the sand, looked at the water, the greenery. It was a tropical paradise in every sense of the word. It made you almost forget about the violence further inland. Almost.

“There are grander places in Baleros, you know. Xal was telling me about it. There’s so much beauty here. Beaches like this one that can stretch for a hundred miles in every direction, open fields that are filled with grass and edible plants…you can almost understand why everyone’s fighting over all of it.”

Ken nodded again. Geneva stared out across the ocean.

“I made a mistake, Ken. I shouldn’t have tried to work and stay neutral on each battlefield. I was just painting a target on my back. Okasha’s right. Things aren’t the same here.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Okasha tried to speak, but Geneva rode over her.

“There is no Geneva Convention here. There’s only me. I can’t rely on the goodwill of another company, or their morality or honor. I know that now.”

She fell silent. Ken thought to himself and spoke slowly.

“I think…it is good you know that. But Geneva, I think you were right to do what you did. I admired you. So did everyone else. If you had not done what you did, we would have died there.”

“Perhaps.”

The two sat in silence for a long time. They saw Luan trudging towards them as the sun began to fall. He was covered in water, and smiling.

“Hey Ken.”

“Luan.”

Ken stared at Luan, but Aiko wasn’t with him. He opened his mouth, closed it tactfully. Luan saw and smiled. He rubbed at his hair and sat.

“Aiko confessed to me a few minutes ago. I broke her heart. I feel bad about it, Ken, mate, I really do. But I had no choice.”

“Why?”

Did he not like Aiko? Luan smiled ruefully, and looked at his hands.

“Simple. I’m already married.”

Ken stared. Geneva blinked. Luan looked at them and waggled his hands at them. They were dark, but now that Ken looked closely, he could see a band of lighter skin around Luan’s ring finger.

“I don’t wear a ring when I’m in the water. Or travel and paddle. I might lose it or it could get stolen. I normally leave it at home, in a box on my dresser. Funny, I never thought I’d miss an object that much.”

“Do you have a child?”

Geneva looked at Luan. Ken was still grappling with him being married. Luan nodded. His smile faded.

“One year and five months old. I tried not to think about him, or her. Too busy surviving to worry and get distracted, you know? Now…I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.”

The three sat in silence for a while. Below, the people on the beach began to set up a bonfire and food was soon being devoured below. Ken wondered how much gold Geneva had left. Quallet had contributed his share of funds and Xalandrass had left them with some gold as thanks, but they couldn’t do this forever.

The others must have had the same thought. Aiko returned to the group, red-eyed. She didn’t mention what had gone on, and Luan and Ken and Geneva treated her like normal. They talked of mundane things, of hopes for the future.

“You know, Aiko’s been drawing some pictures. Geneva was working with her on it. Aiko made some manga-like drawings depicting hygiene, how to bandage a wound—you know? Practical stuff for everyone. I think we might be able to sell it as a book or something.”

Luan was telling Ken that as they sat around a fire, nibbling at roasted fish on a stick, seasoned with salt and some kind of hot pepper. Ken nodded.

“Do you know what Captain Quallet is going to do?”

The [Mercenary Captain] had had his fill of leading a suppression company. He’d been drifting around the port, looking grumpy and aimless. Luan grinned.

“I had a thought. We’re all sticking together, us Humans from another world. Why not invite him to lead us as a company?”

“A company?”

The idea surprised Geneva and Aiko, but not Ken. He’d heard Luan speaking with the others about it. Luan nodded.

“We don’t have to fight. We can earn money—but there are advantages to being in a company. It means we pool resources, we support each other. We need that. And who knows? Maybe we can find the others who drifted off on the first day. Maybe some of the Americans made it.”

“Maybe.”

Ken thought about being a company. Geneva had been speaking about teaching some people to do surgery, or at least tell people how to keep themselves clean and manage disease. People needed a [Doctor] outside of war, even with healing potions. If she could do that, what could everyone else do?

Daly leaned forwards and flicked a bit of bone into the fire. He’d joined them for dinner, although he was usually fussing about Quexa. He’d been looking out for her ever since they’d left the battlefield, and it had been he who’d carved the prosthesis she was using.

That was another thing. Geneva’s knowledge of medical prosthesis was heads and shoulders above the crude stumps and peg legs that people here used. Everything from penicillin to blood transfusions would revolutionize this world, and all she needed was time, coin, and the people with the right skills or Skills to help her. That was what she could do. Ken wasn’t sure what he could do.

He was a Level 18 [Negotiator] now. His leveling had been meteoric that first night he’d slept and it seemed like this was what he wanted to do. Luan was convinced his rowing abilities could be put to use as a [Scout], or a Runner delivering messages. And Daly?

He was a [Warrior]. Not just a [Warrior], but an [Axe Fighter]. He still believed what he’d told Ken. There were times to run and times to fight. Whatever the others did, he and some of the other Humans who’d been in Gravetender’s Fist would be there to protect them. Now he leaned back, chewing and spoke thoughtfully.

“You know, the Red Cross company isn’t a bad name. But it doesn’t have the right ring to it, especially if we’re going to be fighting. That’s why I was thinking Geneva could have her company, and we’ll make our own.”

The others looked at him. Ken’s heart sank.

“But if you are in another company Daly, won’t we separate?”

“Yeah. There’s that. But we’re not Red Cross. We might fight, or take guard jobs. I don’t think Geneva’s willing to call us Red Cross, and I wouldn’t like that either.”

Geneva nodded quietly. Besides Okasha, several other Selphids had appeared one day, and Calectus was still sticking around. They wanted something from her, and Ken sometimes worried what it was.

“But we shouldn’t form different companies. Or if we do—we should all be part of one larger company. We’re on the same side. Ken showed us that. We have to work together. All of us.”

Luan was speaking, and Daly was nodding and spreading his hands wide, not disagreeing, but not having an answer he could give. To Ken’s surprise, Geneva smiled, and because that was rare and special, everyone looked at her.

“You know, I think we have something like that. Back in our world.”

It took Luan a moment to catch on to what she was saying, Aiko five seconds, Daly six, and Ken had to have Aiko whisper the answer to him before his face lit up. The others instantly agreed that it was a good idea. They were talking about having Quallet join to help them out as a paid leader when Daly frowned, looking worried.

“What about Lizardfolk? Dullahans? Centaurs? Selphids? And other races, are we going to let them all in?”

“Why not?”

Luan laughed and nudged Daly. The Australian man looked covertly at Quexa and she waved at him and told everyone that he kept staring at her. He laughed and that was that.

Everyone was better than no one. Ken realized their new company would have all kinds of people in it. People like Aiko, who had talents that could be used outside of fighting, people like Geneva, who were useful wherever they went. There would be fighters like Daly who could do what was needed, and peerless people like Luan who had one skill they could do better than anyone else.

And then there was Ken. He’d help them all get along. That was his calling, and that was what made him happy. He liked understanding people, and he believed in people. That wasn’t always easy.

It was now. Ken found a cup and raised it. He’d explained how to toast in Japanese, and now the others raised their cups, shells, or in Daly’s case, tankard, with him. They didn’t shout ‘乾杯’, though. Instead, they looked at each other and smiled.

“Together?”

Luan looked at Ken. Ken grinned and looked at Aiko. She blinked, glanced at Daly, and then looked at Geneva. Two souls looked out from her eyes, and Geneva smiled again.

“Together.”

 

—-

 

A little while later, an angry Fraerling paced back and forth on his desk, reading the reports that were written on pages as tall as he was. Niers Astoragon was not in a good mood, and the reason for that was the chessboard behind him.

It was ghostly, the pieces magical. They had been set up in the middle of a game and they had stayed in that same place for…what? Months? Years?

Probably just a month. But that was too much. Niers glanced at a letter with gold-rimmed edges. He studied a map of Izril. He kicked over a tiny cup of wine and grudgingly read the latest report before the wine made the ink illegible.

It was a general report of the newest companies, the recent events in one corner of Baleros. A [Strategist] had to know how the winds were blowing as well as rumor and gossip in order to do his job. Well, some strategists could just wing it and did better ignorant than they did well-informed, but Niers preferred knowledge to idiocy.

He sighed as he studied the outcome of the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company.

“Fools, all of them.”

There was no return for either company. Their reputations were ruined, and they had destroyed themselves fighting over a valley that was practically unusable now. Neither side would back down and so everyone lost. Typical of Centaurs and Dullahans, really.

Something caught his eye as Niers absently paged through the report. This was about a new company that had declared itself. That wasn’t in itself noteworthy; new companies could come and go in the drop of a hat. Three drunken idiots could call themselves a company, so his [Spies] and [Informants] had to sift carefully through all the rumors and declarations to pick out companies that might actually be noteworthy.

There was little special to recommend this one, which was why it was just a few lines in the report. It had a few sub-companies, listed with less than a hundred members in each. That was also normal, but it was the name of the entire overall company that caught Niers’ eye because it was so audacious.

What a name. Who would come up with it, in Baleros of all places? But there it sat, glaring up at Niers. A declaration to the world. A statement of intent, or what the company represented? He had no idea. Niers stared down at the name written in ink.

The United Nations.

That was it. No appellation marking them as a company. No declared ties marking them as a part of a larger company or affiliated with another group. They had a strong connection with a local Naga war vendor…and several of their members were former undead suppression company members. One of them, Quallet Marshhand, was an individual of some skill.

But nothing more.

United. It was a word Niers had dreamed of, had spoken to the other Great Companies of Baleros about. It was a hope for this continent, for a world, that Magnolia had tempted him with. But it was an empty dream.

Yet someone had the same one. Niers glanced at the name and memorized it, just in case. Then he flipped the page and kept reading. He had a job to do. Every now and then, Niers would glance at the chessboard’s pieces that had not moved and look away.

There was something curious about Niers after the report. He was still in a bad mood, but as he filed the report away he had a curious sensation. It was a subtle feeling, but he had trained himself not to ignore his instincts. Something cried out to him as he opened the report and stared down at the name in ink.

Yes, he could feel it. It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t chance. This was only the start. And everything he had witnessed, all the little pieces, they were falling into place. Something was happening.

The world was beginning to move again. Behind Niers, on the chessboard, a piece slowly slid forwards and stopped.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.18

In the hour after she woke up, Erin learned much of screaming. More specifically, of being screamed at. It wasn’t a pleasant experience at the best of times, even if you liked the person who was screaming at you.

And Erin did not like Miss Agnes. Not anymore. For that matter, she didn’t much like Maran or Safry, and she deeply regretted hiring them. Unfortunately, regrets meant little at this point.

“—thieving monster! You stole my best workers, my business—I shouldn’t be surprised if I found you stole money from me as well! When I, out of the goodness of my heart, let you work in my inn, I never expected—”

“Shut up, Miss Agnes.”

How dare you!

The angry [Innkeeper] and owner of the Frenzied Hare shrieked as Erin glared at her. She was spitting as she yelled, and Erin had had enough. It had been two minutes since she had stormed into Erin’s inn and begun yelling—her and two other older Humans, one a man in his late forties, the other a woman who was as old as Miss Agnes, but had aged far better.

Erin glanced at them as Agnes drew breath for another tirade. She waved away Lyonette and Ishkr who were hovering about and walked out of spit-range as Miss Agnes began to shout.

“Don’t you dare turn away from me, you—you brazen hussy! You ingrate! I should be calling the Watch on you! I said to come back! Do you hear me!? Do you—”

She really needed better insults. Erin had heard Ryoka say a lot worse than ‘brazen hussy’ when she stubbed her toe. She walked into the kitchen as Miss Agnes shouted. The older [Innkeeper] stormed after Erin—

And backed away fast as Erin walked out of the kitchen with a knife and a frying pan. The other man and woman stood up as Erin calmly stared at Miss Agnes, who’d gone white. In the refreshing silence, someone coughed.

“Need a hand, Erin?”

“No, I’m fine, Ceria. Sorry about the noise everyone. Ishkr, Lyonette, just keep serving food. I’ll handle this.”

She waved at the Horns of Hammerad and addressed the room. The Gold-rank adventurers who’d been trying to enjoy their breakfast in peace, as well as Erin’s staff got back to work. Most of them kept staring, though. Pisces was already taking bets from Jelaqua and Typhenous on whether it would come to a fight.

“It’s never boring here. Never. I could eat and watch this all day if I wasn’t worried my body’s stomach would explode.”

Erin ignored the Selphid’s comment as she slowly pursued Miss Agnes back to the table. The man who’d come in with her, a guy with a bushy red beard and his fair share of wrinkles, coughed delicately.

“Miss Agnes, I believe you’ve upset, ah, Miss Solstice is it? Why don’t we start again. Miss Solstice, please, there’s no need for violence.”

“There’s no need for shouting, either. How about a deal? You shout and I’ll poke. Now, what’s this about?”

Erin deliberately put the knife and pan on the table as she sat back down. The other two stared at her as Agnes edged her chair back towards them. The woman’s face was dead white. All bark and no bite, Erin guessed.

It was the other woman who coughed delicately.

“Miss Solstice—”

“My first name is Erin.”

“Miss Erin, then. I fear we’ve gotten off to a bad start.”

The woman gave her a charming smile. She had a few streaks of grey running through her long brown hair, but she was still in good shape. She had a very nice smile, and a friendly air that made Erin want to relax around her. However, because that put Erin in mind of Lady Magnolia’s sweet words, the effect of the Skill was severely diluted. Erin crossed her arms.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The smile faltered. The woman exchanged a glance with the man. He stood up and offered Erin a callused hand.

“Timbor Parithad, at your service, Miss Erin. My apologies for Agnes. I am the owner of the Drunken Swordsman, one of the finest inns in Celum.”

The Drunken Swordsman? Erin vaguely recalled hearing about the inn, but she’d never been inside. Erin shook Timbor’s hand. The woman sitting next to him smiled again, without the Skill.

“Ulia Ovena. I’m an [Innkeeper] as well. I run Blazehound, an inn just off of the main street. We cater to adventurers—we’re more like a bar than an inn, to be honest.”

“Hi. I’m Erin. What are you doing in my inn?”

The [Innkeepers] exchanged a glance. Timbor coughed, and looked at Agnes, but the woman stared at him as if, after shouting and threatening Erin, her role was at an end. He turned and smiled at Erin.

“Miss Erin, I’m afraid we’re here about the unpleasant business revolving around Miss Agnes’ inn and yours. We heard that another [Innkeeper] had been helping to manage the Frenzied Hare of course, and then there was that commotion around the magic door the Horns of Hammerad brought to the city…well, we knew there was an inn here, but we hadn’t introduced ourselves properly before, well, as we understand it, there were a few disputes between Miss Agnes’ inn and yours. We’re here to discuss the matter, as it were.”

“Yeah?”

Erin raised her eyebrows. The longwinded speech had done little to make her feel happier about the other [Innkeepers] being here. She hadn’t had breakfast yet. Timbor’s smile wavered. Ulia took over without missing a beat. She had a pleasant voice, too. Charming voice, nice looks, great smile…was all that from her Skills?

“Miss Agnes has told us a few things, Miss Erin. She believes you brought some business to her inn and then took it away. These ah, [Actors] that have put on those marvelous plays in Celum—”

“Fascinating stuff. Had to see one myself. Hamlet. What a stunning performance. I had no idea that Watch Captain could perform like that.”

Timor coughed as Ulia glared at him. The female innkeeper continued.

“Yes, well, Miss Agnes seems to think that you stole her business, since the group mostly eats at your inn and they perform elsewhere now. And then of course, there’s the matter of Safry and Maran. You ah, stole them from Miss Agnes—”

“I hired them. They wanted to work in my inn.”

“Yes…but then you fired them. Not three days after they’d begun working. We’ve spoken with both young women and they’re quite upset.”

Erin shrugged. Her face was stony.

“They were terrible workers.”

“How dare you.”

Miss Agnes glared at Erin, rage overcoming fear for a moment. She pointed a trembling finger at Erin.

“They were my best workers! My only workers! And you took them and then threw them away! For a Gnoll and a Drake? How dare you? How dare—

Timor dragged Miss Agnes down into her seat as she tried to stand up. He smiled weakly at Erin.

“We’re here on their behalf, Miss Erin. We, that is to say, the innkeepers of Celum, feel there’s been a bit of a miscarriage of justice, and we’d like to sort all this out without getting the law involved.”

So that’s what it was. Erin stared from face to face.

“The innkeepers? You mean, you’re representing all the innkeepers in Celum? What, are you some sort of Guild? The Innkeeper’s Guild?”

Ulia smiled as Timor snorted.

“Not a Guild, Miss Erin. An association.”

Erin stared. She could do a blank stare incredibly well, and, what most people didn’t know, she could do it even when she knew what was going on. Sometimes she did it just to annoy Ryoka or Pisces. In this case, Erin knew what Ulia meant, but she bought time as the woman explained it to her in order to think.

An association was different from a Guild. Formal Guilds like the Runner’s Guild, Merchant’s Guild, Adventurer’s Guild, and so on had wide-ranging networks that spread across continents. There was an Adventurer’s Guild in most cities, and if the ones in Izril were distinct from how Terandrian Guilds did their business, they were all based around the same idea.

However, associations were just that. No one was going to join the Innkeeper’s Guild because that sounded stupid and [Innkeepers] and [Barmaids] had better things to do. A Guild was a lot of work to maintain and there was no point to having one. But in a city, all the [Innkeepers] would still know of each other and support each other if they had a good relationship. It was like how Krshia had a network of [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] in Liscor she could direct business to and get help from.

An association could be a very powerful thing. Or a pain in the ass. The not-quite-smiling [Innkeepers] sitting in front of her were clearly hinting that they could be one or the other, and yet they still failed to intimidate Erin.

A few weeks ago, Erin had dealt with annoying Frost Faeries who could bury her inn in ice if she annoyed them. As far as she was concerned, the association of Celum’s [Innkeepers] weren’t half as annoying as a single faerie.

“So that’s where the matter rests, Miss Erin. If the [Barmaids] weren’t to your satisfaction, well, it’s still unfair to Miss Agnes to take her help, and to them. They’re jobless now, and of course they can’t go back to the Frenzied Hare. But I’ve had a chat with some of the others and Timor’s agreed to put them in his inn and trade Miss Agnes a few of his workers. So that’s settled. However, this issue of taking workers and business…”

They were threatening her. Before she’d had her poached eggs and cheese sauce on toasted bread. Erin had worked hard on that breakfast—yesterday. Lyonette had warmed it up and it was lovely and hot. It was getting cold. Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“I gave Miss Agnes that business. I helped the [Actors]. They’re not her clients. Her inn’s too small to do a proper play in, anyways. And Maran and Safry were lazy, cowardly, and huge jerks. They wanted to join my inn, and that was because I was willing to pay more than Miss Agnes.”

“You can’t just—”

Agnes shut up as Ulia gave her a warning glance. Ulia smiled apologetically at Erin and spread her hands on the table.

“Miss Erin—may I call you Erin?”

“No.”

“Ah. Miss Erin, then. We’ve been [Innkeepers] for many years. As many years as you’ve been alive, I’ll wager. And while we in Celum understand competition is healthy, there’s a lot to be said for working together. If everyone was fighting over patrons and stealing each other’s best workers, well, things could get nasty. That’s why our, ah, association works together. What would you call a system where everyone was at each other’s throats, fighting for customers? Anarchy?”

“How about a free market?”

Ryoka was passing by the table. She waved at Erin and pointed to the poached egg on her plate.

“Good stuff. I’m going out with Ivolethe. You got things here? Want me to get Klbkch?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Erin’s stomach growled loudly as the [Innkeepers] stared at Ryoka. Their eyes found the floating Frost Faerie as she carried another wobbly poached egg through the air. Erin had no idea what that must have looked like. She took a breath and the three innkeepers looked back at her.

“I’m not paying Miss Agnes anything for anything. And I’m not saying sorry. And I’m not paying Maran and Safry either.”

“Miss Erin—let’s be reasonable here. A dispute with the innkeepers of Celum is not—what would happen if we started fighting? Would you like us to take your guests? What about your workers?”

Ulia was trying to negotiate. She’d hinted quite unsubtly that a few gold pieces could smooth everything over. Erin wasn’t having it. She had an upset feeling in her stomach now, and not just from the lack of food.

“No.”

“Your guests—”

Erin turned in her seat. The Gold-rank adventurers were filing out of the inn, but she had a few Drakes and Gnolls who’d braved the chill to be here in the morning. Some guests from Celum, too. Erin waved at them.

“Go ahead. Steal my clientele. If you’ve all got magic doors leading to Liscor, go on and have them go through. But Drakes and Gnolls don’t like most Human places. They only go into Celum to look for better prices. I don’t think they want to stay at a Human inn. And try hiring my workers, too. Drassi and Ishkr. I’m sure they’d love walking a hundred miles to Celum every day rather than work at my inn.”

She glared at the [Innkeepers]. They glared back, all pretenses of joviality forgotten. Timor coughed deeply and growled.

“Listen here, you brat. We’re experienced innkeepers who know a lot more about this business than some upstart. I suggest you make things right now, rather than see what happens if you decide to make this a real issue. I’m a Level 24 [Innkeeper], Ulia’s a Level 27 [Innkeeper] and—”

I’m a Level 30 [Magical Innkeeper].”

Timor choked on his words. Erin stared at him, and at Ulia’s suddenly pale face. She stood up and grabbed the knife.

“You want to threaten me? In my own inn?

For a second Erin thought about using her [Inn’s Aura] skill to scare them, but then she spotted someone walking in the front door. She waved him over and then pointed to Pisces as he went back for a sixth egg.

“That’s Pisces. He’s a [Necromancer] and one of my guests. He lives in my basement. You want to cause trouble? He’ll pull all the bones out of your body through your nose. You want to hire someone to make trouble? Come meet my security. Bird?”

The Humans turned and Ulia screamed. Agnes and Timor turned pale as Bird, holding a freshly-shot bird stared down at him. The Antinium lifted a hand slowly.

“Hello. I am Bird. I shoot birds.”

Agnes, Ulia, and Timor all stared in horror at Bird, Pisces, and then at Erin. Erin folded her arms and nearly cut herself with the knife.

“Get out.”

They went. Erin sighed as the door leading to Celum slammed shut and waved at Lyonette.

“Eggs! Food! Some for Bird, too!”

Lyonette rushed over, looking apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Erin. Pisces just took the last of them…”

She pointed to the necromancer, who took one look at Erin’s expression and decided to finish his meal outside at speed. Erin flipped over the table she was sitting at.

Aargh!

She spun as the door to Celum opened and threw the knife she was holding. The blade thunked into the wall as Octavia froze in the act of opening it. Erin blinked. She’d thought it was Agnes, coming for one last word. Octavia took one look at the knife lodged in the wall of Erin’s inn, and then closed the door without another word.

After a while, Erin had some cheese sauce on bread while Bird ate the bird he’d shot. Raw. That was how she started her Monday morning.

She assumed it was a Monday. It would have felt so wrong if it were a Thursday.

 

—-

 

Some days Lyonette felt very bad for Erin. It was easier to feel bad, now. In the days since Erin had fired Safry and Maran she’d become a lot more accommodating to hearing suggestions from Lyonette, and had accordingly started treating her like a partner in running the inn, rather than, well, another Toren.

Erin’s job wasn’t easy. Lyonette knew that. Only Erin could make the wonderful meals that kept her guests coming back, and even if she did store the food for days in advance, she still had to cook for a few hours each day to keep ahead of her customer’s large appetites. Especially Moore’s.

Added to that, Erin had to deal with all the big issues, like Miss Agnes and the other [Innkeepers] coming down and trying to extort money or an apology from her. Lyonette had hovered about while the entire tense discussion had taken place, feeling guilty about the whole thing. But Erin had told her it wasn’t her fault and Lyonette had quite liked the part where she kicked them out of her inn.

“Still, it might be trouble down the road so watch yourself if you go into Celum. Uh, I don’t know if they’ll do anything. They might just spread nasty rumors, but you don’t know.”

Lyonette nodded as Erin warned her afterwards, glumly eating her cheesy toast. She left Lyonette to clean up while she tried to persuade Bird to let her cook the goshawk he’d shot—or at least pluck it first.

There weren’t many dishes left to take to the kitchen. Ishkr was extremely good at clearing tables, and he was already happily washing the prodigious stack of plates, bowls, silverware, and cups. Lyonette left him to the idle work since the Gnoll liked it so much and decided to play with Mrsha in the meantime.

Erin had decided that the task of raising Mrsha was just as, if not more important than keeping the inn running. Thus, Lyonette had free reign to do what was needed to keep the Gnoll cub occupied. Sometimes that meant running about after her, playing catch, or just finding her.

She hadn’t left the inn. Lyonette was watchful of that, but Mrsha wasn’t in the common room either. She could be upstairs or in the basement, bugging Ceria or Pisces as they studied their respective spell books.

Lyonette guessed upstairs. Mrsha had been worn out from yesterday’s trip to Garia’s home with Ryoka and she might be taking a nap now. Ryoka hadn’t said much about the experience, but for some reason Mrsha had been leaping around and trying to do handstands the entire time she’d been back.

Maybe she could ask Ryoka about it? Was that being nosy? Lyonette still didn’t know how to talk to the surly Runner girl. Ryoka wasn’t in the inn to ask, anyways. She had gone off to practice ‘jumping around like an idiot and staring at the wind’, which Lyonette took to mean…exactly that.

Now Lyonette ascended the wood staircase, calling out for Mrsha.

“Mrsha? Are you there?”

She heard a faint sound, a clacking noise, that of something connecting with a wooden surface. It was coming from her room. Frowning, Lyonette pushed the door to the room she shared with Ryoka and Mrsha and saw the Gnoll.

“What are you doing there?”

The small Gnoll cub spun guiltily as Lyonette entered the room. Lyonette saw a chessboard sitting in the center of the room, and then blinked as she saw ghostly chess pieces arranging themselves on the board. Mrsha turned as a line of pawns flew into place. She grinned happily and, to Lyonette’s horror, scattered them across the room with a swipe of the paw.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

The white-furred Gnoll blinked innocently up at Lyonette, and then turned eagerly to the board. Lyonette saw the fallen pawns soaring back across the room and falling back into place on the board. It was an eerie sight, but she knew that across the world, somewhere, someone else had picked up the pieces. Mrsha watched a pawn settle into place and poked it.

Instantly, the pawn scooted back. The Gnoll poked it away, and grinned happily as the pawn slid back, with more force this time. She pushed at it again—this time the pawn stayed stubbornly in place. Mrsha heaved and the pawn—and board—went flying.

The Gnoll was randomly shifting pieces around the board or knocking them to the floor and watching them as they soared back up and returned to their original position. She had no idea that this was because someone else had to pick them up, and probably thought it was magic, or some amazing game designed just for her.

However, Lyonette understood the issue and rushed to stop Mrsha from upsetting the board—and the board’s mysterious owner—any further. By the force of which the pieces were being slammed back on the chessboard, Lyonette guessed the other side was getting increasingly angry.

She winced as the last chess pieces were slammed into place. Mrsha squirmed, trying to get to the board to overturn it once more. Lyonette grabbed her, put the upset Gnoll in time-out, and picked up the chess board. She rushed downstairs to tell Erin about it. On the way, Mrsha tripped her. The Gnoll thought it was incredibly amusing to watch the pieces and board right themselves.

Lyonette did not. Mrsha got a spanking, and then she took the board—carefully—down to Erin.

 

—-

 

“Oh no. Oh my god. I—I forgot.

Erin stared in horror at the chess board that Lyonette had brought down from her room. A howling Mrsha ran about the inn as Lyonette chased after her. Erin ignored Mrsha as she tried to appeal to her for sympathy. All of her attention was on the ghostly pieces arranged on the board in front of her.

The pieces were frozen in the middle of a game. Just as they had been when she’d left them. Erin stared at a knight which was threatening her king. She…vaguely remembered that move, the last one her mysterious opponent had made. It had been on the day she’d left with Toren on the sledge. She’d been dreaming of what to do to counter it—probably move her king rather than lose her bishop—when she’d been abducted to Celum.

Now, far later, the board was rearranged exactly as Erin had left it, despite it having been messed up countless times by Mrsha. Her unknown opponent had remembered and restored it each time. They had been waiting. For her.

“How could I?”

There was no way to explain the pain in Erin’s chest. She was a chess player, a maniac who loved the game. She knew her opponent was as well. She—or he—had been waiting for Erin to make the next move. All this time.

It was like leaving someone hanging when you were playing a game of online chess, only a thousand times worse. Erin respected her opponent on the other side of the board. But she’d forgotten about them.

They hadn’t forgotten about her, though. Once Lyonette had finally caught Mrsha and made the Gnoll take a nap, she explained to Erin about finding the board and playing a few games with the mysterious owner herself.

“It was…six games, I think. I did it every now and then, when I didn’t have anything to do. I leveled up, but whoever was on the other side got bored of playing with me, I think. After the last game they reset the board to this. I tried playing—so did Olesm. But once the other player realized we weren’t you, they reset the board to this. Every time.”

“I don’t believe it. They were waiting.”

Erin’s hand trembled as she stared at a piece. She pushed it to one side and it snapped back into place. Lyonette winced, as did Erin. The feeling of the invisible opponent was made clear by the motions of the chess pieces. They were beyond irate. Incensed was probably a better word for their feelings at the moment.

“I put it in my room so no one would take the board or mess with it. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you!”

“No, I understand. I should have remembered. It’s just—I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot. I have so much to do and I—”

Erin stared at the board. She looked at the pieces and whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Would you—would you like to play?”

Lyonette timidly floated the suggestion, but Erin didn’t know. She felt—guilty. As guilty as she’d ever been of anything. She wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness for abandoning the game she loved. But there was no way to do that.

There was only the game. Erin stared at the board. So long. She’d played Go with the others, but this was different. This was chess. The thing she lived and breathed. So what if a computer could beat the world’s best players? So what if there were video games?

This was eternal. Erin’s hand wavered as she took the king piece. She lifted the ethereal chess piece up and slowly placed it in front of the knight. And waited.

Silence. Erin knew her opponent had seen the move. It was a legal one. One of the only legal moves Erin could make, in fact. But did they think it was her?

A minute passed. Then two. Erin grabbed Mrsha as the Gnoll snuck towards the table. The Gnoll blinked up at her.

“Touch the board and you will regret it.”

Erin smiled pleasantly at the Gnoll, without a trace of the anger she’d directed towards Agnes and the others. She loved Mrsha, and Mrsha knew that. The Gnoll cub looked into Erin’s smiling face, turned, and ran yelping up into her room.

The knight on the board moved. Erin’s head snapped back around and she saw the knight slowly shift positions. It moved up, down, and stole one of her pawns.

A good, safe move. But it felt grudging. The other player didn’t think it was her. Erin half-smiled.

“Gotcha.”

She pushed up a bishop and simultaneously threatened a rook and the other player’s queen. Thanks to the knight’s absence it had been possible. That was a trap that Erin had set, oh, about a month ago.

It floored the other player. They probably had seen it coming, but they’d been too upset over Mrsha. Understandably so, but there was no mercy in chess.

This time, the next move came within a minute. Erin saw the queen move to threaten one of her pieces. She still took the rook. Double attacks were there to punish. Then she hunted down the knight, stole the queen, and ended the game in six minutes.

She hadn’t forgotten. Erin cracked her fingers and winced at the pain. The other player hadn’t moved the pieces since Erin had checkmated the king. She thought they might be in shock.

So Erin reached out, turned the board around so she had the black side and reset it. She left the white side as it was. A challenge.

The board reset itself. Pieces flew into place. Then a knight leapt over the pawns heads. Erin smiled and pushed forwards a pawn.

“Erin?”

She turned. Pawn the Antinium was staring at her. He was hovering right over her shoulder. She nearly fell out of her chair.

“Pawn? What are you doing here?”

“I have been here for the last five minutes. As have my Soldiers.”

She turned and saw a group of painted Antinium lined up patiently while Lyonette served them fried fish and honeyed milk. Erin hadn’t heard them come in. She blinked at Pawn and then saw a piece on the board move. She quickly turned back to it.

“Sorry Pawn! I’m uh, playing a game. How are you?”

“I am well. My Soldiers and I are taking a break from combat duty in the Hive. We have slain many monsters and I am showing the new ones around.”

“Really? Cool! Uh…combat duty?”

Erin was distracted. She was pondering her move. Pawn nodded.

“I see you are occupied. You are playing an interesting game already, I note. Belgrade and Anand would both love to see this. As would Olesm, I suspect.”

“Isn’t it good? This is the Tennison Gambit right here. See how they’re gambling their pawn? It comes from the Réti Opening—you know, starting with the knight. Belgrade and Olesm can’t really get their heads around hypermodern strategy yet, although Anand is good at using the wings to dominate, which is why he usually beats Belgrade. I wonder what would happen if I used a reverse Budapest Gambit here? Nah…is that stupid? Hm…”

“I believe this game may take a while. Or the subsequent games will. Lyonette, would you mind if I left my Soldiers here to visit the city?”

Pawn left. Erin was vaguely aware of that, and of a Soldier with yellow spatters of paint on his body sitting and staring at her. At some point Olesm rushed into the inn, screaming.

“I’ve got to write this down for my newsletter! Quick! Anand, let’s set up a board here! And Belgrade—oh. Sorry. Are your wounds fine?”

Erin looked over.

“Hey! You two are hurt! How did that happen?”

Anand and Belgrade paused. Both were covered in some kind of orangeish slime that was covering several cuts. Belgrade clicked his mandible together.

“We were wounded in defense of the Hive. Our worst injuries were healed, however.”

“Lyonette! Get a potion! And Anand, pull a chair up if you want to see. Look at this.”

Erin waved the chess players over and they crowded around. She kept playing as she explained her position.

She lost that game. It was a brutal match where her opponent tried to strip all her pieces away and Erin did the same. It ended fast, and when it was over, Erin slowly rearranged her board.

There was a silence in her mind. A quietus, that overwhelmed the sounds of Olesm chattering and the Soldiers covertly feeding Mrsha scraps of fish when Lyonette wasn’t looking. The last two games had been…a test, Erin felt. She’d caught the other player off-guard and won the first time, and the second they’d played aggressively, at their best. Erin had matched them, though she’d lost.

Now they knew. They knew it was Erin. And as Erin was white, she set the pace.

She picked up a pawn and stared at it. Silence. In the mind, and in her heart. Erin looked at the board. She loved the game. Whatever else changed, she still loved the game. She looked at the pawn. The room full of people, the watchers, all had disappeared. There was only silence. An empty stage. Then, for the first time in what felt like years, Erin began to play.

A simple song. A dance on a chess board only a few feet long. It started out as a quick shuffling of the feet. Pawn to D4. Clearing the throat. Pawn to D5.

Anyone could do the dance. Erin moved Knight to F3, and after a moment of hesitation in which the music skipped around aimlessly, the other side moved. Knight to F6.

Now the tune was picking up. Was there a violin in the orchestra? A cello? A piano began to play.

Bishop to F4. Now Erin could see the dance floor. She began a slow dance, tracing her steps slowly across the floor. The London System. That was the name of today’s jig. But what would her opponent do next?

Hesitation. Erin looked across an empty floor and saw someone move. The Pawn moved to E6. Now they were in unknown territory.

The game shifted. Erin pushed a Pawn forwards. The music rose. Now there was an orchestra. She began a waltz across the floor.

And then? There was music. There was a dance. Her partner came at her across the chess board, flicking pieces towards her, grasping at the center. Erin danced back, sending her knights up, fortifying her position. Across the dance floor, her opponent spun and leapt to the same tune. Both sides mimicked the other. Knights and Pawns, building, edging together for superiority.

But no blood spilled, no pieces taken, not yet. Erin and her opponent met on the grand marble floor of the hall as the flutes and bows strained the air with building crescendos of sound. Not yet. Twenty moves in, and the board was still developing.

A Bishop came out. Erin tapped her foot and sent hers up. Mimicry. Mocking. Taunting. Waiting.

Then the black Pawn advanced and took hers. The first blow was struck. Erin reached out and tapped her opponent lightly. The music enveloped them both.

It wasn’t like a dance. It was like a dance. It was just chess. What could you say about a game that was so static, so unchanging over the centuries? Nothing. Everything.

Erin walked through a different world. She played the game and lost. A second loss. She reset the board in a moment and played again. This time she won. And then won again. And again. And again and—she lost the sixth game after that.

Time lost meaning. There was just the game. Erin had lived for twenty years. Of those twenty years, she had spent a lot of time breathing, sleeping, eating…but there was only one thing she had ever practiced. She’d spent more time playing chess than she had learning how to drive, how to cook, how to sing or dance or do anything else. This is what she knew.

This is what she had lived for. And her opponent was the same.

“You were lonely, weren’t you?”

Erin whispered the words as she played. Win. Lose. Lose and then win again. She remembered. It was lonely, playing alone. It was hard to be by yourself. There was no one who could understand what you were doing when you played with other students over lunch. You had to search for people like you, but it was so hard to find someone who could see what you saw. The higher you went, the lonelier it got.

Erin had seen the clouds as a child and turned away. She’d come back as a teenager, climbed again because there was something beautiful she saw way up high. Now she touched the clouds and broke through. She danced on top of the world and showed the other player there was still sky above. Here we are. How far can we go? The game is endless. Come, dance with me.

Play with me.

She said only a few words through the games. A few words, from one lover of the game to the other. It was a simple message.

I’m sorry.

The reply was short, and simple.

I know. You are forgiven.

That was all. Erin stopped playing when her right hand began to hurt. She blinked, looked around, and realized all the lights in the room had gone out.

So, apparently, had the sun. It was close to midnight. No one was in the common room of the inn—or awake. Erin blinked around and realized she’d been playing all day.

There was a groove in her flesh from where she’d pressed against the table’s edge and her jaw hurt from resting so long on her propped up hand. Erin stretched and nearly fell over when she got up.

“That probably wasn’t a productive use of time.”

It wasn’t an [Immortal Moment] that had consumed all this time. It wasn’t a spell or anything else supernatural either. It was just obsession. Erin wandered into the kitchen, scarfed down half a pot’s worth of Gnollish tortellini, huge, meat-stuffed, and oh so juicy, and then passed out on the floor.

A good day. If you didn’t count the screaming.

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 31!]

 

—-

 

Was it because she picked a fight with the other innkeepers? Defended her home? Maybe it was because Erin had been doing good business lately. Accumulating experience points or however it went. Erin woke up blearily, wished she had a Skill that made it so she didn’t have to sleep, and got on with the day.

“Are you going to play more chess today, Erin? Because if you are, we could use some more prepared food first. Not that I want to bother you, but uh…”

“No chess. Too much chess makes brain go poof.”

Erin rested her head on the table, feeling as though someone tiny had just kicked her brain a few times. That was the thing people didn’t understand. Chess was exhausting. Not physically, but mentally. Erin was surprised she’d kept up the same level of concentration for so long.

It was probably because she hadn’t played for a while. She could put her brain into overdrive for a day, push her limits because of that. Because of the passion. However, the next day was killing her. Erin dragged herself into the kitchen and did some easy cooking to pass the time.

Then she had a feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t indigestion. Erin frowned and poked at her midriff, and then realized what the feeling was. She poked her head out into the common room.

“Bird?”

“I am here. Do you want me to shoot something?”

Bird stood to attention. He’d been coming by every day, as per Klbkch’s orders for him. Erin asked if he knew whether the Hive could build her inn. Bird had no idea, so he wandered off to find Pawn.

He came back at midday with Pawn, a group of the painted Soldiers, and a score of Workers. Apparently the situation in the Hive was resolving itself. Erin conferred with Pawn about what she wanted and he had his Workers begin construction, warning Erin it would take several days to finish the work.

“We must remove parts of the roof and construct parts of the inn before lifting them up. We shall assemble scaffolding today and lay down a foundation. Tomorrow we shall knock that wall down and begin expansion.”

He pointed at the west wall of Erin’s inn. She frowned.

“Aw. I like that wall. Can you do the east side instead?”

Pawn stared at her. She laughed.

“Kidding!”

“Ah. I see.”

Bird stared at the Workers hauling lumber up to the hill and then approached Pawn.

“Pawn, I would like my tower to be high. So I can shoot birds.”

“Yes, Bird. I will make it high.”

“Good.”

Bird nodded a few times and lifted up his makeshift bow and arrows. Erin stared down at them and then glanced at Pawn.

“Do Antinium use bows, Pawn? Bird’s the first Antinium I’ve ever seen who uses one. But Ryoka says the Antinium used to use arrows in the first Antinium War.”

“Ah. Well, I do not know about the other Hives. Tersk tells me the Armored Antinium use crossbows, but our Hive does have a supply of bows and arrows. In limited quantities. There is little use for them underground, but Workers may use them in battle.”

“Oh. And they’re all like this?”

The bow Bird carried wasn’t bad per se, but it certainly was no masterwork. He’d made it from a single piece of wood, and used hemp for the string. The arrows were sharpened wood tips, without arrowheads. They were feathered, though. Some of them had incredible feathers. Bird was not a discriminating fletcher.

“This is a typical bow, yes. We are aware that it is not of high quality manufacture, but the Antinium usually only use bows against aerial foes. Hm. Perhaps I should see if Workers will work with my Soldiers. A few with bows could be…”

Pawn lapsed into thought as Bird tried to convince him to make his tower extra high. Erin had a thought from looking at Bird’s bow and found Ryoka. She was heading out to go stare at the wind with Ivolethe.

“We’re using chalk. Colored powder. The theory is that it’ll help me see the wind.”

Ryoka explained to Erin while Ivolethe quietly froze Pisces’ mug to the table. When the [Necromancer] went to pick it up, his hand stuck to the glass. Erin nodded as Pisces shouted in pain.

“Okay, but what about bows?”

“Excuse me?”

“Bird’s got a bow, but it’s a crappy one. It looks bad, anyways. Can you think of a better bow for him?”

Ryoka listened to Erin’s description of the bow and looked out the window to see Bird shooting arrows and arguing with Pawn over how high the tower needed to be given his range. She nodded.

“That’s a self bow. That means it’s one piece of wood. Easy to make, but you’re right that there are better kinds out there, and that’s not counting enchantments.”

“If you were going to recommend a bow…”

Ryoka pondered the question for a while.

“Recurves, composites, reflex…why not a recurve? It’s smaller than a longbow and it’s got a punch. I’ve seen Gnolls using them—they’re good hunters. Why not ask Krshia if she has one?”

“I think I’ll do just that.”

Erin smiled at Ryoka and went to pull some gold coins out from her savings. On the way she met Lyonette.

“Erin, look, look! It’s moving!”

She had a bowl in her hands. And in the bowl—practically hanging off the sides of the bowl was a bee. Erin knew Lyonette had the bee. She had seen many bees, most of them dead. She just wasn’t prepared for this bee in her face.

“Gah! Why is it so big?

This bee was twice the size of a regular Ashfire bee, and those were already the size of a fat hand. Lyonette beamed.

“I think it’s because I was feeding it all that jelly! Isn’t it amazing? Look, you can see it’s moving about a bit!”

The bee was indeed moving. The pupae had developed into distinct features, and now it was twitching a bit. Erin stared at the bee and edged away. Why was Lyonette not bothered by it? Oh, right. She killed bees and stole their honey every week.

“Is it—shriveling up?”

“I think so. It’s starting to grow little hairs, look!”

Mrsha was excitedly sniffing at the bee. Erin backed away towards the kitchen, hands raised. Drassi was trying to hide behind Ryoka and Ryoka was trying to prevent Ivolethe from attacking the bee.

“It looks great Lyonette, really. But why don’t you put it in your room before Ivolethe attacks? Let me know if the bee starts to move. Actually, let me know the instant it moves, okay? In fact…I’ll go down to the city right now and buy a leash.”

“A leash?”

Lyonette blinked at Erin. Erin nodded.

“Yes. A leash. Because you’re going to leash your bee, right?”

“I—don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. I was just raising it—Apista, I mean. I don’t know if I can control her.”

Erin stared at Ryoka. The other girl shrugged. Erin turned back to Lyonette with a smile.

“Let’s find that out soon, okay? Great! Uh…keep it—her—away from the Antinium too.”

Both Pawn and Bird had noticed the bee Lyonette was holding and were staring at it. They looked innocently away as Lyonette glanced over.

That done with, Erin grabbed gold coins and silver ones and rushed into Liscor. She found Krshia selling salt by the sack in her shop. The Gnoll looked happier than she had in ages.

“Erin. It is good you are here, yes? After your last visit Brunkr seems better. Hrr. Much better, yes. Will you visit him? He has been asking about you.”

“Sure! I’ll visit him tonight. Listen, Krshia, do you have a, uh, leash? And collar? I’ve got a bee that’s about to hatch and I do not want it flying around before I know if it’s an angry bee or a nice one.”

Krshia blinked at Erin, but she nodded when she heard about Apista.

“There are dog leashes which can be adjusted. And collars. One of my cousins in the city, he breeds dogs. I think he will have some that can be used.”

“Gnolls have dogs as pets?”

Erin paused. She’d seen some dogs in Celum, but not in Liscor. Krshia shrugged.

“It is not too common. Some Gnoll tribes breed dogs to be eaten or as pets, but pets are difficult to raise in a city, yes? But some Drakes like pets. Gnolls have an easy time training dogs anyways. We are pack leaders to them.”

She grinned toothily. Erin looked at Krshia and thought that if Gnolls ever made it to earth, Cesar Millan would probably be out of a job.

“Cool. Great. Also—bows. Do you have, uh, recurving bows?”

“Recurving? You mean…recurve?”

“Yeah. All the curves. Or…composite? Reflex? I’m asking for a friend.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] nodded.

“I shoot a recurve bow myself. I know a very good [Bowyer], and I will introduce him to you, yes? He is part of my tribe so he will give you a discount. What bow did you want? Enchanted ones are very expensive.”

“Uh…I want something that’s good to shoot birds with. I have money.”

Erin looked pleadingly at Krshia. The Gnoll sighed and smiled, and made time to go with Erin to the said bowyer and select a fine recurve bow made of yew. It cost a metaphorical arm and a leg, too.

“Twenty six gold coins?”

The bowyer nodded, looking proud of his work. Erin stared at the bow dubiously. Krshia coughed and motioned Erin aside so she could talk to her.

“It is worth hundreds, yes? Yew is good wood. Some say the best. And the bows are hard to make. This is a price at its base—without counting labor, only parts. A bow for this price, it would be four hundred gold coins if shipped far north, or to a place where there are no good bow makers. Enchanted bows may be worth more, but this is finest work.”

“Wait, then why am I paying—”

“A favor. For Ryoka’s friend, yes? The debt is honored. And Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin are both of the same tribe.”

The [Bowyer] nodded at Krshia, smiling widely. She winced as Erin stared at her.

“What did Ryoka do?”

“She did my tribe a favor. One beyond worth. Friendship was the price. And this—is an act of friendship. So we will charge you for only the cost of the wood and transportation. As friends.”

Erin thought about this. She dug in her money pouch and pulled out gold coins.

“Deal. And I’ll tell everyone that this is the best shop for bows, okay?”

Krshia and the [Bowyer] smiled as Erin put the coins on the table. Erin reached for some silver to account for the last gold coin and pulled out the odd coin she’d received. She stared at it. So did Krshia.

“What is that coin, Erin Solstice?”

“This? Oh it’s…I don’t really know. I got it from one of my customers. Do you know how much it’s worth, Krshia? Or how what it is?”

“Hmm. Hm. I have not seen a coin such as this.”

Krshia took the coin from Erin with careful paws and held it up to the light. She sniffed at it, wrinkled her nose, and sniffed again.

“It is ancient. I can tell you that. It smells of the earth, as if it were buried long. But the material…hm. Brathiak, lend me a knife, yes? Good steel, I think.”

But when Krshia went to obtain a sliver of the coin, the knife she was using failed to scratch the surface. She applied a lot of strength and nearly sliced her own paw. In the end she handed the coin back to Erin, shaking her head.

“Strong metal. I do not know what it is made of Erin. But it must come from an ancient kingdom, yes? It may be worth much to a collector, but I could not tell you the value. Perhaps a Dwarf could, if you met one.”

“Okay. I’ll hang on to it.”

Erin slipped the coin back into her pouch and paid for the bow. She carried it out of the bowyer’s shop with profuse thanks, and began walking back to her inn.

There was something odd about Gnolls. Most of them didn’t say much to Erin in passing—they just sniffed and nodded, which was their way. They could smell if Erin had had her period, if she’d had indigestion while pooping, and they could probably smell what she’d eaten for breakfast and when she’d eaten it. They were also, thankfully, unconcerned with the Human body.

Some male Drakes tended to whistle and make comments at female Drakes as they passed. Humans did the same thing, which Erin didn’t like, but Gnolls just sniffed or growled at each other so it didn’t bother her. Except for today. Today, as Gnolls saw Erin going down the street she could have been the hottest thing walking.

For both genders. Gnolls kept coming up to Erin and asking about the bow.

“Hrr. Yew, yes? Would you mind if I felt it?”

“Good construction. Do you shoot?”

“We should hunt together sometime. A bow like that deserves use.”

The lesson for the day was that Gnolls were weird about bows. Mrsha sat up and stared when she brought the bow into her inn. Bird stared when she brought it to him. She thought he would have burst into tears if he could.

“This bow is for me?”

“Yes! I got it from a friend of Krshia’s for almost nothing! I’ll uh, give it to you as advance payment for guarding my inn, okay?”

Bird was shaking his head as he felt the bow with trembling hands.

“It is too much. Too beautiful. I cannot take it.”

“Yes, you can.”

Erin made him lift the bow and try it out. The first arrow that Bird shot went halfway through the wall of her inn. Erin made him try the bow outside after that.

“Good bow.”

Halrac had come back with his group early from the dungeon. He was rubbing healing potion over a cut on his arm. He nodded at the bow and Erin saw him lift his bow up to see.

“I use a reflex bow made from spriggan wood. Highly flexible and enchanted for longer range and accuracy. It’s the best bow for close quarters and sneaking around, but you got your friend a good bow. It must have cost a small fortune.”

Bird turned to Erin, stricken. She waved her hands.

“No, no. It was a favor. That’s how I got it so cheap.”

“Some favor. Gnolls love bows.”

Halrac grunted. Erin nodded.

“Yeah…I owe Ryoka for that one. But that’s what [Innkeepers] do, right? We trade in favors and good will and stuff. Speaking of which…can you do me a favor right now?”

The [Scout] eyed Erin.

“What?”

“Can you teach Bird how to shoot the bow properly? I mean, I don’t want to insult Bird, but you’re a master [Scout], right? Maybe you can show him a few tricks? Skills? How to make an arrow?”

Halrac glanced at Bird. Erin knew he didn’t like the Antinium that much, but Bird’s obsession with bows and shooting things seemed to win the grumpy man over. He nodded.

“I can do that. Come on, you. Let’s find something to shoot at.”

He strode out of the inn. Bird alternatively bowed to Erin and ran to follow. Lyonette stared at them and then looked at Erin.

“That was really nice.”

“Yeah. Well…I’m uh, going to get you something too. A sword. Or a mace. Hammer. What kind of weapon would you like if you used one? Do you use one?”

“A sword? Me?

“Didn’t you say you wanted more classes? I’ll get you a sword and you can practice fighting, okay?”

Erin poked at her upset stomach while Lyonette gaped at her.

“But I—I’ve never held a sword before! Ever! I wouldn’t know where to begin! Erin, I’d need a teacher—”

“I’ve got one in mind. Maybe. I’ll let you know. Sorry, I’ve got to talk to Octavia.”

Erin opened the door to Celum and saw Octavia selling a bunch of matches over the counter. Erin stared at the crude match boxes and saw Octavia accepting silver coins for them. She felt…that was a rip off. The [Alchemist] was grinning when she turned to Erin.

“Can you believe it, Erin? I’m getting rich! All thanks to your little Gnoll cub! I’ve been selling shipments of matches to the [Merchants]—people want what I’ve got! It’s only a matter of time before other [Alchemists] start copying my design—hah, obviously—but I’ve leveled up three times from developing the matches!”

She grinned in delight at Erin. Erin nodded, smiling, and poked at her stomach again. The feeling hadn’t gone away since this morning.

“Great. Do you want another job? Aside from perfecting the penicillin, by the way. I’ll need some of that too if you’ve got more.”

“The mold? Leveled up from that too. Sure!”

Octavia laughed as she brought out some of the mold poultice she’d mixed up for Erin a few days ago. Erin carefully took the jar of paste and passed Octavia a few coins.

“It’s not completely effective, you know.”

“I know. I’m trying to isolate the exact stuff Ryoka was mentioning. I’ll work on it. Now, what’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”

“Healing slimes. And I want pepper potions, more healing potions, and whatever other alchemist weapons you’ve got. Or any you can get.”

“Well of course, I can get you some pepper potions—brewed up a batch just the other day. And I’ve got a tripvine bag—I could see if anyone else is selling a burn blast mixture, although that’ll cost—wait, back up. What was the first thing you said?”

Octavia frowned as her brain caught up to her mouth. Erin was busy pulling potions off the shelf. She dumped them in front of Octavia.

“Healing. Slimes. Can you make a slime? Can you make one made out of healing potions? Can you make one for me?”

Octavia stared at Erin.

“I have no idea. But a healing slime sounds…very profitable. Or it could run me out of business. Why don’t you talk to one of your [Mage] friends about that and uh, tell me if it works?”

“Will do! How’s fifteen gold coins for the lot sound?”

Fifteen—hey, wait!”

The Stitch-Girl saw all the potions and items Erin was trying to walk out with. She rushed out from behind her counter to stop Erin.

“That’s worth way more than fifteen gold coins! Even with my usual markup! You can’t just take them, Erin!”

“Well, that’s all the room I’ve got in my budget. Look, I need this stuff, Octavia.”

“Yes, I understand that by you trying to take them. But—

“Who told you how to make match sticks?”

Erin stared at Octavia. The [Alchemist] opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“But—”

“Just this once. One debt paid, how about that? And I’ll give you more ideas in the future.”

“But—I—”

“I really need these, Octavia. Please?”

Octavia looked like she might have an aneurysm as she stared at the potions piled up in Erin’s arms. She looked around for inspiration, and stared at the boxes of matches on display in her shop. She gnawed at her lip and nodded.

“Just once. Then we’re square, got it?”

“Charge me as much as you want another time. Thanks!”

Erin left the shop and carefully lined up all the potions in one of her pantries in the kitchen. Lyonette stared at the bottles and bags in awe.

“How did you pay for all of that? Is there any money left over?”

She looked almost afraid to ask. Erin nodded.

“I got it for cheap. Again. I’m cashing in favors here.”

“Why?”

Lyonette looked curiously at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated and poked at her stomach. Same feeling.

“Call it a hunch. Look, I’ve got to go into Liscor for one more thing. Can you tell Ceria, Typhenous, Revi, Pisces, Moore…you know, all the mages that I want their help? The key word is ‘slimes’. Also, ‘healing’. Maybe ‘acid’, too.”

“Slimes? Healing? Acid? Okay, but I think they’re busy…”

“Tell them I’m calling in my favors if I have them! I also want to talk with Pisces about the undead! Tell him he’s not in trouble so he doesn’t run!”

Erin called out and left the inn at a trot. She had one more destination that day.

 

—-

 

“Thank you for doing this, Erin.”

Brunkr sat in Krshia’s apartment as Erin applied the poultice that Octavia had given her. She spread it gently on his infected arm, trying not to make the Gnoll wince.

“How’s it feel? Better?”

“Much.”

Brunkr gingerly flexed his arm as he stared at the red gash in his arm. It had stopped leaking pus. The first few molds that Octavia had managed to isolate hadn’t done much for him, but this one was effective—or the honey and regular cleaning were doing their job. Erin had checked on Brunkr all week, and he was looking better each day.

Now the gash was actually healing. Brunkr was also well enough to be hungry, and he’d eaten half a cow already, or so Krshia told Erin. He seemed fit again as well.

“Have you been working out?”

“I have been running. It does not bother my arm, and I am restless, now that I feel better.”

Brunkr grinned at Erin. He let her wrap his arm carefully with the bandage she’d prepared and then offered her something to eat. Since Erin had forgotten to have lunch, she had some of the sliced raw meat the Gnolls loved so much. Someday she was going to get sick from it, but it tasted really good.

“I’m glad. If you keep healing like this, Ryoka thinks you might be able to use a healing potion soon.”

“I would not risk it after last time.”

Brunkr flexed his arm and grimaced at the memory. He nodded to the wound as he spoke to Erin, smiling at her. He had become very welcoming and hospitable as of late.

“A wound like this—if I take care with it, I may still use my other arm, yes? Why not let it heal with time and train in the meanwhile? I feel able to practice with a sword—this is my shield arm.”

“Oh, right. You’re a [Warrior], aren’t you?”

“I aspire to be a [Knight], in truth. But the class requires something I do not have. Until them, I am simply a [Warrior]. One of the best in my tribe.”

He said that without modesty, but without bragging as well. Erin remembered Brunkr fighting when he’d attacked Toren and she had to agree that he was pretty good. He’d taken a lot of her punches without falling down.

“If you want to practice, I have an offer for you. Would you be willing to uh, go by my inn and train Lyonette? I want to let her learn to be a [Warrior], if she’s willing.”

Brunkr froze. He stared at Erin.

“Me? Train Lyonette?”

“Yeah. And maybe Bird too. If he wants to learn how to fight with a sword, that is. I don’t want to learn—I use a frying pan and a knife. But some tips would be good. Maybe you can make up with Mrsha too. She feels bad about what she did.”

Brunkr stood up and paced about slowly while Erin snacked on more of the meat. What did the Gnolls call it again? Ssarish? No, that was the Drake version. She’d forgotten.

“Teach—I can teach. But why? I would not mind, but…it is an odd request coming from you. My Aunt tells me today you bought an expensive bow for your guard.”

“And I stocked up on potions. I’m going to buy a burn blast potion too, if anyone’s selling.”

The Gnoll sat, staring at Erin.

“A powerful item. Silver-rank adventurers use that, as do Gold-ranked ones. Why would you need such a thing?”

Erin hesitated. She poked at her stomach and Brunkr noticed.

“Are you feeling sick? I cut the meat for the Rashgr myself. It should not be—”

“No, I’m not feeling sick from the food. It’s something else.”

Erin shook her head. She’d been feeling the sensation all morning. She looked at Brunkr and decided to confide in him.

“Actually, Brunkr, I’ve been feeling worried all day. I felt a bit worried yesterday, actually, but then I played chess and…but I felt it today as well.”

“Felt what?”

“Uneasy. As if…something’s coming. I know Pawn has his Soldiers and there’s Gold-rank adventurers in my inn, but they’re not there all the time. And the dungeon is dangerous—Relc is always talking about it. So…I’m just taking precautions. I’m going to talk to Pisces about one more thing he can do, and try to cross-breed slimes.”

Brunkr stared at Erin. She knew she wasn’t making too much sense, but she just felt strongly that she should be doing something. Her head turned.

The Gnoll saw Erin looking around the room, and then look towards one of Krshia’s walls. There was nothing there, but Brunkr knew that Erin was pointed northeast from the position of the setting sun in the sky.

“There’s something…coming. Something bad, I think. I just feel uneasy.”

“Hrr. If you say so, I will agree. But what? Could it be the Goblin Lord? The monsters from the dungeon? Something else?”

Erin shrugged. But she looked uneasy. Brunkr had seldom seen Erin looking nervous, but now she did.

“I don’t know. But I just feel like I should be ready. Like we should all be ready.”

She reached out and pushed the half-full jar of poultice towards Brunkr.

“If you want to help, come tomorrow. Or tonight. And tell me where to buy a sword. I don’t have that much money left after the bow and potions, but Ryoka can lend me some money. I’ll talk to the Horns of Hammerad—see if they’re ready too.”

“Ready for what? A war?”

Erin hesitated. The young woman looked around, and Brunkr saw her eyes fix on that same spot to the northeast.

“Bad things, Brunkr. Just…bad things.”

 

—-

 

“We have arrived.”

Venitra, first-born of Az’kerash’s creations and loyal servant to her master, paused as she stared at the distant walls of the city. They weren’t as tall as she had expected, but then, she had seen the Walled Cities up close and few structures could match the memory of their colossal fortifications.

In any case, the city was not important. She drew the travelling cloak tighter around her undead form. The white bone from which her entire body was made—an armored body that any Dullahan would envy, but far stronger, woven with spells crafted by her loving master himself—was concealed from any eyes at a distance. She had to stay hidden.

She was not here for war. Not yet. She had to find someone. The Runner. For that, she would traverse the world. It had been an arduous journey getting here, but at last they had arrived. Venitra, and—

Ijvani.

Venitra turned her head to regard her companion. Ijvani usually travelled in a cloak of woven shadows, a production of magic that protected her from sight as well as attack. However, she too had exchanged her usual garb for a simple traveler’s cloak. It was just as well no one was around, however. A single look into either undead woman’s hoods would reveal a nightmare.

Two kinds of nightmares, in fact. Where Venitra’s hood would have revealed a sculpted face of bone, something similar to a Golem but far more unsettling, Ijvani’s cloak concealed a different secret. An unsettling one. A thought—inspiration from the Necromancer’s mind given form.

Two burning golden eyes stared at Venitra. They were placed in the hollow, grinning skull of a skeleton. That was what Ijvani was. A skeleton mage. No ordinary mage, though. Her magic was on par with any Gold-rank adventurer. Yet even that did not set her apart. It was her body.

Bone, yes. Reanimated, yes. But her bones were not the pristine white of Venitra’s form, or the yellow of bones left to rot. Instead, Ijvani’s bones shone. They shone black.

Black iron. Ijvani was not as heavy as Venitra, but she weighed far more than she should.  Her entire body was a kind of armor, and carved into the metal were glowing runes, symbols of destruction. She and Venitra were made for battle, made to kill, each in their own way. They would find the Courier, find the Runner, find who she had told and slay them all.

“It is time, Ijvani.”

The skeleton mage nodded. Venitra strode towards the city of Liscor, preparing herself. To find their quarry, they would have to search. Hide themselves. The Drakes and Gnolls could be tricked. This would be the first city they searched through, for any trace of the Runner’s passing. After that, would they go north? Only time would tell. Would their master grow weary of waiting and contact them? Venitra longed to hear his voice. Perhaps—

Ah, Venitra.

Ijvani’s voice stopped Venitra. The bone-white woman looked back at her companion, annoyed.

“What is it? We are wasting time.”

The black skeleton was consulting a bloody map they’d found on the corpse of someone they’d horrifically slaughtered on the road here. She was peering at the city and at the mountains. She turned and stared south.

Remember that mountain we climbed over?

“Yes. What of it?”

I think…we shouldn’t have done that. According to this map, we’re not at Liscor.

“We’re not?”

Venitra stared at Ijvani. The skeleton nodded.

This…is Esthelm. Liscor is that way.

She pointed. Venitra stared. She stared at Ijvani, the map, and then towards Liscor. She sighed. Ijvani looked at her.

You really should have brought Kerash. He knows this continent far better than I do.

“I brought you because you and Oom are our best trackers.”

Venitra’s face contorted into a scowl as she looked accusingly at Ijvani. The skeleton mage nodded.

At tracking. But I need a quarry to locate them by magic. Oom needs a scent. We have neither. I’m not good at reading maps on the other hand, or signs. You’re supposed to be our master’s most competent creation. Why can’t you ever find where we’re going?

Venitra shook her head.

“Shut up. We’re leaving.”

She started walking towards Liscor, her heavy tread cracking the earth. She’d gone ten feet when Ijvani called out after her.

I lied. Liscor is that way.

She pointed in the other direction. Venitra stopped, stared at Ijvani. Her tone was thick with malice.

“If you were not our master’s creation, I would destroy you right now.”

You can try. I am the greatest skeleton to ever walk the earth. So my master designed me.

She couldn’t argue with that. Venitra stomped towards Liscor. When she found that accursed Runner, she was going to rip her toes off one by one. To start with.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.19

The Wandering Inn was full today as well. That was unusual, at least to Erin, Lyonette, and anyone who knew the inn well. Erin had developed an inn based around the idea of ‘just enough people to survive’ for quite some time. To have an inn that was actually bustling was surprising.

However, word had gotten out that Erin’s inn was a place with excellent cooking, fast service, interesting things, and most importantly, magical food. That, combined with the influx of adventurers into Liscor meant that her inn was a hotspot. Having a magical door leading to Celum helped.

Indeed, it would be more surprising if Erin’s inn hadn’t become so famous. After all, Drakes and Gnolls might not like Humans that much, but who could resist going for a five minute walk and then popping into another city to see what the smelly Humans were up to? And when you were tired of that, you could have a drink or quick bite on the way back. You didn’t have to wait—the inn had food pre-prepared that only needed warming up before it was hot and ready to eat!

Some might go as far to say that Erin’s inn was now a huge concern for the other inns in Liscor and Celum. Erin’s current set of Skills had made her inn three times as attractive as every other inn. Well, except for Peslas’ inn, the Tailless Thief. It was still a byword for Drakes in Liscor, but it was specialized. Erin’s inn accepted everyone.

Everyone. From [Farmers] who stopped by for some food and a break from the cold, to [Guardsmen] and [Guardswomen] from Celum and Liscor who had learned that Erin had a soft spot for their kind. They sat and diced and laughed at tables next to [Merchants] who might be playing games of Chess and keeping an ear open for saleable news. However, these were all minority populations. The clientele that dominated Erin’s inn at the moment were all of a different kind.

They stood out. They were the insane, the suicidal, and the reckless. Or, they could be deliberate, cautious, and mindful of the socioeconomic value of their class and be willing to take calculated risks for ample rewards. Either way, there was a broad name for them.

Adventurers.

Right now they were filling most of Erin’s tables, staring at the Antinium Workers who were measuring the walls, shouting for drinks, and trying to eat plates full of Erin’s magical cooking. It was excellent stuff all had to admit—downing a plate could make you stronger, tougher, or immune to the biting cold winds. However, it was also regarded as a punishment game of sorts; Erin still hadn’t perfected the recipe, and more than a few weak-stomached adventurers were swallowing their snail-based Strength Soufflé hard.

Yes, a few silver coins and you could be strong enough to wrestle a Corusdeer with your hands—so long as you minded the horns. That was a great service—and a danger. Halrac lifted up a glob of the blue Scale Soup he’d been served and stared at it grimly. He opened his mouth, swallowed the spoonful, and scraped the wooden bowl without a change in his expression.

He didn’t have to. Revi, watching him, was making enough faces for the both of them.

“That is disgusting, Halrac. How can you stand eating that?”

“You’re eating it too, Revi. No objections.”

“I’d rather you poked a few needles through my head!”

“Eat.”

Halrac pushed the second bowl over to Revi. The [Summoner] Stitch Girl picked up a spoon reluctantly. She eyed the soup and kept complaining, much to Halrac’s displeasure.

“Why can’t I eat the Strength Soufflé? That at least looks palatable.”

“It’s got snails in it.”

Ew! How does Erin serve this stuff?”

“Because it works. Eat.”

Revi did so, reluctantly. She kept making faces, although the blue stuff really wasn’t that bad tasting. Taste-wise, it was actually pleasant. It just had a terrible appearance, texture, consistency, and smell.

“Remind me why we’re eating this stuff? What about the Corusdeer Scramble? That tastes good and it would keep us warm.”

Halrac opened his mouth to snap at her, but a big head leaned over and interrupted him. Ulrien, the mild-mannered leader of Griffon Hunt, raised two fingers as he spoke.

“Two reasons, Revi. One, Erin’s enchantments only work one at a time. Second, if it’s a choice between the three she’s offering—strength, defense, or cold resistance, we’re all getting the defense.”

“Lots of these young adventurers are getting the Soufflé.”

“Yes, they are.”

Halrac glanced around. Erin’s Strength Soufflé could be seen on almost every table. Who wouldn’t like to be stronger for a few hours? It was a great feeling, and it was a fun trick to challenge a friend to an arm-wrestling competition and then give them a sore arm. Some of the adventurers wearing cheap leather armor and bearing shabby weapons were flexing their arms and grinning at each other. They’d probably never been able to afford an enchantment before and were savoring the moment.

“Newbies.”

At least Revi could understand what the rest of her group was thinking. The Stitch Girl shook her head as she spooned soup into her mouth. She grimaced, but for once it wasn’t about the food.

“I wonder how many of them will get killed because they think they’re invincible? Does Erin know how many of these idiots are going out and getting slaughtered by monsters?”

“If she doesn’t, don’t tell her.”

Halrac looked warningly at Revi. The Stitch Girl glared at him as she took a drink from her mug. It was no secret within Griffon Hunt that Halrac had a soft spot for Erin…in his own peculiar way. She opened her mouth to needle him, changed her mind when Ulrien looked at her, and gave up.

“If Bronze-rank adventurers are dying, it’s because they overestimate their abilities or underestimate their opponents. That’s how it’s always been. Smart adventurers will know that these enchantments are a useful tool, not an all-powerful spell.”

Revi and Halrac nodded silently. Ulrien glanced around and grunted. His passive face turned into a frown.

“Still, there are a lot of them.”

The three members of Griffon Hunt looked around. The inn was packed with adventurers. As they watched, a group of them tossed some coins onto the table and made for the door to Celum. They were probably going to exterminate some monsters nearby. Another group of armed warriors were eating the Corusdeer Scramble with pleasure while they tried to cram a hot Soufflé into their packs for later. That was amusing to watch.

However…there was a large group in the center of the room that looked ready for a fight now. They were checking each other’s gear, and Halrac’s keen eyes placed them squarely as a mix of Silver-rank and Bronze-rank adventurers. There were about twenty packed onto four tables, and one of them stood up with a mug in his hands.

“We will descend into the dungeon through the rift today! Today, Petra’s Bane, Twinfold Daggers, and…”

Halrac tuned the speaker out. He didn’t need to hear the rest, or listen to the adventurers cheering their leader. He turned to Revi and Ulrien.

“Another group heading into the dungeon? Are they insane?”

Revi and Ulrien just stared at Halrac. The [Scout] didn’t really need an answer either. He understood the thinking of the cheering adventurers, though he condemned it.

After the wild success of Vuliel Drae, the wild fervor surrounding Liscor’s Dungeon had reignited itself. It had gone out for a while. A new dungeon was one thing, but the first few rooms were so dangerous that it was a death sentence for anyone but an experienced Silver or Gold-rank team to attempt those first few steps.

But this new entry into the dungeon through the rift in the snow? That was something else. And Vuliel Drae had come out with a weapon worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer, or perhaps a Named Adventurer. The Mace of Howling had sold for thousands of gold coins already, and ignited the passions of every adventurer within three hundred miles. The thought was on everyone’s mind. If one group could find a weapon of that caliber from one scouting attempt, what treasures were lost below? Just one such item could set up an adventurer for life.

Halrac was familiar with that way of thinking. He’d been in the same boat over a decade ago, a poor Bronze-rank adventurer scrabbling for work. However, he and the rest of Griffon Hunt realized the danger in that line of thought. Liscor’s Dungeon was not to be underestimated.

The adventuring group was listening to another impassioned speech, from one of the other team leaders. Halrac was familiar with that as well. Adventurers were people too; they needed to psych themselves up before they risked their lives. He turned back to the rest of his group, and addressed the trio sitting at the table next to theirs.

“Alright, where did we go wrong?”

“Excuse me?”

Jelaqua Ivirith looked up from her bowl of Scale Soup. The other two members of her group, the Halfseekers, looked up as well. All three were eating from their bowls of blue sludge. They’d been laughing and trying to play chess together, but Halrac’s comment made them sit up.

The Halfseekers. Ulrien gave Halrac a reproving glance for interrupting their conversation. Halrac didn’t acknowledge it. They were supposed to be working together. The Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had agreed to join forces to tackle this dungeon. If they were a team, they should talk like one.

“I’m asking where we went wrong. Why are all these Bronze-rank teams getting ahead of us?

Halrac growled as he reached for a bowl of walnuts. That was Erin’s newest attempt to add ‘cool stuff’ to her inn. He cracked one of the walnuts one-handed and flicked the pieces into a second bowl. Jelaqua and the Halfseekers turned obligingly to listen as the [Scout] aired his grievances.

“We have more levels in our team than that entire group does between them. How are we still struggling to get past the first set of trapped rooms?”

The other adventurers shared a look. Jelaqua edged her chair forwards and then leaned back in it until it rested on the table behind her. She looked incredibly pleased at this development; Halrac thought it was juvenile.

But that was the way the Halfseekers worked. Griffon Hunt prided itself on being a group that valued teamwork, planning, and serious commitment in the field. By contrast, the Halfseekers…not two seconds ago, Seborn and Jelaqua had had a contest seeing who could down their bowl of Scale Soup faster. They were too relaxed for Halrac’s liking. However, he had to admit that they were competent.

Both groups knew of each other’s reputation. They were sometimes competitors, sometimes adversaries in the same field. So when Moore spoke, Halrac listened.

“I feel bad for these new adventurers, Halrac. I do not feel they’re getting ahead of us. Rather, I’m worried about their inexperience. Vuliel Drae’s success was a mistake. They survived the dungeon thanks to the mysterious masked swordswoman, not through their own efforts, or so I understand.”

“Yeah. Her.”

Halrac grunted. He’d heard the stories too. There was a Named Adventurer down in the dungeon, was there? Someone who’d gotten past all the traps and entered the dungeon without anyone seeing? Hardly likely, but Vuliel Drae had sworn on truth spells it was true.

One of the Halfseekers seemed to believe in the swordswoman’s existence, at any rate. Seborn leaned forwards, and Halrac glanced at the armored half of the Drowned Man’s face, noting the way the crustacean shell blended with his skin. Seborn seemed immune to the scrutiny as he sipped from the mug of water and spoke.

It has to be true. The dungeon is too dangerous for Silver-rank adventurers to survive a trip down there without being overwhelmed. We’ve all gone head-to-head with the traps. We teamed up because they’re that bad. This dungeon’s not like the other ones. It’s nasty.

Nasty. That was one word for it. The other Gold-rank adventurers shifted in their seats. Ulrien nodded.

“I’ve been in several dungeons before. Not deep, and not when they were just discovered, but I’ve seen where the traps used to be and fought their monster populations. They’re nothing like this dungeon. This dungeon feels like it wasn’t meant just to hide treasure. It feels like…”

“Like a huge trap. Yeah. I’m calling it. This one’s a vengeance dungeon.”

Jelaqua drained her mug and slammed it down on the table. The Selphid sighed and pushed her bowl back. Halrac studied her dead features silently. He was in agreement.

“Vengeance dungeon?”

Revi was confused. Halrac glanced at her and remembered that she was new. Ulrien and Halrac had hired her and Typhenous into Griffon Hunt, and both [Mages] were competent, but Revi wasn’t nearly as old or experienced as the other three men. He let Ulrien explain.

“Dungeons come in several types, Revi. I know [Mages] study which empire built them and their composition and so on—adventurers have a simpler system. Dungeons are either for containment, future generations, or as an act of vengeance.”

“Interesting terms. What’s the difference between the three?”

Halrac pushed Revi’s bowl of unfinished soup towards her as Ulrien explained. The Stitch Girl sighed, but ate as Ulrien talked.

“Containment dungeons are meant to contain something. Simple enough; it could be a threat, a natural resource too valuable to let someone else get ahold of…I once saw a dungeon that had been built solely to combat Vampires. It was more like a fortress that made use of light-based traps and spells.”

“Okay. Then future generations…?”

Jelaqua grinned.

“Dungeons built with traps that test people entering. Say an empire’s about collapse. Well, they want to leave something behind, right? Only, the people who build the dungeons want their shiny magical artifacts to go to the deserving. So they build a dungeon which only the best can enter. That way, future generations can follow a handy map and get through the traps, or a brave adventuring group can fight their way through and retrieve past glories. Just a way for the previous generations to help us out.”

“I get it. Then a vengeance dungeon’s what happens when…what? You have angry ancestors?”

Revi frowned. Jelaqua nodded. She grimaced.

“Yep. They’re what you get when the empire or civilization doesn’t feel like being nice to future generations. So they build a dungeon with their best artifacts sealed away—I mean, where else would you put them?—but they put the nastiest traps and monster eggs down there. So when someone cracks the lid on the dungeon, a thousand ravening Crelers crawl out and eat their faces off.”

“Great. And that’s what we’re up against? Remind me why we’re not hunting Griffins? That’s what I signed up for.”

The Stitch Girl pushed her empty bowl back, looking upset. Ulrien sighed, but Halrac decided to answer this time. He saw Ulrien’s warning look, but he could be encouraging too.

“Just because the dungeon’s designed to kill, it doesn’t mean there’s no point entering it, Revi. We’re looking for treasure, and it’s down there. The mace is proof of that. The only difference is that this dungeon’s out to get us. So we need to be wary. And fast. Which is why I’m asking why these amateurs are—”

The [Scout] broke off when he realized someone was standing behind him. He turned in his seat and glared at the leader of the adventurers he’d just been insulting. The young Drake must have come over and he’d been too busy complaining to notice. Halrac scowled, more upset that he’d let his guard down than anything else.

“What?”

“Uh, pardon me, but you’re Halrac the Grim, aren’t you?”

Halrac hated that name. He growled at the Drake, eying him from head to tail.

“So?”

The young Drake was wearing iron armor, but he had a steel sword. He was probably Silver-rank, but Halrac would put him on the lower end of that spectrum. Still, he was bold enough to approach the Gold-rank adventurers, which most Human adventurers wouldn’t have the courage for. He smiled nervously as Halrac stared at him.

“Sorry, but you might have heard. We’re heading into the dungeon—we uh, were hoping you had some words for us? Some advice, maybe? Tips?”

The other Gold-rank adventurers shifted. Revi raised her eyebrows and shook her head, not trying to hide her incredulity. Ulrien sighed. Drakes and Gnoll adventurers clearly weren’t like Human ones. No group of adventurers up north would be this bold—they were keenly aware of the hierarchy and unwritten rules, one of which was not to bother the veterans.

Not that Griffon Hunt was into hazing adventurers. But asking for advice? Halrac just stared at the young Drake. He was ready to tell him no and turn away, but Jelaqua sat up. She smiled and gave voice to the feeling shared between all the Gold-rank adventurers.

“I’d be ready to run, kids. Maybe write a letter to your loved ones, if you have any. Best advice? Don’t go down. You’re going to die.”

She nodded at the listening adventurers, who’d gone silent. Jelaqua gave them a friendly smile, her pale, dead lips at once friendly and horrific.

“A strength enchantment’s no good down in the dungeon, not against traps or monsters ambushing you. Don’t go down. Find another quest, level up, and come back when you’re all Silver-rank, or better yet, Gold. We wouldn’t go into the dungeon through the rift, and we know what we’re about. That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”

The inn had gone silent at Jelaqua’s words. Halrac looked around and saw a lot of the adventurers looking nervous. But one of them, drunk on bravado and alcohol, raised his voice.

“Hah! You’re just afraid we’ll get to the treasure first! What kind of an adventurer’s a Selphid, anyways? A body stealing coward doesn’t know anything about Drake bravery!”

“Or Gnoll courage!”

Another adventurer raised his paw, and the other adventurers around him cheered. Jelaqua shrugged, looking slightly hurt, but more resigned. Seborn nudged her as she sat and Moore frowned, which was as good as one of Halrac’s scowls.

Selphids got that reaction. But this was passing beyond rude. Jelaqua was a Gold-rank adventurer. The Drake leader shouted down his companions, and turned to Halrac, smiling as if they were friends.

“What about you, Mister Halrac?”

“You heard her. You’re going to die.”

The Drake’s smile vanished. He stared at Halrac, as if expecting the [Scout] to smile. But Halrac’s face didn’t change. He folded his arms.

The Drake looked around the table, hoping perhaps for a second opinion. He got none. Revi raised an eyebrow and Ulrien shook his head. Both Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers stared silently at the adventurers. They lost their bravado. In the silence, the leader turned.

“Let’s—let’s go.”

They left the inn quietly. Halrac wished they had stayed, or that they turned towards Liscor, rather than north, towards the second dungeon entrance. He had a feeling he would not see their faces again.

“Our turn.”

Halrac stood up in the silent inn. He nodded towards the door and the Gold-rank adventurers went with them. They walked west out of the inn, towards Liscor and the small, fortified tunnel leading downwards. They were going to the dungeon too. The only difference was that they were ready for it.

 

—-

 

Typhenous caught the silent group of Gold-rank adventurers as they were halfway towards the unearthed entrance to Liscor’s dungeon. The [Mage] had been in the city finishing an errand, but they had agreed to meet at this time.

“Why the dour expressions? Has Halrac been talking to all of you too long?”

The [Mage] was in good spirits, but he sobered slightly when he heard about the adventurers trying the dungeon. Typhenous sighed and stroked at his grey beard.

“I had heard of other adventurers attempting to emulate Vuliel Drae’s success. How distressing.”

“They might make it.”

Jelaqua offered the idea up as an idle hope, but Halrac shook his head.

“Too many adventurers. A smaller group might have a chance, but a large one like that generates too much noise and attention. They’ll be attacked at once. Best case is that some of them make it back up.”

“Up a set of ropes that stretches over a hundred feet down? They’ll be lucky if they don’t lose a few just falling, with all that they were carrying. Unless one of them knows [Featherfall].”

“The issue is that their way out is too dangerous. And they’re entering into the middle of the dungeon. If they don’t secure their exit out and make sure they’re not swarmed from behind…”

Amateurs. This is why you go in from the front. Shortcuts just get you killed.

Seborn’s sigh was the last word on the matter. Griffon Hunt began to discuss their latest developments as the Halfseekers listened in silence. They trudged through the snow, grilling Typhenous about their latest contingency plan. That was the difference between experienced adventurers and the reckless dead. Gold-rank adventurers always made plans.

“I was in the city, requesting a shipment of specialized lodestones. You see, young Pisces had the notion of connecting Miss Solstice’s magical door to more than one location. However, as Moore and I discovered, such a feat is impossible, at least, without proper anchoring points.”

“Makes sense to me.”

Revi nodded while Halrac shook his head.

“Explain it simpler, Typhenous.”

He had no time for [Mage]-talk. Typhenous sighed. He liked to pontificate.

“Very well. We cannot link the door to multiple spots because it is too difficult. Thus, we need magical beacons—ways to differentiate between locations. Thus, the lodestones. Moore had the idea of devising some sort of mechanism by which the door could be attuned to each stone, creating multiple connections. We shall attempt to change the enchantment when the stones arrive.”

Ulrien nodded, as did Halrac. That they could understand, at least in part. Griffon Hunt’s leader frowned.

“So an emergency teleportation stone like Erin was talking about—”

Typhenous shook his head.

“Impossible until my delivery arrives. It should get here, or rather, to Celum, within the week. I was unwilling to pay a Courier for the stones, given their price and our needs.”

Halrac sighed. The magical artifact Erin had described—an emergency escape device—sounded incredibly useful, although he wasn’t sure if it would work in the dungeon’s magically charged atmosphere. However, it was worth looking into. Such a tool would allow both Gold-rank teams to breathe easier. There was nothing an adventurer feared more than being trapped.

“We don’t need the artifact that badly, but if it looks like we’re heading into a particularly dangerous spot, I’d rather pull back and try to get an emergency escape…lodestone…ready. We have time.”

Ulrien was talking with Typhenous and the others, advocating for caution again. Moore nodded, tapping one huge lip with his fingers.

“If it comes to that, I’m sure Miss Solstice will oblige us. But you don’t think it will be that dangerous today?”

“Not if it’s more of the same. Ah, here we are.”

They’d reached the entrance to the dungeon. The official entrance, so to speak. It was guarded by the city. A group of sixteen guardsmen, armed with bows and spears and one who looked like a [Mage] were waiting under a tent. They were watching the entrance to the dungeon from behind a small wooden rampart. It had a row of sharpened stakes thrust into the ground in front of the wall and enough space for the [Guardsmen] to loose arrows and jab spears at whatever might come out of the dungeon.

“Hello there! We’d like to enter the dungeon!”

Typhenous called up to the [Guardsmen] huddled beneath the tent. Some were sipping hot drinks and they all looked miserable in the cold. One of the Drakes twitched his tail.

“You lot again? The uh…Griffon Hunt team and Halfseekers? Alright, go on through.”

“Is there anyone else down there?”

Ulrien looked at the dungeon for tracks, but the [Guardsmen] shook his head.

“Not today. All you adventurers are too interested in the rift. Suits us. The less of you that go down, the fewer things that come back up. But if you want to go in…be our guests.”

Ulrien nodded. Jelaqua was already hopping over the edge of the ramparts—the Drakes had neglected to build a gate into the defensive fortifications—and Moore was eying the drop.

“I would like to avoid the spikes and squashing you, Jelaqua. Give me more room.”

As Halrac walked up the rampart, he watched Moore jump, and then offer a hand to Revi and Typhenous. The two other [Mages] let the half-Giant guide their descent, rather than fall. Ulrien leapt, and the Drake [Guardsmen] spoke to Halrac. He nodded to the tunnel the Antinium had dug, that lead down to the double doors that marked the start of the dungeon.

“I’ve seen adventuring groups go in and come out. More go in than come out, obviously. But your group’s Gold-rank, right? You go in and come out almost every day? What are you doing down there?”

Halrac grunted.

“Being cautious.”

He leapt, and the Drake [Guardsman] rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got that. Lousy Humans…”

He turned away, muttering, as Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers descended into the dungeon.

 

—-

 

This is what the Gold-rank teams did all day. They went into the dungeon after preparing, making plans, checking gear, and arguing. They moved slowly down the first corridor and stopped when they saw the room beyond. Halrac and Seborn, both of whom were taking point to scout for traps, held up hands and the group stopped.

Both Halrac and Seborn scouted the room, taking care not to enter it and only look into it. There didn’t seem to be much to see. The room was empty and nondescript. Halrac saw the wide, grey tiles of stone continue seamlessly into the room. The walls were some kind of faded beige, made of simple stone. Any unsuspecting individual might have taken the room as harmless, but Halrac wasn’t fooled. Beyond the first corridor was where the dungeon’s traps began. This first room was certainly trapped.

Seborn nodded to the empty room beyond. He’d found a red mark on the wall, a stripe of very bright paint.

Looks like the same room as before. We’ve cleared this one.

“You have? I’m not familiar with it.”

Halrac had seen many of the dungeon’s trapped rooms. They appeared each time you went down the corridor, and what was worse, changed each time you entered the dungeon. There were any number of rooms you could enter, and so you had to be extremely careful not to assume one room was like a previous one.

However, the Gold-rank adventurers were familiar with dungeons and knew how to take precautions. Seborn nodded to the paint, which was a horizontal slash with a vertical line to the left.

This one’s a spike trap. Simple, but deadly. I’ll trigger it. You stay back.

He walked into the center of the room and slowed. Seborn took two steps as the other adventurers watched—then threw himself to the ground.

The ceiling fell. A series of phantasmal spikes, glowing ghostly pink-white, shot down through the suddenly low ceiling, almost brushing the top of Seborn’s head. Halrac heard Revi inhale as the magical blades shimmered in the air.

“Jelaqua.”

Seborn spoke. Halrac moved aside as Jelaqua stepped forwards. The Selphid was holding her two-handed flail. She threw it out across the floor and Seborn turned and grasped hold of one of the chains. Jelaqua pulled and Seborn shot back across the floor while the spikes waited menacingly a few feet over his head.

Halrac helped the [Rogue] up as Seborn patted himself and rubbed the top of his head. The Drowned Man seemed barely fazed. He nodded at Halrac, one trap expert to another.

That scared the life out of me the first time it happened. I’m not too happy about it the second time.

Halrac was impressed by Seborn’s courage…and a bit disturbed that he’d chosen to throw himself into danger. He would have found a way to trigger the trap without entering the room, but the Halfseekers were more direct. Revi stared at the blades and the lowered ceiling, looking pale.

“Do the blades last forever? What about the celling? Do we have to crawl our way to the next room?”

“Nope. Wait for it—”

Jelaqua was barring anyone from going into the room, for good reason. The ceiling spikes were still lowered when Halrac felt his [Dangersense] tingle and then a second set of ghostly blades shot up from the ground. They would have impaled Seborn or anyone else who’d been lucky enough to avoid the ceiling. Typhenous and Ulrien muttered as Revi swore quietly.

The Halfseekers had already seen the trap and just shook their heads. Halrac grimaced at the trap.

“Simple, but deadly. That second layer of spikes is malicious—and probably overkill.”

“The difference between a dungeon designed for vengeance and one that’s not?”

Revi looked at the others and got a nod from Seborn and Halrac. Having seen the trap, the adventurers drew back to confer.

“The trap’s got a timer of around one hour before it resets, and the spikes are smaller…the spell probably needs more time to fully recharge. We can keep triggering it each time we go through, but if the aim of all of this is to clear all the rooms going in so we’ve got a way out, we can’t have that trap still here.”

“I agree. Can any of you dispel it?”

Jelaqua and Ulrien were both of the same opinion. Typhenous, Revi, and Moore were all inspecting the spell, but it was apparently hidden in the ceiling. Seborn and Halrac were in their own conference, inspecting the room now the spikes were gone. Both [Scout] and [Rogue] were ready to leap to safety if the trap reactivated, but their Skills were telling them they were safe for the moment.

“I’m of the opinion the trap is magical. It activates the moment I cross this threshold. See?”

Seborn was talking to Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. He could see a faint aura around the part of the room Seborn had described.

“Cross that line and step anywhere in the room and the trap activates. Want to try breaking the floor?”

“Worth a shot. Do you have a hammer?”

“Allow me.”

Ulrien stepped forwards and both Seborn and Halrac retreated. The big [Warrior] took his greatsword out and gripped the blade with both of his gauntleted hands. Using the hilt of his sword like a hammer, he cracked the stone floor with a mighty strike.

“Hm. Not spelled against strikes. Will that do it?”

Carefully, Ulrien inspected his greatsword as Halrac and Seborn knelt by the cracked stones. Ulrien’s blade was enchanted, but he obsessed over it. Halrac nodded as he saw no aura around the stones.

“That does it. Let’s tear up the room and see if that deactivates the trap.”

So they did. Moore and Jelaqua and Ulrien began hitting the ground, Moore with his staff, Jelaqua with her flail, and Ulrien with his greatsword. All three could break the stone and Halrac, Seborn, Revi, and Typhenous helped clear the rubble away.

No one used a hammer. A sledgehammer was less useful than an enchanted weapon. You could swing Ulrien’s greatsword all day and not chip the blade or hilt, whereas a sledgehammer would eventually break.

It was hard on the hands, though. Twice Ulrien had to take a break and massage his hands. Half-swording, as the technique he was using was known, was not meant for repeated strikes like a hammer.

By the time an hour had passed, half of the room was destroyed and the smooth tiled flooring had been broken away and a rougher surface had been exposed. Seborn once again entered the room and very cautiously walked from side to side, testing to see if the trigger mechanism for the spell had been successfully destroyed.

It had. However, that didn’t meant everyone crossed through the room at once. Halrac carefully entered the room and did the same test as Seborn, senses alert for anything suspicious. Only after he was done did he let both teams go through one at a time.

That was the first room. The second was a pit trap nearly thirty feet deep. Halrac showed the Halfseekers where he and the rest of his team had strung up a rope bridge to cross without having to touch the ground. The third room was filled with books on shelves—they were supposed to explode when read. The adventurers walked past them without touching any of the tomes.

The fourth room they came to was unfamiliar to both Seborn and Halrac. It was locked by a door, and after determining the door itself wasn’t trapped, Halrac and Seborn carefully opened the door and gazed into a circular room with a grating floor and very dark pit.

“I’m not going in there.”

Me neither. Think the door closes after someone goes in?

“Obviously. Let’s take it off.”

Some traps were predictable. Halrac motioned Ulrien over and explained what they wanted to do. Ulrien sighed and grabbed the door’s edge. He was incredibly strong—strong enough to swing around his greatsword like it was nothing, and Halrac had seen Ulrien beat a Minotaur in arm-wrestling once. But no matter how hard Ulrien strained, the door wouldn’t budge.

“Allow me to help.”

Moore had to duck his head as he grabbed the door with one hand. He and Ulrien pulled at the door and now Halrac heard creaking as the door and its hinges fought with the wall of the dungeon to be freed.

“Room for one more?”

Jelaqua handed her flail to Seborn and stepped up, edging between Ulrien and Moore. Between the three strongest adventurers, the door was beginning to come loose. Ulrien grunted.

“Ready? One, two, three, heave—

The three adventurers pushed, and with a crack of breaking stone, the door broke off its hinges and they let it crash to the ground. Rubbing at their arms, they let Seborn and Halrac inspect the room again.

“Enchanted doors. As if they didn’t expect us to pull each one off. Waste of time.”

Halrac grunted. Seborn nodded.

Waste of time. And I bet the door’s not got more than a protection spell on it. Still, it might be worth taking back with us.

“Why? Who needs a door with a protection spell?”

Someone might pay some gold for it. You must admit, enchanted doors aren’t cheap. If worst comes to worst, some Bronze-rank adventurer can use it as a shield.

The dry comment made Halrac grin unwillingly. He got along with Seborn, which wasn’t surprising as both occupied the same role in their party. Seborn nodded at the center of the room.

“Ah, I see. It’s a pressure mechanism.”

“You think so?”

Halrac was surprised. He hadn’t seen any magical aura that would have indicated a detection spell, but he hadn’t noticed the way the grate was wired to a spring until Seborn pointed out the tiny grooves where the grating would descend to trigger the trap. Halrac shook his head, grateful for a second pair of eyes.

“Simple trigger. Typhenous, I need a ball of webbing. Heavy. Unless Revi wants to use one of her summoned creatures as a test?”

“Spare me.”

Revi rolled her eyes as Typhenous spun out some sticky webs from his staff. The enchanted webbing would only last a few minutes, but it was a useful tool and one of the reasons why he was in Griffon Hunt.

“Mind if I add something to it? I can conjure grass, or grass clippings. If it’s weight you’re after, that might help.”

“By all means, Moore.”

The half-Giant tapped his staff and some magical grass and vines grew out of the stone. He carefully mixed that with the webbing and came up with a heavy ball of plant matter and webs. Halrac and Seborn rolled it to the door as they talked conversationally.

I haven’t had time to see Revi fight. She’s your second [Mage], right?

“[Summoner], actually. She can conjure spirits of Stitch-warriors or summon other creatures. It’s useful, but not when we’re disarming traps. Her summoned creatures can’t think for themselves.”

Ah. Here we go. Would you like to do the honors?

“Sure.”

Halrac kicked the ball of heavy matter into the room. He saw the grating descend fractionally, and then both he and Seborn leapt backwards.

So that’s the trap.

“Yep. Acid mist.”

Halrac and Seborn backed up into the previous room as all the Gold-rank adventurers drew back. A very fine spray of colorless liquid was shooting down from above. It didn’t affect the stone or metal, but the instant it struck the plants and webbing, the ball began smoking and disintegrating with a subtle hiss.

Jelaqua shook her head as the others waited for the trap to finish its work. As a warrior, she and Ulrien were of the least use in this situation. She leaned against a wall with Ulrien, ready to help if called upon, but mostly alert for a monster sneaking up around them. Since they were fairly confident no monsters existed in the trapped rooms they’d passed through, she allowed herself a short conversation.

“How many more rooms are like this, do you think?”

Ulrien shrugged his broad shoulders as he watched the acid make the stone walls slick with moisture.

“Impossible to say. But there has to be a limited number. Once we’re through here, we can be sure our exit’s safe. Unless there’s a teleportation trap hidden on the way back?”

He looked at the other [Mages], all of whom shook their heads. Typhenous tapped the walls with his staff.

“I have been checking for that diligently, as per your orders, Ulrien.”

“As have I.”

Moore nodded. Reassured, Ulrien looked at Revi. She shrugged, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

“Not my specialty! I told you that Ulrien! But I haven’t seen anything either.”

He nodded. The adventurers sat back when it became apparent the acid wasn’t stopping anytime soon. They began to chatter idly while they waited. Other, less-experienced groups might have stayed on their feet or tried to find something to do, but the Gold-rank teams knew patience was their biggest asset.

“Acid mist. Great. Didn’t Erin say she used to sell acid?”

“Sell acid? You must have heard her wrong.”

“I’d believe anything of her. Want to try and bottle it up?”

“It’s magical acid. It’ll disappear after a few minutes.”

“Ah.”

“I hate traps like these. What’s the point? A few seconds of acid and you’re dead. Why waste spell power keeping it going?”

“I guess in case someone casts a spell. The acid probably wears away at magical protections too. If you’ve got an enchanted cloak for instance, this is probably when the acid eats away.”

“Nasty. Hey, anyone want some food?”

“You brought a snack? What’s the point? We’re five seconds away from Liscor.”

“I get munchy when I’m bored, and this is boring. Toasted baguette anyone? I’ll share. Ham and cheese. Erin made it for me.”

I’ll have some.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Jelaqua split her sandwich with Typhenous and Seborn. As they ate, Ulrien looked over at his counterpart. Jelaqua’s white face was pale as death, and she was unmistakably a corpse, but there was still life behind the eyes. Literally.

“You lot are very relaxed, especially in the middle of a dungeon.”

She grinned at him, chewing and swallowing her meal. Part of Halrac wondered whether Jelaqua could taste the food she ate—then he remembered her complaining about trying to keep her body’s taste buds fresh so she could enjoy food.

“Shouldn’t we be? What’s the use of tensing up?”

“We like tense. And serious. Halrac and I are both former soldiers—and we hunt Griffins. Idle chatter in the field can alert our quarry and get us all killed.”

“Right, that’s in the name of your group. I wish we were so efficient.”

“No you don’t. You’d quit if you couldn’t talk every two seconds.”

Moore nudged Jelaqua with one finger. She grinned and swatted at him.

“Okay, I wish I was that efficient.”

“Each to their own. It’s not like the Halfseekers don’t get the job done.”

“True. Hey, was that a compliment? From Halrac the Grim no less. Hah!”

Jelaqua laughed and Halrac scowled. She waved at him.

“Don’t take it so personally. I’m happy to hear that, really. And I wish I had a title. All I get called is ‘corpse snatcher’ and ‘body thief’, and all Selphids get called that.”

“I didn’t ask for my title. Ulrien doesn’t have a nickname. There’s no reason for me to have one if you don’t.”

Halrac snapped and rose. The acid had stopped, although the walls were still wet. He went to study the room with Seborn while Jelaqua turned to Ulrien. The Selphid looked concerned.

“I didn’t mean to offend him.”

Ulrien grimaced, looking at his friend’s back.

“Don’t take it personally. Halrac just doesn’t like the attention. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, well, you know how titles go. We don’t choose them, other people do. And you have to admit, it suits him.”

Jelaqua winked slyly at Halrac, whose shoulders had tensed up. Ulrien smiled and covered it with a hand.

“He has a point, though. Halrac’s one of the best [Scouts] on the continent, and probably one of the best ones working as an adventurer, but he’s hardly as noticeable as your team is. Come to that, the Halfseekers have more of a reputation in the south than Griffon Hunt does.”

“Aw. Stop. You’re making me blush. See my orange cheeks?”

Tickled, Jelaqua laughed and pointed to her cheeks, which were indeed glowing slightly orange. Ulrien smiled and Typhenous leaned forwards, chewing aggressively while crumbs fell into his beard.

“Ulrien does have a point, though. I’m quite old, but the Halfseekers have been around for a long time, haven’t they, Miss Ivirith? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were older than I was. When I was young, I remember hearing you’d come from Baleros as a Silver-rank adventurer. I recall a time when the Halfseekers were one of the best Gold-rank teams on the continent. There were seven of you back then, weren’t there?”

Jelaqua stopped laughing. She lost her smile, and Ulrien saw Moore sit up slightly. The two Halfseekers looked at each other wordlessly. Typhenous coughed.

“Forgive me if I misspoke. I did not mean to pry.”

Adventurer deaths were common, but each party remembered their own differently. Halrac and Ulrien had buried more than a few friends, and it was courtesy not to bring up the fallen. But Jelaqua shook her head. She put her hands on her knees and sat cross-legged as Moore rested his weight on his staff, looking tired.

“Eight. There were eight of us, not too long ago. We were great, yeah. We thought we could become a Named Adventuring team. None of us were on that level of course, but together? We could have taken down a nest of adult Crelers and fought our way through a trio of Wyverns like that.”

She snapped her fingers softly. Halrac and Seborn half-turned—they were trying to saw through parts of the grate. Jelaqua waved a hand and they turned away.

The other adventurers sat a bit closer. Revi scooted over, looking concerned.

“What happened then? If you don’t mind telling. I remember hearing the Halfseekers had lost a lot of their group, but I never heard what happened.”

Typhenous cleared his throat gently.

“I ah, heard it was in relation to the Sepicus Delve, where you fought through the caverns and looted the swallowed treasures…?”

“Close, but not quite.”

Jelaqua grinned and then shook her head, closing her eyes and frowning sadly. Moore’s head was lowered.

“It was actually after that. We got chewed up down there, but we came back, all eight of us. I was wounded and needed a new body, Moore was too hurt to walk and needed the poisons leeched out of him before he could be healed and Seborn was asleep when it happened. Our other five members were checking over our loot when a fight broke out.”

“Over treasure? But that’s such a rookie…”

Revi broke off at Ulrien’s glance. Fighting over magical artifacts was a typical end to many groups, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Jelaqua was referring to.

He was right. Jelaqua shook her head.

“If it was a quarrel over treasure…no. This was different. It was betrayal, pure and simple. One of our own turned on us. He slaughtered four of our own and fled with everything we’d found. We went after him of course, but we never found him. Moore, Seborn and I are all that’s left.”

Silence fell after Jelaqua’s story. Ulrien stared at the Selphid.

“That is odd. Fighting over an artifact is one thing, but killing? Was what you recovered so valuable?”

“No! And that’s the damned thing!”

She struck her leg repeatedly, brushing her dead flesh until Moore grabbed her hand. He spoke while Jelaqua looked down.

“I am afraid the matter isn’t so cut and dried, Ulrien. If it were just treasure our companion wanted…we might have given him all of it. We don’t discriminate if the needs of one of our group outweighs the other. But instead, our friend—”

“That bastard.”

Jelaqua muttered. Moore nodded.

“He ran with everything and killed our companions. Not because he feared we’d make him share, but, we think, to hide what was stolen.”

“An artifact of great power?”

Typhenous sat up, eyes alert. Moore nodded quietly.

“Or a secret.”

“And he’s still at large? Your companion? Who is he?”

Ulrien looked at Jelaqua. It seemed incredible that a Gold-rank adventurer could turn traitor and he not hear of it. Normally every adventurer within a thousand miles would receive a bounty on the head of the adventurer. The Adventurer’s Guild did not tolerate traitors. But Jelaqua and Moore paused.

“He’s alive, but there’s no bounty on him and no one knows he’s out there but us. We couldn’t tell anyone else except for our closest allies, and we had few of those even in the good days.”

“You can count us among them. If not to help, at least to listen.”

Ulrien spoke for his group. Jelaqua hesitated. She looked at Moore and he nodded. She sighed.

“Okay, but you’ll understand why we kept this secret. You know the Halfseekers are all about taking races that don’t quite fit? Not just half races like half-Elves or half-Giants like Moore…people like me. Selphids. Races that don’t quite fit with other groups. Well, our last member was really different. He was a Goblin.”

Revi gasped. There was a clang, and then an oath. Halrac, working in the room next door, had dropped his metal file in surprise. Of course he’d been listening as well. Ulrien stared at Jelaqua.

“No. A Goblin? How could that be possible? They’re savages.”

She shrugged tiredly.

“Looks like they are in the end. But our companion was a Hobgoblin, not an ordinary one, you know? He was as good as any Goblin Chieftain—better, actually. We always thought he was as good as a Goblin could get without being a Goblin Lord. His name was…Garen Redfang. We know he’s still alive. Got his own tribe now too, by the sounds of it.”

“Redfang. Redfang…I’ve heard of that tribe. It’s one of the Goblin tribes around the High Passes. It’s considered a danger to Gold-rank adventurers.”

Ulrien recalled the warnings. There were only a few Goblin tribes with that kind of warning, and the Redfang tribe had earned theirs by killing several Silver and Gold-rank teams that had gone after them. Jelaqua grimaced.

“That’s not surprising. Garen was…one of our best warriors. A natural leader, too. He’s a [Rider] and a [Warrior] and he’s got magical artifacts. Like any Gold-rank adventurer.”

“So he betrayed your team. Over what?”

“We don’t know!”

The Selphid spread her arms helplessly. She looked around at the others.

“We were wary of Garen, but he was with us for two years and saved all of our lives more than once. He was one of us, but when he found the treasure…I knew there was something wrong. But I can’t remember what we pulled out. I was almost dead and one of my eyes was missing—”

“Seborn remembers a key, a magical orb of some kind, some spell scrolls, a few magical weapons…it may be the key, but what would a Goblin know of keys? Their people don’t use keys and identifying the lock would be a tremendous task for the most well-informed [Spymaster]. If the key even had a lock. As for the rest…”

Moore shook his huge head. Ulrien and the others sat in silence for a while. In the distance, they heard Halrac and Seborn finally cut through the grating and send the entire contraption clanging into the pit below.

“If your companion’s a threat, he needs to be taken care of. Justice should be done for your fallen. After this dungeon…we could discuss it.”

Ulrien offered the suggestion to Jelaqua. She nodded tiredly. A bit of a smile crept back onto her face, which Ulrien was glad to see.

“Who knew Griffon Hunt was full of such softies? Don’t let it get out or Halrac’s reputation will be ruined. And don’t worry—we won’t let the past get in the way of the dungeon. To rebuild our group we need coin and treasure, and that’s what we’re here for.”

“But you won’t forget, will you?”

Revi spoke up. Ulrien looked at her and saw the Stich Girl’s hands were clenched. The String People valued their own highly, he recalled. No wonder Revi felt passionate. Jelaqua nodded slowly and Moore sat up. The gentle half-Giant’s eyes were shadowed.

“Don’t worry, we won’t forget. Ever. Garen knows it, which is why he’s always kept his head down. He’s on our list.”

With that, the conversation ended. Seborn and Halrac came back to report the trapped room had been cleared and they were constructing a bridge across the chasm to the next room. The Gold-ranked adventurers moved onto the next trapped room, and the next.

Six hours after they’d begun, the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt emerged blinking back into the white, snowy world. They were covered in dirt, tired, hungry despite Jelaqua’s snack, and on-edge from dealing with traps and close calls.

One of the last traps had extended back into the corridor and one of the camouflaged wall scorpions had nearly stabbed Ulrien through the face. It had got Revi in the arm, but she’d pulled her arm off and had cut the envenomed cotton away. She still needed a healing potion though, and the pain from reattaching her arm and feeling the wound in her flesh for a few moments had made her more snappish than usual.

“Hold! Who goes there?”

“Us! It’s always us!”

Jelaqua shouted as the [Guardsmen] on the barricades heard them coming up the tunnel. After a pause they were allowed to continue, and the Gold-rank adventurers found a flurry of commotion on the wall. One of the Gnolls tossed down a ladder so the adventurers could climb up. The rest were packing up their gear and heading towards the city.

“What’s going on?”

Ulrien and the other adventurers were immediately alert. The Gnoll paused long enough to growl at them.

“Trouble. Something just crawled out of the second dungeon entrance! The Captain’s locking down the gates! If you want into the city, hurry!”

He loped off towards the gates. The adventurers looked at each other. Typhenous frowned.

“Up through the chasm? But that rift stretches down hundreds of feet—”

“Not a problem for some monsters, especially if they can fly. What should we do? I can scout the trouble.”

Halrac was looking at Ulrien. The big man considered their options. As Gold-rank adventurers they were expected to help in times of crisis, but that didn’t mean taking on every threat, especially when a city like Liscor could easily defend its walls from most enemies.

Revi shook her head as the Gold-rank adventurers conferred.

“It’s not our fight. Why invite trouble?”

“Erin’s inn isn’t within city limits. That’s all the trouble you need, especially if whatever’s out there decides they want an easier snack.”

Jelaqua pointed that out and Ulrien nodded. He turned to Halrac.

“Halrac—”

“I’m gone.”

The [Scout] charged through the snow, running fast despite the deep drifts as he scouted ahead. His Skills would let him see danger and avoid it which is why Ulrien let him go alone. Jelaqua was looking at Seborn.

“I could let Seborn—”

“Not necessary. Halrac’s a [Scout]. He can retreat if anything comes at him. Unless Seborn has similar Skills?”

“Point. Let’s get to Erin’s inn, then!”

The Gold-rank adventurers began marching hard through the snow, keeping an eye out for trouble. On the walls of Liscor, they saw Drakes and Gnolls running back and forth. The gates closed as a group of people streamed through it. The Gold-rank adventurers marched on, yet the monsters weren’t visible from their position on the snowy plains.

“There’s Halrac!”

Revi shouted as she saw the [Scout] racing towards them over a hill. Halrac waved his hand and pointed north—both teams of adventurers picked up the pace and met him halfway.

“Undead! Two Flesh Worms, two Crypt Lords—a score of Ghouls and lesser undead as well.”

“From that hole in the ground? How?”

Jelaqua demanded as Halrac took a few deep breaths. The [Scout] grimaced.

“It looks like they crawled up the hole somehow. They probably used the ropes those idiots left! I think the Flesh Worms carried both Crypt Lords. And the undead—I’m fairly certain they’re the group that left.”

“Damn it.”

Ulrien wasn’t one to curse often. He frowned as he looked towards the Wandering Inn in the distance. It was near Liscor, and it wasn’t a stretch to think the undead might target it.

“Didn’t Liscor have a big problem with a Flesh Worm one time? A special one?”

“Skinner. I’ve heard the stories. It got over the wall. Want to bet these ones can do the same?”

“No bets. I’m of the mind that we take the undead out rather than risk them attacking the inn or the city. If they killed that adventuring group, we can avenge them. It’s the right thing to do. What does your group think?”

Ulrien looked at Jelaqua. She grinned.

“We’re down for a fight. You leave one of the Flesh Worms to us—we’ll hit them from one side and you squeeze them from the other. That sound good?”

“Works for us.”

There was no time to come up with a detailed plan and besides, both teams didn’t need anything elaborate. The enemy wasn’t that dangerous. Ulrien gave rapid orders to his group, going over a plan of attack while they marched through the snow towards the rift.

“I want our worm immobilized. Revi can deal with the bulk of the lesser undead, and Halrac can support from the air.”

“You want him high up?”

Typhenous looked at Ulrien. Both Halrac and Ulrien nodded.

“There’s no ranged or aerial threats, aside from the Crypt Lords spitting black blood. You and Revi keep back while I engage the Crypt Lord. Just pour on spells from the side and we’ll be fine.”

“Got it.”

Both [Mages] nodded. Ulrien grunted, drew his greatsword, and picked up the pace. Within minutes he could see shapes rushing over the snow in the distance. Two giant red worms, writhing and shooting across the landscape at unsettling speed were leading a pair of giant Crypt Lords, amalgamations of rotten flesh and bone. A horde of zombies, ghouls, and skeletons rushed behind them. It was an army of the undead, but Ulrien knew the only true threats were the Flesh Worms.

They were both twenty feet long, had thick red flesh, tiny black eyes and long antennae, and two whip-like appendages with feelers on the ends. These feelers could latch onto flesh and tear it away in an instant. Ulrien had heard stories of Flesh Worms building themselves obscene layers of armor from the skin of their victims over time. These ones didn’t have any such protections, but they were fast, strong, and capable of wiping out a party of Bronze or Silver-rank adventurers by themselves.

Not Gold-rank, though. Not Griffon Hunt. The instant the undead were spotted, Ulrien stopped and lifted his greatsword up, blade flat. Halrac ran towards him, bow at the ready and Typhenous raised his staff.

It was a maneuver they’d performed many times. Halrac leapt onto the flat of Ulrien’s huge blade and Ulrien grunted. He heaved up, and Halrac leapt from his sword into the air as Typhenous raised his staff.

“[Platform of Air].”

Halrac landed on the transparent disc ten feet above the ground and reached for the quiver at his side. He snapped down at the others as he put an arrow with a shimmering yellow-tipped head to his bowstring.

“Shocking left!”

“Immobilizing right. [Sticky Webbing].”

Typhenous lifted his staff as Halrac shot the first arrow. There was over twenty meters separating him and the Flesh Worm, but his arrow still stuck the undulating red serpent straight between the eyes. It shrieked, making Halrac clench his teeth as lightning burst from his arrow and made the Flesh Worm twist upon itself in agony.

At the same time, a stream of grey tendrils lashed out from Typhenous’s staff. The older [Mage] caught the second Flesh Worm with the mass as it tried to evade. The sticky web from his spell anchored parts of the worm to the ground, impeding its movement. The Flesh Worm tore up parts of the ground as it tried to free itself.

“Whoo! Mage support! Alright Halfseekers, let’s do this!”

Jelaqua’s team was less refined than Griffon Hunt. They charged across the snow at the first Flesh Worm, all three of them. It twisted upright, hissing, as Jelaqua whirled her flail and attacked its side.

Ulrien charged the second Flesh Worm as it struggled to free itself. The snow was making his footing unstable, so he took care to plant himself in front of the worm before slashing. The worm swung a feeler at his head and Ulrien cut. The Flesh Worm screamed as one of its ‘arms’ was severed and fell to the ground. Ulrien pressed the attack, cutting into its side with his greatsword.

“I will assist Ulrien. Revi, the Crypt Lord is advancing.”

Typhenous commented to Revi as he shot magical missiles of light at the Flesh Worm’s head, forcing it to dodge as Ulrien sliced into its side, trying to saw it in half. Revi sighed.

“I see it old man. Give me one second.”

She reached into her pouch and pulled out a huge chunk of amber. Embedded in the center was a fragment, a bit of horn. Revi held it up and shouted.

“Come forth! Rush, Corusdeer!”

As the Crypt Lord advanced, spitting black blood onto the ground, something shimmered in the air in front of Revi. A bright, antlered shape burst out of the air and the fire from its body melted the earth. Revi pointed and uttered a command.

A glowing Corusdeer formed out of red and yellow fire charged towards the first Crypt Lord. It rammed the undead and there was a wordless howl as it engulfed the Crypt Lord in flames. The Corusdeer broke off, ran a circle in the snow, and rammed the Crypt Lord from the other side. Revi was pointing, commanding its path as two spectral warriors appeared in front of her and Typhenous, waiting for the Ghouls to approach.

Halrac drew an arrow to his cheek and loosed it at a Ghoul. The arrow hit the undead in the head as it ran and the Ghoul dropped. Halrac turned, shot a Ghoul trying to sneak up at the [Mages] from behind, and looked over at the Halfseekers to see how they were doing.

Jelaqua was a whirling image of death as befit her [Iron Tempest] class. Her two-handed flail was a danger to everything around her, and the undead charging at her were torn to bits by her whirling flail’s heads. She closed on the Flesh Worm as it hissed at her. It lashed out, but one of Jelaqua’s flails smacked its tail away as it tried to hit the Selphid.

“I will take it down.”

Moore ran towards the Flesh Worm, long legs churning through the snow. The half-Giant raised his staff and balled his other hand into a fist.

“[Thorny Fist].”

Thick brambles of dark wood engulfed his right hand. Huge thorns shot out, dark and grey like iron and turned Moore’s hand into a deadly weapon. He lashed out at the Flesh Worm—

And missed. The giant red worm was incredibly agile. It leaned back and dove head-first at Moore, mouth opened wide. He blocked it with his enchanted hand, but the magical gauntlet of wood and thorns wasn’t stronger than the Flesh Worm’s flesh. It had bitten through several layers of the bark surrounding his vulnerable skin when Seborn appeared and stabbed the Flesh Worm in the side with glowing daggers.

It screamed as part of its flesh caught on fire and whirled to attack Seborn. The [Rogue] dove out of the way and seemed to vanish in the snow. Moore backed up, shaking his hand.

“Thanks, Seborn.”

Take care of the undead. Let Jelaqua and I handle the worm.

“Agreed.”

Moore took a few steps back as Jelaqua lashed the Flesh Worm’s side with her flail and Seborn stabbed its tail. He turned and saw the undead were about to fall on his party from behind.

The half-Giant calmly kicked a zombie hard enough to send it flying through the air, punched a Ghoul down as it leapt on him, and then stepped on its back. Halrac winced as he heard bones crack.

The other Crypt Lord charged Moore, but hesitantly. It was actually shorter than the half-Giant and Moore was nearly as wide as it was. Moore used the remains of his enchanted hand to hold the Crypt Lord at bay as its rows of teeth and claws scratched harmlessly at his wooden gauntlet. Then he raised his staff with his left hand.

Moore thrust the tip of his broad staff into the Crypt Lord’s side, tearing into dead flesh and pushing the undead monstrosity back. As it tried to swipe at him, Moore uttered a spell.

“[Entangling Vines.]”

Thick, green ropes of plant matter erupted from the Crypt Lord’s side. It engulfed the struggling undead as Moore let go, sealing its mouth, anchoring it to the ground and rendering it immobile. Moore nodded.

“Problem solved.”

The half-Giant turned away and began hitting the undead around him with his staff, not bothering with more spells. In the meantime, Jelaqua had brought the battle to the Flesh Worm.

Five times, ten times, twenty times she struck the Flesh Worm’s side with her flail. Its hide was incredibly thick, but the force of each of her flail strikes was able to tear into its hide slightly. And she kept hitting it. Jelaqua’s arms were a blur as she lashed the Flesh Worm’s side, tearing it apart hit by hit. She was laughing as she attacked.

Strikestrikestrikestrikestrike—whoa, that was close.”

Jelaqua ducked low as the Flesh Worm lashed out towards her with its feelers. It swung its body around and its tail came at waist height. Jelaqua cursed as she dove beneath it, and then saw the Flesh Worm poised to lunge. The worm opened its mouth and then an arrow sprouted from one eye.

It screamed. Seborn took the opportunity to sever a good section of its lower body with a decisive strike. The Flesh Worm screamed again as it bled orange-red blood and tried to retreat. Jelaqua cut it off and her flail caught it on the head this time.

“Take this!”

She lifted her flail and buried the spiked ball into the Flesh Worm’s head. The worm screamed, tried to move. Jelaqua whirled her flail, building up speed. She hit the same place again. And then again. The third blow crunched something in the Flesh Worm’s brains and it went still.

As the gigantic creatures stopped moving, Jelaqua studied the broken arrow shaft in its eye and looked around. She saw Halrac standing on his platform of air, shooting down Ghouls and Zombies. She waved a hand at him as he turned his head her way and grinned.

Halrac lifted one hand. He grinned as he shot a Ghoul through the head. Jelaqua laughed and spun. Her flail crushed a zombie’s skull and she whirled her two-handed flail, knocking another zombie off of its feet.

Ulrien finally managed to hack the second Flesh Worm in half and dashed back as it fell to the ground, screaming. It was still alive though, and Typhenous had to blast it with [Fireballs] twice before it fell. Revi’s summoned Corusdeer had incinerated her Crypt Lord, and with her summoned warriors and Halrac’s shooting, the rest of the undead on their side were cleaned up in minutes.

All the undead around Moore had been thoroughly smashed as well. The half-Giant was leaning on his staff and talking to Seborn as he regarded the bound Crypt Lord. No one was in the mood for a fair fight, so Revi let her Corusdeer charge into the Crypt Lord and burn it to pieces. The adventurers headed back towards the Wandering Inn, chatting and cleaning undead gore off of their weapons.

There was something cathartic about fighting monsters. It was simple. There was no tension, worrying that a trap might go off and endanger the group. When you killed a monster, you killed it for good, even if that meant burning the remains until there was nothing left.

“Nice moves against the Flesh Worm. Have you fought them before?”

Ulrien was chatting with Jelaqua. She shook her head, looking rueful.

“No. I didn’t expect the bugger to be so quick! Your Halrac’s a great shot, though. I’d prefer not tangling with those worms anyways, to be honest. My flail’s not a good matchup against them.”

“True. Holding them down and cutting them apart works for my group.”

“Oh? Well next time I think we’ll just let Moore entangle it and then beat it to death as well. He’s got some great vine spells, as you saw back there.”

Revi was smiling for once, and chatting with Seborn and Moore.

“Think we’ll get a bounty on the undead?”

Perhaps. Although we didn’t take any trophies.

“Trophies? You can see their bodies over there! If the city wants proof so bad, they can just come out here and count themselves. Anyways, that was refreshing. Anyone want a drink?”

Moore nodded.

“I could do with a keg of something spicy. And Lyonette promised me a lot of pasta with meatballs tonight. I prefer the Gnollish kind, having tried them.”

“Ooh, share some with me. I think I’ll have Erin make this…‘lasagna’ she keeps talking about tonight.”

I’m partial to that as well. Let’s order some for all of us.

The Gold-rank adventurers returned to the inn, chatting, smiling, and not talking about the adventurers that had died. It was part of their life. The others had taken a risk and paid for it. Mourning them was appropriate, and perhaps some words would be said. But death was too often part of their lives for it to detract from living.

“Hey! It’s you guys! How are you? Had a busy day?”

Erin Solstice looked up from her tables, beaming as the Gold-rank adventurers took a seat. In moments she had drinks coming their way courtesy of Drassi, and she was already directing Lyonette to take out the pre-cooked lasagna, much to Revi’s delight and Seborn’s dismay.

I’m not a fan of cheese. Cows are…odd creatures. We don’t have things like them in the sea. Do you have anything less cheese related?

“How about fish? Lyonette had one jump out at her and she beat it to death with a bucket. Sound good?”

That would be excellent. Can you make it spicy?

“Will do! Oh, by the way, did Lyonette tell you all about what I wanted to talk to you earlier about but never got the chance to talk about?”

Halrac blinked and Typhenous rubbed his ears as the adventurers tried to decode Erin’s convoluted statement. Moore sat up as Lyonette and Drassi lifted a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs onto his table.

“I recall something about slimes.”

“Yeah! Slimes! Let me get your food and we’ll talk. Or actually, Lyonette and the others will get your food and I’ll talk. Isn’t having help great?”

Erin beamed as she hovered around the tables with her guests. She had hot food, cool drinks, and a warm, inviting smile. All an adventurer wanted at the end of the day. Well, Revi could have done without the smile. She just wanted the drinks.

“How was your day? Did anything interesting happen? I heard there was some kind of monster attack, but Bird says all the monsters are ‘taken care of’. Did anything crazy happen to you guys?”

Halrac glanced over at the rest of his team, and then at Jelaqua and the Halfseekers. It was the Selphid who grinned and casually took a mug from Lyonette’s tray.

“Oh, nothing special. What’s this about slimes?”

 

—-

 

So it went. Adventurers did their jobs and got paid for it. Some were quiet heroes, others bold and unapologetic. The experienced ones took calculated risks and paved the way for others to follow. They did their job, and it was a mark of experience that they did not brag about what they did.

However, the inexperienced didn’t know that and so talked constantly. On one snowy trail recently cleared by flame magic, one such adventurer was lauding his achievements to a very patient, very blind young man on a wagon. Laken Godart sat on the wagon’s back, wishing for once that he were blind and deaf.

“—so as I said, we’re not Gold-rank adventurers, but we’re…pretty close. I mean, Silver-rank’s the best you’ll see around most parts. Not Invrisil, true, but I like to think we’re competitive with Gold-rank teams for a lot of assignments.”

One of the adventurers, a young man with a sword and an air of unwarranted confidence, was riding a horse and chattering to Laken. He was quite taken with the [Emperor], mainly because Laken was rumored to be some sort of rich [Lord] and it never hurt to impress the nobility. He was the leader of the Windfrozen Riders, one of the two Silver-rank teams Laken had hired to protect Riverfarm and escort him back to his village.

He was regretting that choice. Charitable though the Windfrozen Riders might be to the plight of simple villagers, humble they were not. Their leader had talked his ear off for three hours straight, and this was the second day of travelling with him. He only broke off when Durene walked to the head of the wagon and spoke with Laken.

“Laken.”

“Oh, Durene. Thank you for saving my ears. Is he gone?”

“He’s talking to Gamel. Hey, Laken, can I punch him?”

“What? Durene…no. No, that wouldn’t be right.”

It was uncharacteristic of the half-Troll to be violent at all. However, she was almost as annoyed with the cocky adventurer as Laken was. He dismissed her question, trying not to imagine how satisfying the sound of her thumping the young adventurer would be.

“Patience, Durene. We need these adventurers as friends. I’ll ask him to quiet down a bit, but violence isn’t the answer. Punching him wouldn’t do him any good, would it?”

Durene made a disgruntled sound.

“No, but if I punch him, I’ll save him from being killed by the other adventurers. The [Mage] with the glasses say she’ll turn him into a toad. Can she do that?”

Laken laughed, and then frowned thoughtfully.

“She’s a [Witch]. And I think she’s not high enough level to do that. She’d probably only give him a long tongue and slimy skin. Maybe some webbed feet, but that’s all.”

He heard a shuffle, and then a note of complaint in Durene’s voice.

“Okay, but can I punch him anyways? He keeps telling me that he’s got a second sword just as long as his first sword. Which is impossible. It wouldn’t fit in his pants. And who’d want a sword that big, anyways?”

Laken made an amused face.

“You’d be surprised what some guys think they’d like, Durene.”

There was a pause. Durene trudged alongside the wagon as Laken found Frostwing’s head. The bird was getting very big, and he was starting to flap his wings as if he was trying to fly. Laken wondered what would happen when he did. Would he be able to command Frostwing? Talk to him? He was a [Beast Tamer].

After a moment, Durene edged closer and whispered in Laken’s ear.

“You know I don’t mean sword, right? He was talking about his pe—”

“I get it, Durene.”

“So can I hit him?”

Laken sighed. He could hear the adventurer coming back towards the wagon. He stared ahead, and wished he were back at Riverfarm sooner.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.20 E

There’s a feeling I’ve had once before. That of standing on the edge of a cliff.

It’s a different sensation than you’d expect for someone who’s blind. Because, obviously, any time I stand on a ledge higher than three feet, I can’t tell how far the ground below is. I’ll feel the missing space with my walking cane and back away.

But a cliff? A cliff is different. I have to know it’s there for it to be really special. As it happened, I was standing on a ledge on the side of a mountain and when I was told what was below, I tossed a rock over the edge.

I never heard it hit the ground. It was probably too far for my ears to pick up and it was a windy day. But that—that convinced me. And the feeling of standing on the edge of something I couldn’t fathom was truly frightening. And exhilarating.

The unknown. A future I can’t predict. If I was told there was a path forwards, a thin ledge to stand on while the abyss howled around beneath me, would I have the courage to keep going?

I don’t know. But this is my only choice. I, Laken Godart, am an [Emperor]. I know what I must do. There’s no going back.

So I suppose…this would be a fine way to die.

 

Day 55

 

“Laken? Laken, wake up. You’re snoring.”

Someone pokes me and I wake up. I jerk upright, and look around. I don’t bother opening my eyes. There are some reactions that I suppose some people instinctively perform, but eye-related activities are generally a waste of time for me. I can’t see.

I can hear, however, so I turn my head and look slightly miffed in the direction the voice and the poke came from. It takes my brain a second to process why I was woken up, and then open my mouth to scold.

“Durene. I was having an enjoyable nap. What’s wrong with me snoring?”

“It’s not very noble. You said that an [Emperor] should be dignified in all situations. Snoring isn’t.”

I sigh and sit back. I’m back in reality and I can feel reality around me now. What was I thinking of? I was just dozing, remembering the past, perhaps. I remember a cliff…now I can feel a hard surface beneath me, and a rumbling and forward motion. I’m on a wagon, and it’s just past noon, or so I’m told.

“Snoring is a very human trait, Durene. Not just human either—it’s a natural thing everyone does. Even if I am an [Emperor], I’d expect anyone to understand that I snore and sleep like everyone else.”

“Yes, but you were also drooling. That’s not dignified.”

The voice, deep and female, points that out. I brush at my face and find she’s right. I scowl and sigh.

“Fine. I’ve stopped. But you could have just let me sleep. There’s no one to see me drooling, objectionable as that may be.”

“No, I think one of the adventurers is coming. So I had to wake you.”

Durene’s voice is self-assured and confident. I have to look my best when strangers are around, therefore I must be awake. I sigh, but give up the argument. Instead I lean back into my seat and center myself in the world. Where am I? What am I doing? I’m sitting in a wagon. Existential problems solved.

I’m on the road again. Or more accurately, I’ve been on the road for the last four days. If I’m honest, it’s not actually me on the road. I’m just sitting on a bumping wagon while a rather smelly horse pulls me along. Sitting in a very comfortable seat of padded cloth that Durene and Gamel worked up for me of course, but it does get boring.

Hi. I’m Laken. An [Emperor]. I’m currently travelling down a cleared road of dried mud, sitting in a wagon while my girlfriend—or perhaps lover—walks beside the cart. She’s too big to ride with me and Durene say she prefers to walk. I would too—it’s good for the legs, but it’s just a bit too likely that I’ll have my foot crushed by a wagon wheel for me to risk it.

Honestly, a 1% chance of having my foot get run over by a rolling mass of several tons of weight is too much for me. So I sit and talk with her, or occasionally Gamel, who walks and sometimes sits on the wagon. He’s one of my subjects, a young man from a village called Riverfarm.

“Mister Laken! I think we’re only a few miles from Riverfarm if that’s the place your man Gamel has described, sir!”

A voice shouts at me and I turn my head in the direction of the call. I raise a hand towards the adventurer. That’s Beniar, the leader of the Windfrozen Riders. He’s a [Rider], and one of the two Silver-rank adventurer groups that I hired to escort me and protect the village.

I hear hoof beats, and then someone rides up to the wagon. I sigh. Not because I’m unhappy about reaching Riverfarm—on the contrary, I can’t wait to be back. One of the reasons why is because it means I’ll have more space from Beniar. He’s a chatterbox and annoying.

“Allow me to say, sir, that it’s been a pleasure escorting you this far. I hope you’ll recommend my team to the Merchant’s Guild and for future assignments. Not that our job is ended—we’ll be patrolling around your village for the month, as you know. So I hope to work together well with you, sir. Or is that my lord?”

I don’t need eyes to hear the impudent tone in Beniar’s voice, or know that Durene’s probably scowling at him. To stop her from arguing with the young man, I smile in his direction.

“My lord is acceptable, Beniar. Sir, your majesty, or any other title you’d prefer to give me I would also be content with, however. Thank you for telling me. You may go.”

That throws him. I hear Beniar’s horse lag behind for a moment, and then a cough. Durene giggles, his voice sounds strained.

“Ah, yes sir. We’ll signal the village that we’re arriving. I uh, well, I’ll be going.”

He rides off. Durene starts laughing out loud and I think Beniar can hear her. I smile, but covertly, so that if he looks back he won’t see.

“Shush, Durene. That’s not nice. Beniar is a good sort, even if he’s…inquisitive.”

That doesn’t stop Durene, of course. My half-Troll lover, protector, and sometimes nap-waker has not enjoyed Beniar’s company. He’s just a bit too fond of bragging about his accomplishments—which are decent, enough for his team to be called Silver-rank despite his age—and a bit too interested in who I am.

I arrived in Invrisil, the city of adventurers and one of the hubs of the northern part of the continent around a week ago. I caused a stir and spent lavishly at the Merchant’s Guild there—buying supplies for Riverfarm, magic-users with flame spells to clear the snowy roads so I could ride back, and hired two Silver-rank teams to protect my village.

That’s a lot of money, and a lot of influence to be used for a no-name village in the middle of nowhere. By the time I left the city, several days after Ryoka Griffin delivered aid to my village and then disappeared in a carriage owned by Magnolia Reinhart, rumors were flying about exactly who I was and what my interests were.

I received several invitations from reputable [Merchants], [Bankers], adventurers, and so on, and refused them all. Is it any wonder people like Beniar want to know if I’m some sort of rich lordling or other important figure? The information could be worth a lot and help a young adventurer with his career. So he’s pestered me and bragged shamelessly on the four-day trip. I understand, but just wish he were as adept socially as he is with a sword.

Apparently I’m not the only person with that view. I hear an indignant murmur from my left, and then a voice. Gamel speaks up for the first time, and I hear the snow crunch as he paces to the left of my wagon. He has to work to keep up, unlike Durene, but he seems to think only I deserve the comfort of the wagon.

“He shouldn’t be so direct with you, sire. He should be bowing and saying your majesty without it being a joke.”

I sigh again as Durene voices her agreement from my left. Here I am with my two vassals who seem to think everyone should bow and kiss my smelly feet every two seconds. And soon, I’ll be in the midst of a village full of them. How will I manage?

Well, I have a few ideas. And of course, I must manage. I am their [Emperor]. I accepted the responsibility when I saved Riverfarm from an avalanche. Getting the [Emperor] class was almost a joke, a chance decision. However, I have embraced what I am now. I have a duty. I cannot turn my back on it now.

So I straighten my back. I am an [Emperor]. And if I am, there are some things I have to get right. Starting now. After all, there is a problem with my subjects telling me how I should be treated. They mean well, but that’s their opinion. I have mine, and they have to understand that. And obey.

“Gamel, I appreciate your input. And yours of course, Durene. But please understand this: I will be treated like a commoner, disrespectfully, flippantly, and sometimes rudely by the people I meet. That is not their fault. They do not know I am an [Emperor], or if they do, they might not believe. That does not mean you two should reprimand them. In fact, I insist you do not. I order you not to. Is that understood?”

Durene’s laughter cuts off. I can’t see Gamel, but I imagine him straightening up, flushing.

“I’m terribly sorry, sire.”

“Enough of that. I told you, sir, or my name is fine.”

“Yes…sir.”

And here comes the hard part. I modulate my tone; try to explain why I say what I do. It’s one thing to command, another to lead. I was told that just recently. I may be an [Emperor], but I must inspire and teach, not just tell.

“The reason why I say this is because titles are meaningless to me, Gamel. No, don’t gape. I may be an [Emperor], but being called and treated like one isn’t strictly necessary. Yes, I insist on respect, but that comes in a different way from people I meet. I would rather know how people feel about me than ruin their impressions of me and mine of them from the start. Rudeness of course is different, and you can be offended about that. But simple ignorance or casual incivility is to be welcomed, I think.”

There’s a thoughtful silence from Gamel after that, and I hope I’ve reached him. However, Durene’s voice is troubled.

“But Laken, if you’re an [Emperor]—”

I raise a finger and she breaks off. Where has this come from? Durene’s changed a lot from the timid girl I met in the forest almost two months ago. Oh, she’s mainly the same, but she’s bolder now. She’s gotten a lot more opinionated—mostly about how I should be treated. That doesn’t’ mean she’s right of course.

“Durene, I understand your concerns. However, my ego is large enough that I don’t need to be called ‘your majesty’ every two seconds. Think of it from my perspective.”

“How do you mean?”

I smile slightly.

“I am an [Emperor]. You know that. Gamel knows that. And I know that. That fact will never change. Why should what other people say or believe matter? I know who I am. That’s all I need.”

“Wow.”

Durene’s voice sounds awed, and Gamel makes a similar noise. I sigh. It really wasn’t that special. It’s just about self-confidence. But perhaps neither Durene nor Gamel has ever thought about life in that way. They both grew up in a tiny village. Gamel can barely read; Durene can’t.

Neither one knows about psychology, economics, mathematics, germ theory…so much. They know a lot about living, and they’re good people who don’t need the rest to survive. But it could help them. So now and then I try to teach.

Unfortunately, every action has consequences. And my little speech has roused the final occupant of the wagon. I hear a screech and flapping wings. I sigh.

“Frostwing, shut up.”

The loud shrieking cuts off. I turn in my seat and get up onto my knees. It’s not hard to find the perch anchored to the top of a bag of grain—although I do get my fingers in a bit of fresh bird droppings. I grimace and then find Frostwing. The bird recoils a bit from my touch, and then rubs her head against my palm.

Frostwing. I have a bird, by the way. She’s just a fledgling, but she’s getting bigger each day—she’s already about as long as my hand and forearm. I wonder how large she’ll get by the time she finishes growing.

She allegedly has blue feathers, the better to hide in the sky, I suppose. I’m still not sure if Durene’s playing a trick on me. I keep thinking that blue is an odd color in a bird—but I can’t remember what eagles and hawks are supposed to look like from my world. I…think they have brown and white feathers, but honestly, listening to descriptions of birds isn’t like seeing them. It doesn’t stick in the mind.

Or so I would imagine.

Right now it seems like Frostwing wants to learn to fly. She keeps flapping her wings on her perch as I find her head and stroke it. A beak pokes my hand gently and I sigh.

“I think she’s hungry. Again. Gamel, do you have—”

“Some jerky. Here, sire.”

Gamel’s already got the dried meat ready. I break some off as Frostwing tries to snatch the entire strip from me. She’s voracious, but I am her owner—and a [Beast Tamer], so I scold her and force her to take pieces from my hand one at a time.

I’m not sure this is how you raise birds, but hey, I’m giving it my best shot.

Lecturing Gamel and Durene, talking to nosy adventurers, and dealing with my pooping bird take up a good amount of time after I’ve woken up. However, I must admit that for an [Emperor], someone with a class who’s supposed to rule over countless people and an empire, this isn’t exactly very fulfilling. I’m restless, and I want to be in my village soon. There I’ll be able to see…in a way.

And there’s so much to do. I have a thousand and one things I know I have to take care of, but I’ve been confined to the wagon for the trip. When I am outside of the lands I own, I am blind and to some degree, helpless. This world is filled with monsters and I must rely on other people for help.

Like any good [Emperor], in fact. There’s some irony to that. But I’m keenly aware that as loyal as Durene and Gamel are, and as faithful as the villagers of Riverfarm seem to be, they’re not exactly capable of everything. None of them are fighters, although I wouldn’t ever bet against Durene. But despite her having a [Paladin] class, she’s never been in a life-or-death battle, and there are dangerous monsters in this world.

Not that I’ve ever seen one. I’m blind. If I’m in a situation where a monster is close enough for me to hear or touch, I’m probably dead since running away when blind is very, very difficult.

So the adventurers like Beniar are essential. Not just now, but in the future. I have thought and been advised on the future. That’s why when the second adventurer rides towards my wagon, I make sure Frostwing’s poop is off my hands and try to look as dignified as Durene thinks I should be.

“Mister Laken, may we have a word? It’s me, ah, the leader of the Celestial Trackers.”

I hear a young woman’s voice, and then another as two adventurers ride down towards me from the wagons ahead. Did I mention the other wagons? Some of the adventurers not riding next to the wagon I’m on are filling the ones ahead and behind me. I, as an important person, get a wagon to myself.

“Certainly. Come by this side and we can talk.”

I move over to the right side of the wagon and hear Durene making room for the horse. Someone else speaks politely to me, the owner of the second horse.

“I am here as well, sir.”

I nod. I’ve met these two adventurers as well, and they’re considerably easier to work with than Beniar is.

“Wiskeria and Odveig, right?”

“That’s right. We were hoping to speak with you about our duties when we reached the village, Mister Laken. Is now a bad time?”

“Certainly not. Did you have any concerns? What are your expectations from what the Merchant’s Guild hired you for?”

The two confer as I wait patiently. Odveig is the leader, a [Macewoman], and Wiskeria is her subordinate. They lead the Celestial Trackers. Well, Odveig is the one who calls herself the leader, but I feel like Wiskeria is the brains behind the group. She’s a [Witch], a specialized type of [Mage] who can apparently use spells to hinder her opponents and brew potions and use spells to assist her friends.

In short, she’s fascinating and I’ve wanted to talk with Wiskeria, but haven’t had much time to do so. In the few interactions I’ve had with their team, I got the sense that Odveig is rightly paranoid that Wiskeria might take her place as the leader of the group. Wiskeria herself seems disinterested in the role of leader, but she’s far too sharp to be excluded from the decision-making process.

Which is why both of them are here now. Odveig is the first to speak to me. She has a husky voice, and a very pleasant tone with a slight accent on the ‘th’ sounds she makes.

“Generally, these sorts of contracts have us patrol an area by day and night, Mister Laken. We ah, are expected to be fed and given adequate shelter, but that’s all our contract entails. We can hunt and scavenge for our own provisions, but that generally takes up a good deal of the time we’re supposed to be guarding, you see…”

“Food is not an issue, Miss Odveig. And I’m sure we can find indoor spots for your entire group—unless you’d prefer camping in the tents you brought. As you know, there are not many buildings in the village that can be used, but we’ll try to accommodate you as best we can.”

“We do appreciate that, sir. May I ask what trouble you’re expecting? Hiring two Silver-rank teams is not—not—”

She stumbled on her words and Wiskeria took over. Her voice is quieter, smoother, and precise. It makes me think she’s had some kind of formal education—or perhaps it’s just her personality.

“Two Silver-rank teams are generally only called for when protecting areas at immediate risk of monster attacks, sir. To escort so many wagons two teams is quite appropriate, but we’re afraid our services might be considered wasted when guarding an entire village for a month.”

I smile. Do they fear inactivity, or that I’ll try to pay them less? Their fee has already been paid—half now, and half held by the Adventurer’s Guild when they return. Either way, I should reassure them.

“Call me paranoid, Miss Odveig, Miss Wiskeria. But I feel that two Silver-rank teams are better than one, and both are essential in case trouble comes to Riverfarm. That might not happen, in which case you’ll have a quiet month. However…if it does happen I’d rather be ready for it, which is why I’m willing to pay for the best.”

“You’ll get that, Mister Laken, rest assured!”

My words seem to reassure and invigorate Odveig, who I’m sure is sitting straighter on her saddle. Wiskeria takes a more measured response.

“In that case, we’ll set about ensuring there are no threats to the village, sir. And if there turns out to be no threats nearby…will you have us patrolling the entire duration?”

“That’s a good question. I wouldn’t like to waste your time, and if you find nothing, I’m sure your group doesn’t all need to scout at once. I’d be fine letting your groups train or…doing whatever you feel is necessary. However, my village is in need. Could your groups help rebuild? A few hands to help lift and carry things would be welcome.”

Another brief moment of whispering, and then Wiskeria speaks up.

“I’m sure our party can send some of our group to assist with whatever rebuilding is necessary, or lend our Skills where we can once we’re sure the area is secure, sir. I expect the Windfrozen Riders have useful Skills in their group as well. We may be able to hunt for game as well, once again, after ensuring the area is clear of monsters.”

“Excellent. I will speak with you when we reach the village, then. I’m told it’s just an hour or two away?”

“We should be arriving within the hour, sir.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

They withdraw. I sit back in the wagon and after a moment, Durene steps up next to me.

“You aren’t expecting trouble, are you, Laken? I’ve heard monsters and bandits like to prey on villages that get into trouble.”

Her voice is worried, and I nod while turning my head up to the sky. It’s still so cold out here! Winter in this world doesn’t play around. Thank goodness for blankets and thick coats.

“I had the same thought. That’s why we have two Silver-rank teams, Durene. They’ll deal with most problems quite easily, unless I miss my guess.”

“That’s true. I haven’t heard of any village rich enough to hire a Silver-rank team, let alone two!

Durene’s voice beams with pride at that simple fact. I laugh, and lean back.

“Yes, yes. Don’t let it get to your head. I’m going to take a nap now, Durene. Without snoring or drooling, hopefully. Wake me when we get close to the village, will you?”

“Okay.”

It feels like I’ve just closed my eyes when a broad finger pokes me awake. I hear Durene at the same time as her voice.

“Laken! We’re here!”

I don’t need to be told that. The instant I sit up, I hear a huge mass of voices cheering like wild, making Frostwing wake up and panic on her perch. But that’s not the special bit.

The special bit is that I can see all the villagers cheering me, see the adventurers guarding the convoy of wagons gaping, see the people of Riverfarm rushing towards me, waving their arms and calling my name.

Well, see is a strong word. It’s more like a vision in my mind. A…sense, if you will. I call it sight because that’s the closest thing I can think of to this power I have.

As an [Emperor], I own Riverfarm. I claimed it to save the village, and as it turns out, whatever land I possess, I can sense, down to the smallest rock. I know instinctively that Riverfarm has eight buildings that have been excavated of snow—three more than when I left—and nearly thirty buildings still buried beneath. I can sense Durene hovering by the wagon and beaming while Gamel stands up on another and waves to his sweetheart.

I can see. That’s the gift of my class and it is worth beyond worth to me. However, my ‘sight’ has its limits. I see expressions, open mouths, and so on and moving outlines of people, but there is no color in my mind, and no detail. It’s more like what I imagine a bat’s echolocation might describe the world as. I see shapes, but not nuance.

It’s good enough. It’s more than enough. However, it means I do still need to rely on others for some things. I stand up from the wagon and hear the villagers shouting my name.

Laken! [Emperor] Laken!

“Your majesty!”

“Our [Emperor] has returned! Praise Emperor Laken!”

“The Unseen Empire! Emperor Laken!”

That last cry makes me start a bit. The Unseen Empire? Now how did they…? Oh, right! I once claimed Riverfarm as part of the Unseen Empire. It’s a fitting name, if embarrassing.

However, the cheering is genuine and it puts a smile on my face. I don’t deserve it, but I did save a lot of the village after the avalanche. I’m touched by their belief in me. I raise a hand, and they go wild.

I imagine this is what being a celebrity feels like. As I step down from the wagon people rush to surround me. I clasp hands, let people gently touch me, and then Durene and Gamel are forcing people to stand back. And just like that, the wild exuberance turns into deference as the villagers form a path for me to enter the village.

I can sense Prost waiting with some of the older villagers. I’m anxious to talk to him, but I can’t help it. I nudge Durene and she bends down so I can whisper to her.

“Psst, Durene. Describe the faces of the other adventurers to me.”

I can sense them, well, most of them, the ones within the village’s radius. In my picture of the world all of the adventurers are standing stock still, gaping. However, I want to know what their expressions are like. I can sense Durene as she straightens, and then I hear her voice, full of merry laughter.

“They can’t believe it! Beniar’s face is—I think his eyes are going to pop out of his head! And Odveig looks like she’s going to choke!”

She sounds gleeful. In fact, Durene might have been waiting for this moment. I never mentioned my true nature to Odveig or Beniar—people assumed I was some sort of noble, or a very rich stranger, but an [Emperor]? I can’t imagine what they’re thinking at the moment. I nudge Durene one more time.

“And Wiskeria?”

“Oh. She’s…staring at you.”

“Does she seem surprised?”

“Yeah, but she’s not gaping or anything…why?”

“Nothing much. I just wanted to see how she’d react. Quick thinking and being able to adjust to any situation is important.”

“Okay?”

She doesn’t get it, but Wiskeria is already part of my plans. I stride towards Prost and the other villagers as people shout my name.

Emperor Laken. I guess I can’t hide that fact any longer. And as I think that, I wonder if Wiskeria or the other two [Mages] in the adventurer groups can cast the [Message] spell. If they can…word about me might be spreading very quickly.

I smile faintly. Oops. The secret’s out of the bag. Not that I had any real hopes of keeping my class secret. But the dice have been cast. What will happen next?

It’s odd, but I actually think I know.

 

Day 56

 

The first day after I came back to Riverfarm was pure chaos, plain and simple. It was already late when I returned, and between hearing Prost and the other villagers fall over themselves to thank me—and assure me they hadn’t eaten all of the food Ryoka had brought—I was hard pressed to get a word in.

Or rather, because I’m an [Emperor], my words cause a complete hush and everyone has to listen to what I say, rather than let my voice be one of the many and get work done. Ah, well, we had a banquet on that first night and that’s probably all I was going to get done anyways.

A celebration to welcome an [Emperor] back. More than that, a celebration because I brought back exactly what I promised. Food for Riverfarm, supplies, tools to help rebuild, and adventurers to keep them safe. Everything the village needed to start rebuilding.

And now it’s the day after. I slept like I was in a five-star hotel in Durene’s cottage. My blankets and pillow felt like they were made of silk or clouds, and I woke up feeling full of energy. That’s thanks to my Skill as an [Emperor]—[Empire: Blessing of the Hearth]. It makes sleeping pleasant, even if you only have the floor and some blankets for a bed.

I’m grateful for that. My subjects need their rest, and lots of energy. Because today I’m going to start…everything.

“Laken, do you want eggs?”

“Sure, Durene. Give me some bacon too. No, Frostwing, you can’t have any. This is my bacon. Peck me, and I’ll halve your breakfast, understand?”

Breakfast is quick, serene, and over in a flash. Once I leave the cottage I find several people waiting for me. Waiting in the cold, although not in the snow since Durene shoveled her pathway this morning.

Prost, Gamel, Odveig, Beniar, and Wiskeria are all waiting for me by the time I come out with Durene. I’m surprised Gamel’s here, but I suppose he thinks of himself as my personal manservant. Prost speaks for the villagers, so his presence makes sense. As for the adventurers…well, at least they’re ready to work.

“Ah, Mister—that is to say, Emperor—ah—”

Beniar calls out hesitantly as I walk towards him, a smile on my face. I can hear him tripping over his words and imagine his blush. Gamel and Prost bow deeply to me as soon as I come near, and the other adventurers awkwardly imitate them.

I think they’re still reeling from the revelation that I’m an [Emperor], to be honest. Well, it makes sense. In their world, a class defines who you are. So if I have an [Emperor] class…I’m an [Emperor]. Simple as that.

“Let’s not dwell on formalities, Beniar. I told you any form of address was suitable. Sir works well.”

“Ah. Oh? Yes sir! Uh—”

Wiskeria clears her throat. She seems the least tongue-tied, as I had expected. I glance towards her and notice how she’s watching me. I think the other adventurers are surprised as well; I’ve forgone my walking cane and move about surely on Durene’s land. Because of course, I can see as well as anyone else now. Better, perhaps.

Whatever her thoughts, Wiskeria politely bows her head as she speaks. She doesn’t stumble over her words.

“Do you have orders for us, sire? We’ve made a small camp next to the village and we’ve got a good sense of the immediate area. We only need your word to start scouting the landscape. If we could speak with some of the locals who know the area, that would help as well.”

I nod thoughtfully. Adventurers…I have a lot I’d like to talk to them about, especially Wiskeria, but for now I need to talk to Prost more. So I let them do their job.

“If your group will divide the scouting and patrolling with the Windfrozen Riders, I’d be most grateful. I believe I will talk with Odveig and Beniar more specifically about their duties later—but as you can see I have a lot to do.”

“Of course, sire. We’ll get to work right away.”

Wiskeria nods to Odveig, and then has to drag both her and Beniar away. They’re still staring, which I have to say, I’m getting more used to. I turn to Prost as Durene joins me with Frostwing perched on her shoulder. The bird pecks at Durene’s cheek as I smile at Prost.

“Farmer Prost. How has the village been since I left? I’m told you got the food I had delivered to you alright—did you have an enjoyable Christmas? I hope my Runner, Ryoka, explained what that was.”

Prost starts, and I think he’s surprised at my warm greeting. Well, we did have an unpleasant first few encounters where he was against me and Durene living together. After I saved the village he was falling over himself to help me, and his attitude’s much better. For my part, I haven’t forgotten the past, but Prost lost his youngest boy in the avalanche. That kind of pain…no, I would never hold a grudge after all that has happened.

“Miss Ryoka, your majesty? Oh, she came by not a week ago—we were so grateful for her arrival we wept, sire. It was a blessing, and the food she brought—I know I said it too much yesterday, but the village can’t thank you enough, your majesty.”

“Sir, or sire’s fine, Mister Prost. Don’t worry about the titles—I’ve told Gamel the same. But now I’m back, and I’ve got all I promised.”

“More food and supplies? Your m—sire, I have to tell you that we’ve been rationing what Miss Ryoka brought. We made sure to not overeat, and I think we could stretch it till the spring if that’s all that could be bought.”

Responsible, thoughtful…the villagers of Riverfarm aren’t idiots, for all they once were small-minded. You can’t be stupid and live out here, where a bad harvest might mean starvation if you hadn’t planned ahead. I wave a hand and start heading down to the village, speaking to Durene, Prost, and Gamel all at once.

“Ryoka delivered a good bit of food, but hardly all of what I bought, Mister Prost, Miss Yesel. Don’t fear, we’ve enough food to last us the winter and a good ways into the spring. However, making sure we have food for the times after that is one of our biggest priorities right now.”

“Yes sir. We’ve been digging out more of the buried buildings, but it’s painfully slow work…but with you and Durene here, I’m sure we’ll do all that needs doing!”

“About that. I think clearing the snow is a good start, and so I hope I can ask you, Durene, to help. Gamel can also lend a hand…I’ll speak with Mister Prost about other matters, unless there’s something pressing?”

“Nope! I can do that, Laken. I’m ready for work, and there’s an extra-large shovel in the wagons I can use!”

Durene’s clearly ready for hard work, and she hands Frostwing to Gamel, who’s gotten used to handling the cranky bird. I nod to Gamel. If he’s my assistant—and he’s very loyal and does what I ask him to—then I should use him as one.

“Can you ask Odveig and Beniar if their [Mages] can use their spells to melt the snow, Gamel? I know you know some fire magic, but I believe some experienced spellcasters might help quite a bit with the excavation.”

“At once, sire.”

He and Durene head towards the village. I can sense the villagers waiting for me, but a few shouted words from Prost and they disperse. After shouting greetings at me, of course. I walk slowly with Prost around the village, making my way over huge drifts of snow.

The avalanche that hit Riverfarm buried almost all of it. Some houses were only half-consumed by the snow, but in the first few days after the disaster the villagers couldn’t walk without sinking into the deep snow. At the moment there’s a good section of the village that’s been cleared of snow, but there are still walls of hard snow and ice.

Prost is busy showing me the new houses the villagers have dug out. I can sense how battered the buildings are. Oh, the supports have held in most, but the wood is broken in countless places from the sheer force behind the avalanche. It will take a lot of doing to restore the buildings to any sense of working order, and there are still fields buried in the snow, dead animals still frozen where they were engulfed, scattered tools and belongings…

“It’s a mess, Emperor Laken. I’d despair at restoring anything at all if you weren’t here, I really would. Most villages suffer a disaster like this and, well, it’s over. We’d have to pack up and move, what few of us survived. It’s that or starve or freeze or be eaten by monsters.”

“Not exactly a pleasant choice, Mister Prost. However, even with what I brought, rebuilding Riverfarm will be a chore and a half. I hope everyone knows that.”

“Aye, we do. Don’t fear sire, we’re no strangers to hard work and we’ll do whatever you think is best.”

I can sense Prost nodding as he takes me around the barn, the main hub of the new village. There are simple beds inside, piles of recovered goods, several cooking fires outside…rudimentary stuff, but at least the villagers sleep like rocks. Everything else will have to be remade, and I’m the one in charge. Oh dear.

“Let’s get down to business, then, Prost. I’ve got some good ideas on how to proceed, but I’d love to hear what you’d do in a situation like this.”

I’ve got more than just a few ideas. I’ve spoken to several people, Ryoka among them, who gave me excellent advice on what to do. And honestly, I needed it. Rebuilding a village and managing everyone is not among the skills I brought from Earth, from my world, but I feel oddly confident now.

Prost shakes his head in response to my question. He has to break off to tell someone where the hammers are—in the wagons and two in the barn—and then he tells a group of young men and women to go help dig where Durene’s at. He’s in charge, as are a few of the older villagers. But that’s in charge under me, I feel. If I wasn’t here, would things go this well?

“Honestly, your majesty? I wouldn’t know where to begin, aside from digging out what I can. There’s so many farms ruined…I supposed I’d try to dig up fields, get as much land cleared so I could sow all the plants I could after the last frost, but that’s all I know. I’d be hoping to trade what valuables I could gather for supplies, some chickens and other animals maybe, but I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m glad you’re here, sir.”

“I find your faith in me disturbing, Mister Prost. I’m no miracle worker.”

“Say that to my daughter, sir. And my wife. You saved them and over half the village. But for you we’d be dead.”

Prost turns to me, and grips my shoulder before he remembers I’m an [Emperor] and starts apologizing. I stop him. That’s right. That’s why people have faith in me. Because I saved lives. I cannot betray that faith, although it’s more than any person should have placed on them.

“Well, we’ll see if my ideas work. For now…let’s talk about the villagers, Prost. What do you think they need?”

“Need? Well, you’ve given us warm bellies and your Skill makes us feel as though we’re sleeping on pure cotton, sire. Give us some more rooms and a place to work and I’d say that’s all I need. With these adventurers around, we don’t have to fear monsters and that’s a relief.”

I smile as I find a place to stand with Prost, out of the way. I can sense villagers staring at me as they work.

“Interesting. You thought of that off the top of your head, didn’t you, Mister Prost?”

“Yes sire. I just said what I could think of.”

“And what you could think of were the essentials. Food, shelter, and security. I’d say those are the three basic elements all people need to survive, don’t you, Mister Prost?”

“I’d agree with that, sire. That and a good drink now and then.”

I grin and see Prost smiling in relief. An [Emperor] needs to be human too.

“Well, that’s my point. In rebuilding Riverfarm, I’m looking at the essentials first, Mister Prost. Not just for now, but for the future when the supplies are gone and the adventurers leave.”

I start ticking off points on my hand as Prost listens.

“We need space for the people—not just somewhere they can live for the moment, but permanent homes. We need to grow food and raise animals, enough for the village to survive on. And we need a way to defend ourselves if monsters attack. Now, two of those issues can be solved by building the village again. However…it’s occurred to me that here might not be the best place to build it.”

I gesture towards the nearest house. Half of it has been collapsed inwards, and the other half is badly damaged and just patched over with boards to keep the wind out.

“The buildings we uncover are damaged. Some of the supports have shifted, the walls are blown out and the foundation’s destroyed on some of them. It would be just as much work to fix one up as make a new one, I’m thinking. Plus…I’m not sure the villagers would like to live in a place where so much grief has been caused.”

Most of the villagers buried in the avalanche were trapped in their houses, suffocated or bashed to death when it happened. The digging teams I led had to cut through roofs and dig to find the doors in order to save lives…or recover the bodies.

Prost nods heavily.

“That’s true, sire. But then where would we build the village? We’ve lived here all our lives, most of us.”

“I understand. And I’m not suggesting we abandon this place, but digging out houses takes time, and I’d rather have some of the villagers building new ones. It can’t be fun sleeping crammed together, even with my Skill. So what if we…drew up some blueprints for a new village right now?”

“Blueprints?”

“A simple map. I can’t see well, but let’s assume Riverfarm is here. And if we’re rebuilding the village, why not make it efficient? We can put all the fields together here, rather than each farmer have their own. And houses could go here…feel free to tell me if I’m making sense, Mister Prost.”

In a few minutes Prost and I are scuffing at the ground with a stick, plotting out a village in the wet dirt. I can’t sense the impressions in the ground unless they’re fairly deep, but it’s simple enough for Prost to get a handle of my idea, and then he’s off with it.

“We could certainly build more houses like you’re suggesting, sire. The ground’s uneven over here, but if we had a few [Diggers] or Durene picked up a shovel, I don’t see why we couldn’t smooth over parts and—and well, the village could be twice as large as before! And the fields—some of us [Farmers] have talked the idea over, and some fields we could all work on is an enticing idea, ‘specially if we combined teams of oxen. We never tried the idea because we quarreled over sharing the harvests, but if it’s all of us working in the village together, I don’t see why not.”

“Excellent.”

I have an idea of Riverfarm in my head. It’s got a river running by the village, which is where the name comes from, but until recently the villagers had a very small plot of land they’d tamed and farmed on. The new village, the rebuilt one would expand that space and create a space with larger fields, more houses…and more organized structure, too. There would be a main road and houses would be adjacent to one another, rather than built wherever the original owners wanted them.

Prost and I stare at the blueprints in the dirt for a few seconds, before reality hits. The older man sits back on his haunches and shakes his head slowly.

“It’s a grand idea you’re thinking of, sire. But can it be done? We’ve a few folks with Skills in woodworking and building, and I reckon Durene could lift up a beam herself, but it’s such a large thought I can’t imagine it. You think it can be done? Truly?”

I smile. Here’s one of my tests. Prost doubts we can do this. I do too, honestly—my ideas are so nebulous, I can’t figure out how to put them into action. However, I’m a leader and so I have to reassure him. And myself.

“A new village? Why not? There are trees aplenty in the forests, and I know we have people with [Carpenter] classes here. We can build the houses one at a time and create a new village while the adventurers guard us and we live off of what I brought from Invrisil.”

I reach out and clasp Prost on the shoulder, making him start.

“Remember, Mister Prost, we’re not doing this by ourselves. A house is a challenge for a single person or a family, but a village? We could put up the first house in a matter of days or less. Why don’t we do it like this? We’ll build three houses, lay foundations, and get to work measuring, cutting wood, and so on, while we reclaim the village from the snow. We build them where we planned…and go from there. Sound good?”

“When you put it like that, sire, I can’t help but think it sounds easier. Truly.”

Prost nods as he stands up. He’s hesitant, but now I’ve reduced the problem to a manageable one to him, he’s already thinking of who had the best Skills to start work.

That’s what I need. Because I don’t know the villagers well enough myself. I go with Prost out of the village limits, towards the new building spots. Halfway there I pause and grimace.

“Something the matter, sire?”

I hear Prost’s voice, but I can no longer sense him. I’ve gone…well, blind again. I must have left the village’s limits.

“I think I’ll have to stay here, Mister Prost. You check the spot we were discussing and see if it’s usable. I’ll wait here.”

Prost leaves and I kick at the invisible boundary where my sense of the world starts to fade away in my head.

“This might be a problem.”

My [Emperor]’s senses don’t extend outside of the limits of the village. The land I claim is the only place where they work. Which is a problem whenever I go travelling, or in cases like now.

I have an idea about how to fix that. Well, I didn’t come up with the idea. But still.

It’s something for later, though. Prost comes back with the news that the spots I suggested would work. He’s talking about asking the Fairfield family to help out, and getting Gamel and a few of the ‘lads’ to get some axes to cut down a few good trees—only the best wood will do, obviously, so we’ll need to find someone with a good eye for it.

I take a breath and cut Prost off. There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, something I’ve been advised to do. It might work, and if it does, it’ll help Riverfarm—and me.

“Mister Prost, there’s one last thing we need to talk about. That’s why I wanted to talk alone with you.”

Instantly the man becomes wary. He clears his throat.

“I uh, wondered if it might come to this, sire. About Durene…I can’t say how sorry I am about how I behaved. And the others too. But myself…I can’t apologize. I can only ask for—”

“What? Oh. Not that.”

I wave a hand at Prost, surprising him. He blinks, and I shake my head.

“What? But sire—the way I behaved—”

“I’m not going to berate you for the past, Mister Prost. Not now. Not after what’s happened. What you’ve all lost. No. That would be petty, and cruel, I think. You’re trying to make amends. I know you apologized to Durene and frankly…no. There’s something else I want to speak to you about.”

“Yes, sire?”

He sounds more nervous, if that’s possible. I try to reassure him, but give up and get into it. I walk with Prost around the edge of the village, feeling my sense of the world dim and brighten as I stumble through deep snow. Prost walks with me, tense, watching me. But trusting, too. He trusts me.

“I’m going to rule the village. I claimed it, and I am an [Emperor]. I’m a bit surprised you all would want me to lead you—”

I silence Prost as he opens his mouth again.

“—But I understand. However, I’m not experienced. I’m a low-level [Emperor] and frankly, I have no idea how to build anything. I’m not a [Farmer] and Durene knows more about raising animals than me. I need someone with all these Skills to help me coordinate the villagers.”

“Milord, I’m happy to do what I can. Me and the other older folk—we’re at your disposal. And young Gamel seems to be growing up right quick. If you need something, all you have to do is ask.”

“Yes, but asking means I have to think of it. And there are things I won’t think of, Mister Prost. That’s why I need a second-in-command. Someone who can do the thinking—and the asking—without me.”

I hear Prost gulp as he understands what I’m getting at.

“And that person who’s doing the asking…is that me, sir? Why me? I know I’ve taken it upon myself to take our orders, but I’m hardly like our last [Village Head]. I’m no leader.”

I nod. A [Village Head] is a type of [Leader], if a weak one. I suppose I fill that role, but an [Emperor] is too large to lead a village. All my Skills would apply to my empire, not an individual farm. Which is why…

“I know that. You are a [Farmer], Mister Prost. A good one, I think. Well thought of, but a farmer nonetheless. I need a leader, someone who can inspire people and manage them in my stead. Which is why I’m asking if you would take on another class for me.”

“Another—another class, sire? You mean become the village’s head? I reckon I could, but I’d only be Level 1, and you’re an [Emperor]—”

“No, not that. I mean, take on another class that I gave you. [Steward], to be exact.”

“[Steward]? Me?

Prost stops in his tracks. He stares at me.

“But I—[Steward] is a noble title, sir! It’s as close to a lordship as—most [Kings] appoint a [Lord] as a [Steward]! I’m not worthy of such a class!”

“Yes, well, I could make you a [Lord] too, but I think that’s too many classes to handle at once. Don’t gape, Mister Prost. I said I wasn’t going to do it.”

“But—why me, sire? Why me?”

I stop in the cold snow and run a hand through my hair. I look at Prost, and wish I could see him, not just sense what his face is roughly doing.

“Why not? A ruler needs a [Steward], someone to manage their affairs. I am an [Emperor]—why shouldn’t I be able to give you that class? I made Durene a [Paladin]. If you’re willing, I’ll name you as my [Steward] and put you in command of all of Riverfarm. Under me, of course.”

He pauses for a long time in the snow. I think…no, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But when Prost speaks, I can hear the wobble in his voice. The uncertainty, back again.

“I’m not worthy, sire. No—your majesty. Emperor Laken. I wouldn’t have imagined you were such a man, to be honest, but I can see it in you now. But sire, I know myself and I am not worthy of the class. I couldn’t be a [Steward], not a good one. I know that. You know that.”

I shake my head.

“No. You are not worthy. I agree with you on that, Mister Prost. However…none of us are. I need a [Steward], and you are the only person I can think who might fill that role. Gamel is too young, and I don’t know the others. But you? You are a man people trust. A man I think I can trust. And you have that one quality which makes me believe in you.”

“What’s that?”

He stares at me, hungry for an answer, words that can reassure him. I look into Prost’s eyes and open mine. Just for a moment. He flinches as he stares into my pupils, but he meets my gaze. And I speak from the heart.

“Change. I have seen you change. If you can change from a man who refused to accept that I could love a half-Troll, Durene, to a man who calls me [Emperor], then perhaps you can also become a man worthy of leading others. Because you must. You are needed, Prost Surehand. The village needs you. Your family needs you. I need you. Will you help me?”

For a long time he’s still. So long in fact that my eyes hurt and I have to close them. I’m not used to keeping them open. But I can still sense Prost there. At last he does speak.

“I’m not—but you know what. Milord, my [Emperor]…you say you need me. I…I’m humbled.”

There are tears in his voice and on his cheeks. They freeze in the cold. Prost bows towards me, deep.

“If you ask, I will do my best. I cannot promise…that is all I can do.”

“That is all I ask. In that case, Prost, kneel if you would.”

He goes to his knees in the snow. I reach out. There’s no grand pronouncement on my part, no long ceremony. I speak and it is done.

“You are my [Steward]. Manage my village Prost. Direct my people. I have faith in you.”

Tears fall into the snow. Prost stands.

“Will I gain the class tonight?”

“I think so.”

I have a suspicion. A hint. Prost wipes at his eyes and blows his nose on his sleeve. I smile, and bring him back into reality.

“Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

The moment passes. Prost and I head back to the village and we’re consumed by people. People, villagers with no idea what to do or what tomorrow holds. But they look towards me, and as Prost raises his voice and steps forwards, ordering the folks he knows around and dealing with minor squabbles, small complaints, they look towards him as well.

All in all, not a bad start.

 

Day 57

 

The next day I’m nearly shaken to death as Durene seizes me out of my bed and rattles me around.

Laken! Laken! You won’t believe what’s happened to Mister Prost! He gained a class! And—and lost his levels!”

“What? What? Stop shaking me, Durene! Put me down and tell me what’s happened.”

Having a half-Troll lover is a wonderful thing in many ways. But when she’s excited, Durene is fully capable of lifting me up like a kitten. And I, like kittens, do not take well to being shaken.

When I’m on the ground and sipping some tea, Durene spills the entire event to me, which everyone in the village has already heard of. Prost went to sleep late last night and heard himself get a new class—[Steward].

That doesn’t surprise me, although it’s similar to someone winning the lottery as far as the other villagers are concerned. This class makes Prost important, just as being an [Emperor] makes me important. After all, [Stewards] are hardly common. Well, not in this world. Airline stewards are hardly anything to write about…but I digress. The thing that makes me sit up and has Durene in more of a frenzy is the other thing that happened to Prost, though.

“He lost his levels! All of his levels in [Farmer] and [Builder]—and the one level he had in [Trader]! It’s all gone! And he leveled up eight times as a [Steward]! Can you believe it? Can you believe—oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to shake you again!”

When I’ve gotten the hot tea cleaned off of me, I get the fine details. Last night Prost lost all his [Farmer] levels, and he had been a Level 20 [Farmer], as well as the few levels he had in other classes. In exchange, he became a Level 8 [Steward] right off the bat.

No one in Riverfarm had ever experienced anything like it. I hadn’t either, but I knew what it was.

“It’s called class consolidation, Durene.”

“That’s what Prost said! I heard about it—like how a [Commander] could take the [Soldier] class and [Sergeant] class and turn it into one thing, but—all of Prost’s levels? They’re all gone and…he only gets eight?”

“I think it’s because all of his farming experience doesn’t transfer over into being a [Steward], Durene. It gives him some insights, but it is a sacrifice. Mind you, he can still farm and I think he’ll have some of his Skills or all of them still, but he’s got a new class now that supersedes his old ones.”

Durene is tearing at her hair, practically out of her mind with all these revelations. She paces around the cottage, and now she stops and stares at me.

“Wait, you knew that was going to happen, Laken? How?”

I smile mysteriously and tap at my lips.

“Let’s just say I had an inkling, Durene. As for the how…I’ll tell you later. How’s Prost taking the change? Never mind, let’s go find him. I’ll have breakfast in the village.”

We hurry out of her cottage. For once no one’s waiting to greet me—everyone’s too busy gawking at Prost. He’s at the center of attention in the village.

It seems his family, his two surviving daughters and wife regard his loss of levels as a terrible thing—but more than made up for by taking a ‘superior’ class. When everyone finds out that I’m the one behind Prost’s class, I think they might mob me, demanding how I did it and asking—hinting, rather—that they would love to be a [Lord] or [Knight] or so on. Prost has to assert his new class and Skills to restore order.

After a while, we get back to work. Prost has several valuable new Skills, all of which he confides in me and no one else. Chief among them are [Talent Finder], and [Eye of Need], which helps him find the people best suited for a task, whether they know it or not. He can also tell what we’re low on and what issues are most critical and require attention.

In short, he’s turned overnight from a [Farmer] into someone with the right skillset for what I need. The change in his class doesn’t change him as a person, but it’s terrifying to see how competent and sure of himself he became from me telling him he had a different class.

That knowledge and the knowledge that the advice I was given was right weighs on my mind for all of twenty minutes before the adventurers get my attention. Beniar and Odveig have apparently nominated Wiskeria to talk to me, perhaps because she’s the most well-spoken.

I don’t care, but it gives me an opportunity to get another measure of her as she delivers her report. The adventurers have traveled in every direction for quite a few miles thanks to the Windfrozen Rider’s mounts, and found any number of spots devastated by the avalanche, but few dangers to speak of.

“We uncovered what looks like a bear’s den in the hills, but there’s no other large animals or monsters nearby. We’ll keep an eye on it, but the bear should stay put until the spring. With your permission, we’ll range further afield and try to bring back some fresh meat.”

Wiskeria’s report is concise and to the point. She gives me her opinion that the village is safe from all but opportunistic scavenger animals—the occasional fox and squirrel—and the adventurers are already growing restless, looking for a challenge.

I give her full rein to have some of the adventurers hunt and others help with the village, and then bring up a topic more important to me.

“I hope you and the others weren’t too surprised by my, ah, class. I didn’t mean to keep it hidden, but the attention would have been troublesome in Invrisil. Are you surprised, Wiskeria?”

The [Witch] pauses for a moment before she replies.

“I am…amazed, your majesty. I hope my team has not offended you in any way. Odveig was worrying, and I think Beniar is afraid to speak with you.”

I listen to her voice. Wiskeria’s tone is straightforward, but there’s not as much stunned incredulity in her tone as there is in the other adventurers when I speak to them. I shake my head.

“I took no offense. But I hope your teams can be counted on to be a bit discreet?”

“Of course, sir. If you wish it, none of us will speak about your class.”

I smile.

“And you haven’t already sent back word to Invrisil that I’m an [Emperor]?”

This time I sense Wiskeria hesitate. Aha.

“I—”

“I don’t mind. Just please know that I’d prefer an unpleasant truth to a lie to my face.”

“Yes, your majesty. My deepest apologies.”

She bows her head and I feel uncomfortable. I cough.

“I imagine you have some questions about why I choose to settle in Riverfarm. And who I am, I suppose.”

“A…few. Would you indulge me, sire?”

She’s looking at me. I smile again.

“I’m afraid that whatever questions you have will have to wait, Wiskeria. However, I do want to talk with you soon about what I’m doing here and what the Celestial Trackers and the Windfrozen Riders might gain from staying here longer.”

A pause. Then Wiskeria’s voice.

“You want us to stay here. To become your subjects.”

She’s sharp. I cover my reaction with a delicate nod.

“It’s an offer I’m thinking of. I’m not asking you to decide right away. And if you think it would bother the others, by all means wait before telling them. I’d just like you to watch what’s going on here. And then decide.”

I left Wiskeria with that. I can’t force her to do anything, and there’s so much I have to do. I’ll show her what Riverfarm could be by doing. And learn more about her too. But what was it I was told? Ah, yes. An empire is built upon the strength of its subjects. I need more than Riverfarm’s villagers if I want to create someplace safe.

It really was good advice I got.

 

Day 59

 

I was in the center of the village, going over plans for the new village with Prost when it happened. The bear that the Celestial Trackers had found woke up. It may have been hungry, or perhaps the avalanche changed whatever internal clock it was using for hibernation. Maybe it was just pissed off, but the results were the same.

The bear came down into the village. That might not sound like much, but I think anyone who’s ever seen a bear up close would understand.

“Bear attack!”

Get to safety!

“Dead gods, look at the size of it! It’s not a bear! It’s a Mossbear!”

“Get around it! Wiskeria, cast a spell! Someone get me my horse!”

Adventurers scatter and horns blow as the scouts on the perimeter sight the bear and raise the alarm. The bear, or rather Mossbear might have just woken up, but it charges into the village with incredible speed.

From my position in the center of the village, I can sense the villagers rushing away from the bear. Prost is busy shouting for people to retreat to the barn as adventurers try to form up. Some charge the bear and strike at it from the side. It turns, knocks a girl with a sword across the ground with a single paw and roars as an arrow bounces off of its fur.

“Oh shit.”

I can ‘see’ the bear’s form as it scatters the adventurers. It is easily three times as large as the biggest warrior here, and it looks like a tank made out of fur and muscle. Its coming right in my direction, too, towards where all the food in the barn is kept—and all the people.

“Fire! I mean, loose the arrows and get me a fire spell!”

“It’s not working! It’s too wet and the fur is too thick!”

Adventurers are loosing arrows at the bear and I can see Beniar running for his horse. But the problem is that a bear of this size is a huge armored target with all of its fur. Wiskeria scorches it with a spell and another adventurer mage hurls shards of stone at it—the bear just roars and keeps coming.

Towards me. At some point I realize I should run, but it is far too late. The bear is moving across the ground faster than I can run. I look around, searching for somewhere to hide where it can’t reach me. Then a huge figure slams into the bear from the side. I hear a roar almost as bestial as the bear and see Durene.

I’d forgotten how tall Durene is, and how large. She towers over the other adventurers as she grabs the bear, punches it, and sends it reeling backwards. One of the adventurers lashes at the bear’s side with a sword, barely cutting into it, but a second punch from Durene makes the bear back up.

It rises on two legs and tries to slam its entire weight on Durene. She grabs a paw and head-butts it. The bear grows, tries to bite Durene’s neck, and then claws her as she dodges.

Its claws are sharp, and they cut into her arm. Durene cries out and I sense blood hitting the ground. But she doesn’t fall back. She raises a fist as Beniar races towards the bear. It’s growling, and I know how dangerous bears can be. I don’t realize I’m running forwards until the bear is right in front of me.

Stop!

My voice is a shout, and I can feel the command in my tone strike the bear. And everyone else as well. Durene, Beniar—his horse slows and the world pauses around me. The bear stops too. It stares at me, making a faint noise that’s half warning, half inquisitive.

Stop.

I stare at the bear, quivering as I sense how huge it is. Durene’s got a handful of its fur, but it looks like it could savage her in a moment if it gets the upper hand. How would the adventurers kill it? It would be a terrible battle and there are too many innocents around. I stare at the bear.

It’s starting to move. My command only works for a moment. And the bear is hurt now, angry. It growls at me and I see Durene take a firmer grip on it. Her fist is clenched. She’s unarmed. My [Paladin]. Why haven’t I gotten her a weapon?

This is my battle as much as hers. I stare at the bear. And then I open my eyes. I stare, sightless, at the huge bear. I can feel an…intensity in my gaze. Something stronger, frightening. A Skill. [Intimidating Glare].

Begone. Go back to your home. Leave my subjects alone.

The bear whines. It’s not aggressive. I stare at it, forcing myself to keep up the intensity, project my will. It’s a battle of wills. I’m a [Beast Tamer] in this moment and an [Emperor]. I tell the bear that I am not food. My village is not food. I speak to it.

And it obeys. The bear twists and Durene lets go. It slowly begins to lope out of the village, into the forest. Adventurers hurriedly make way.

“I’ll take a force and go after it!”

Beniar is the first to recover. He gestures at the others and I stop him.

“No. Don’t antagonize it. That bear could kill some of you—leave it be for now. I don’t think it’s coming back.”

He hesitates, and then bows his head towards me. I stumble backwards, and someone catches me.

“You scared me to death! Don’t do that! What if you’d gotten hurt?”

“You did get hurt!”

I reach towards Durene as she cradles me in her arms. I know she’s wounded. I can feel the blood and hear her beating heart. Durene grunts as she puts a hand over the gashes on her arm. I feel anxiously at them. They’re not thick, but I demand a healing potion for Durene, despite her objections.

Gamel rushes towards me with a potion. Odveig and Wiskeria approach with deepest apologies and explanation for why the bear could have woken up so suddenly. I calm everyone down, assure the adventurers I’m not angry, talk with them about safeguards, have a watch posted on the cave, and life resumes.

It’s moments like that which break up the day and make you realize how special life is. Which is why Durene and I retired to my cottage for a few hours.

Ahem. Afterwards, I ponder the encounter with the bear as Durene lies beside me in bed. It was startling and frightening to me more than the others for one reason.

I hadn’t sensed it coming. Oh, I’d known the instant the bear entered the village’s radius, but the adventurers had already raised the alarm. I hadn’t known the bear was coming. If I didn’t sense that, what else might happen that I’m unaware of?

The bear. It’s apparently a Mossbear, a subspecies of the regular bear group that’s bigger and tougher than usual. Magic plus biology comes up with some scary stuff. Although Mothbears are even more feared. Mothbears. What would one of those look…? Never mind.

I can’t tell where it lives. It’s outside of the village’s range, as are the new houses we’re trying to build. That’s a problem. Knowing what’s around me is essential. I can sense the entire village and when someone gets hurt I can tell at once.

Like when one of Gamel’s friends slipped and nearly cut his hand off while trying to cut through a broken beam in one of the houses. I shouted and got a healing potion to him in time. If we’re making a new village, no, if we’re going to keep this village safe, I need to be able to ‘see’ more.

Which means I need to expand my claim on the lands around. The problem is, the area around Riverfarm is wilderness, forest, open ground, rivers…no one owns it and I can’t just say that’s mine. I tried, and it doesn’t work.

I have to do something about that. But maybe later. I lie down next to Durene, my head’s spinning with ideas and thoughts. Safety is a relative thing. It can leave you at any moment. But I’m very grateful I hired the Silver-rank adventurers. They could kill the bear if they had to, despite its size. And Durene’s here. She wrestled the bear.

The village has its guardians. What would happen without them? The next day…I find an answer to that question.

 

Day 60

 

The Windfrozen Riders picked up the man on the horse at the road and brought him to Riverfarm. By the time he arrives, looking frozen and practically tumbling off of his saddle, I’m there with Prost, Gamel, Durene, and a hot mug and food for him.

He eats like a beast and nearly weeps when he tastes the hot sausage. He does weep when he takes in Riverfarm and hears about the avalanche. I see him hugging Prost and crying into the man’s shoulder.

Apparently this man is named Helm, and he’s a [Blacksmith] from another village nearby. Well, nearby is a relative term. His village is a good fourteen miles east of here, located by a big prairie. It is called Windrest, and it is burning.

Mister Helm practically throws himself at my feet when he hears who I am. I have to make him sit, and he keeps bowing his head as he explains what’s going on.

“Goblins, milord. There are Goblins attacking every village from here to Mafalt. Raiding parties. They say there’s a Great Chieftain of the Goblins who’s rising in support of the Goblin Lord. They attacked our village—we have nowhere to go.”

I listen in grave silence with the other adventurers. A group of around sixty Goblins had hit Windrest last night. They’d slaughtered a dozen people and torched a few buildings, but what they were after were the animals and winter stores the people had. They made off with two thirds of the village’s goods and a lot of their supplies—and two young women. The villagers had sent word to the nearest town and received assurances that adventurers would be sent out. But the village as it was right now was practically helpless.

They didn’t have coin to hire protection. And they were terrified the Goblins or some other monsters might come back. With nowhere to turn, they’d sent Helm and others to look for aid. They needed food for the winter, someone to protect them…Helm had despaired at the task as he’d ridden from hamlet to village, until he’d come here.

He knew Riverfarm, and when he hears there are two Silver-rank teams guarding the place, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. When he hears I’m an [Emperor], Helm gets down on his knees in the snow and muck.

“Sire, we’ve nothing to offer you. But Windrest will perish as sure as I’m speaking if the Goblins come back. If you could spare your adventurers to guard us, give us just a bit that we might live, I swear we’ll repay you!”

“You can’t ask Emperor Laken for that!”

Prost is outraged. He speaks up before I can calm him down, addressing me as much as Helm.

“Take away our protection? We’ve barely enough food for ourselves! If we spared the grain and meat to keep your village alive, we’d be stabbing ourselves in the back!”

“We can’t live, Prost. Not with what we have. We’re this close to selling what we own and going to the nearest town to become [Beggars], the lot of us.”

Helm turns his ashen face towards Prost, looking wretched. He knows he’s asking, but he has to ask. A small village that suffers this kind of raid in the winter…I understand.

But still, I can’t give him either adventuring team. Goblins. If they hit Windrest, they will come to Riverfarm. I know it and feel a chill. But the people…

What would anyone do? I look at Helm and know there is only one thing I can say. Prost is looking at me with pain in his eyes. I glance at him, and nod.

“Bring your people here, Mister Helm.”

The [Blacksmith] looks up, eyes widening. I look around at the other villagers, at the adventurers, at Laken and Durene. I nod at Prost.

“We might not have enough food for all of us at the moment. We don’t have much room, but we do have people who can protect everyone. I’ll do something about food if it comes to it. But I will not let your people die if I can help it.”

“Thank you, your majesty! Thank you! We’ll never forget it!”

Helm tries to kiss my hands. I order him to get some hot food in him and tell him I’ll send an escort to Windrest. When the man is eating a second meal—he looks half-starved—I glance over at Prost.

He looks worried. Mister Prost meets my eyes, a thousand unspoken problems at the tip of his tongue. I understand. But I can’t address his fears now. That’s not what I need to say. Not in this moment. I glance around as I see every eye in the village fixed on me and smile slightly. I nod at my [Steward].

“Mister Prost, I think we’re going to need a lot more houses.”

 


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4.21 E

Day 61

 

I used to be afraid of getting up in the morning. Or rather, reluctant. There are days when I want to crawl into my warm blankets and hide. Sleep is an alluring thing.

Funny. Having someone I love changes that. I feel Durene’s presence when I sleep and when I wake—she’s inevitably up before I am. And because I miss that, I get up.

That still doesn’t mean I like the sensation of wandering around Durene’s cottage and getting dressed in the morning any better. Durene is quite warm at night—enough so that blankets are necessary and clothing is not, but in the morning, her absence makes things chilly.

Is it undignified for an [Emperor] to walk around looking for a clean shirt and arguing with his pet bird? If it is, only Durene sees that aspect of me. When I exit my cottage, I am dressed, fed, and mostly coherent.

Today’s a big day. Just like yesterday. The man from Windrest, Helm, is due to return with his villagers tonight. I sent him back with an escort and the Wildfrozen Riders will have left already to escort the villagers down the road to my village.

I hope they make it here safely. Goblin attacks are on the rise and many villages are in danger. That’s why this morning I make it a priority to talk with the two adventurers who are waiting for me first.

“Odveig, Wiskeria, can I trouble you to talk this morning? Durene has some tea hot in the cottage. Prost, is there anything I need to take care of at the moment?”

“Nothing, sire. Gamel and I will await you in the village.”

Prost gives me a surprisingly elegant bow and he and Gamel retreat. The two female adventurers, the leader and sub-leader of the Celestial Trackers, exchange glances. The shorter one with the mace shifts uncomfortably.

“I would hate to intrude Mister L—I mean, your majesty!”

“No need to worry about formalities, Odveig. I’ve told you that.”

“Sorry, milord.”

I smile reassuringly at her. She’s clearly uncomfortable around me, still. Wiskeria on the other hand seems to have adjusted to the current situation quite well.

“It’s quite cold out. I’d like to ask about the Goblin attacks and what you know of them.”

“Ah!”

Odveig seems relieved; I can hear her tone lighten and sense her posture change. She nods at Wiskeria.

“If that’s what the problem is, we can talk about the Goblins. There’s nota problem in my eyes, but we’ll know more about the threat once the villagers return, right enough.”

There’s something funny about the way she says ‘not a’, as if it’s one word. Perhaps it’s because I’m blind, but that instantly puts a smile on my face to hear an accent so nicely distinct.

Funny, I can’t help but think of her as Scottish or of some similar heritage. Her accent’s a good bit different, but there’s that name and…wait, is Odveig a Scottish name? No…I don’t think so. What country then?

Ah, does it matter? There’s only so many ways words can be written in any language, and this world’s fixation on the English language means there would be parallels. And why does everyone speak English? Ryoka had a theory…

I lead the two young women inside—well, Odveig is definitely older than I am, and Wiskeria’s probably older too—and they take a seat on one of Durene’s oversized stools and sip from her mugs. Durene’s already left to help in the village.

“It seems like a lovely cottage, sire.”

Wiskeria sits comfortably in Durene’s home. I can’t detect a hint of disingenuity in her voice, so I hope she’s being honest.

“Yeah, it’s ah, a really nice place, your majesty.”

Odveig is a poor liar. I can sense her sitting across from me, looking around anxiously and then at me while she clutches her mug in both hands. She hesitates.

“Not to pry, but why are you staying here? As I said, it’s wonderful but…wouldn’t it be safer to sleep in the village? I know a few good houses have been dug out—they’d surely be more comfortable than here—not that here is—”

She stumbles over her words and shuts up, embarrassed. I smile at her again.

“I’m sure it would, but this cottage has sentimental value to me, Odveig. I first met Durene here, and it’s a fine place for me to sleep and work from. I seldom stay here anyways; it’s got a few of my possessions, and a bed, which is all a good home needs.”

“Ah. Well. That’s good. Uh, you said you wanted to talk to us about Goblins? Your majesty?”

I hope she can get over her awkwardness soon. Covering an internal sigh, I reach for my mug. Oops. It’s empty.

“Allow me.”

Wiskeria takes the tea pot over the fire and fills the cup for me quite gracefully. I’m surprised—she could be a [Maid], not a [Witch] for how coordinated she is. I nod to her.

“Thank you, Wiskeria.”

Yes, Wiskeria and Odveig are an odd duo. Odveig’s clearly at home with the mace she uses, but she’s far more awkward outside of battle, and that’s presumably why she turns to Wiskeria for advice so often. Wiskeria, the [Witch] often seems to have answers when Odveig falters.

She’s competent, quiet, well-spoken and…my first pick if it comes to it. But enough about that. I’ll get to know them more over the next few days. I steeple my fingers together as if I’m at a board meeting and lean over the table.

“Goblins. I know they’re attacking villages all over the place. Is that normal? It seems like these villages are prey to any kind of monsters that come along. How could anyone survive like this?”

Wiskeria and Odveig exchange a glance. It’s Wiskeria who speaks for the both of them. I can sense that she wears some kind of glasses—spectacles I think these ones are called. She adjusts the frame as she speaks.

“Goblin attacks are common in most places of the world as I’m sure you know, sire. However, around Invrisil, they’re known to be well-coordinated and particularly nasty. Not that they’re particularly common or this vicious—mostly, Goblins will raid a farm and steal what animals they can, make away with a [Farmer]’s stores—sometimes kill, but usually they just want food. These ones are different.”

“It’s this new Great Goblin Chieftain. There was word a while back—a group of women were found outside the gates of Merendia not two weeks back. Apparently a Goblin tribe of all things left them there.”

“A Goblin tribe? But wait—these women—were they—?”

The silence from both Wiskeria and Odveig confirms my darkest suspicions. Odveig clears her throat.

“It’s just rumor and hearsay, but I heard that this Goblin tribe actually rescued them. Apparently, there’s a huge Goblin tribe living in a nearby mountain—Dwarfhalls Rest it’s called. We had no notion it was occupied, but there’s a Great Goblin Chieftain living there, or so the women claim.”

“A Great Chieftain?”

“I’d never heard of it myself, your majesty. It’s caused panic all over the nearest cities once they heard of it, especially with this Goblin Lord to the south.”

“Right. Goblin Lord south, Great Chieftain around here.”

It’s hard keeping track of this Goblin news Durene and the others seem so well-versed in. I’ve never met a Goblin. They sound like horrible monsters, though. Very Tolkein-esque. And a Great Chieftain is apparently bad news. City-ending bad news, which is a horrible thought.

“It seems this other Goblin tribe splintered from the mountain. The woman claimed there was fighting and they were helped to escape. Well, the upshot of that is that the Goblins that still remain in the mountain are hopping mad. Probably lost a lot of food or whatever they were hoarding, so they’re hitting villages and towns with massive raiding parties. Not just a few Goblin stragglers with knives and rocks—Hobgoblins and lots of smaller Goblins with real weapons.”

That sounds like exactly the sort of thing I didn’t want to hear. I must look worried, because Wiskeria hastens to assure me.

“You paid for both our group and the Windfrozen Riders, sire. We’re capable of fighting off any lone raiding party aimed at a village. However, it might be best to take precautions.”

“Indeed. Thank you for telling me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss exactly what you had in mind. These Goblins…say they came to this village. How would you prefer to fight them off?”

That’s the first part of my day. After talking with both adventurers, I immediately head into the village and find Prost.

He’s busy supervising a bunch of young men and women who are busy cutting down and then cutting up trees. I’m no carpenter, so the flurry of movement is all a mystery to me. But this is the first step on getting those new houses done.

“Mister Prost.”

“Your majesty! What can I do for you?”

“A lot, unfortunately. I’ve just talked with Wiskeria and Odveig—they’re concerned about Goblin attacks and so am I.”

My voice is loud enough that the other villagers working on the trees glance up. Prost sounds concerned.

“Yes, your majesty. We’ve heard the same. It’s customary for a few of the older folk with levels to organize a militia of sorts, but that’s only if we think there’s a handful of Goblins hiding out. If there’s a lot, we can only trust to adventurers.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit idly knowing there are Goblins around. I was thinking we could add a palisade to the list of things we’re building.”

“A palisade, sir?”

Palisades. Fences made of sharpened wood stakes. Prost is certainly familiar with the idea, but Riverfarm never had any walls of any sort. Nevertheless, when I give him the idea he agrees it’s possible. Only…

“Only, it’s difficult, sire. I have this lot hewing the wood and then planing it for construction with hand-tools, but that’s a far cry from a sawmill, which is what I’d prefer. It’ll be slow going without more hands…”

“We’ll get those soon enough. However, I’m not suggesting we put up walls all the way around the village. A few to block off the most undefended routes would be good to start with. I was thinking around the barn, using the back as a wall, you see?”

“Oh! Right!”

Prost and I do a short tour of the village and go over how many trees he’d need for that, and the time it would take. When he goes off to shout that he needs more hands for trees, I wander back over to Gamel. I heard his voice and sensed he was among the workers there.

“Gamel, how’s work going?”

The young man pauses with some sort of long iron bar in his hands. He’s using it to keep the log steady while others hack at it with axes. It looks complex, and I’m sorry to have stopped him, but he and the others immediately jump to their feet.

“Your majesty!”

“I don’t want to disrupt you. I just thought I’d ask how you’re doing.”

“Well, sire. I’m happy to be helping and be back in the village. I uh, this is Tessia and Erhart. Tessia’s a childhood friend. She and I, uh—”

Gamel stammers and introduces me to two people, one of whom is a young woman he’s clearly biased towards. They introduce themselves, bowing and curtseying awkwardly—although both are wearing trousers and thick clothing because it’s cold.

“Your majesty, I’m honored.”

The young woman known as Tessia has a quiet voice as she introduces herself. Erhart seems tongue-tied at meeting me.

I smile at Tessia, and then remember a young woman with a shard of wood sticking out of her leg as the digging team pulls her out of the snow. She remembers too, and bows low over my hand as I offer it.

“I—I wanted to say…thank you. I can’t ever say what it means—I thought when I was down there—”

Her voice breaks. I grip her hands as Gamel reaches for Tessia’s shaking shoulders.

“I know. I’m glad I could help.”

That’s all. I leave the two to the tree and step away. I’ve had similar conversations with almost all of Riverfarm’s people at one point or another. It’s not embarrassing so much as painful when I speak to them.

I wish I could have saved them all. But I know what was impossible.

Something else attracts my attention as I talk about how many trees need to be cut for the new defenses. I sense a large number of bodies entering the outskirts of the village and hear shouts coming from that direction.

“Prost. I think the people from Windrest are here.”

Prost and I hurry over to where the commotion is happening. In my sense of the village I can tell a huge crowd has entered, accompanied by a few donkeys pulling wagons, overloaded carts with valuable possessions—

It’s a nightmare. I didn’t expect an entire village’s worth of people! No—I did expect it, but seeing the population of Riverfarm double in a moment blows me away. If I didn’t have my inner view of the village, the noise alone would render my sense of hearing useless.

“There he is!”

I hear a voice. Helm is shouting and waving towards me and Prost as we stride towards the crowd. I hear the majority of voices cut off, and then every eye is on me. A few people begin whispering incredulously in the crowd.

“Is that him? Is that—”

“An [Emperor]? In Izril?”

“Why’s he got his eyes closed? You can’t mean he’s truly blind? Not—”

Attention!

Prost’s voice shouts across the entire village. I can sense the man standing tall beside me. He waves a hand and the villagers fall still. Oh, well if Prost’s got it—I relax a bit. Too soon!

“Kneel before Emperor Laken, the Protector of Riverfarm! In his mercy, he has allowed you to—”

I elbow Prost in the side and cut him off before he can say anything more. Okay, not what I hoped he would say. I clear my throat, and take a few steps forwards. Every eye is on me. I speak, calmly, reassuringly.

“I am Laken Godart. An [Emperor].”

Voices. Murmuring. I wait for silence, and go on.

“I welcome you to Riverfarm, people of Windrest. Please know that you will be safe here. However, while you stay in my domain, you must obey me as your ruler.”

Shock—I wish I could see their expressions, with my eyes. I sense people shifting around me. But I don’t move. I am that I am. Calm. This is how it is.

“I own these lands. If you cannot accept that, I am afraid there is no place for you. But know this: while you are here, I will do everything in my power to protect you. You have my word on it.”

Silence. Then I hear someone clapping. Prost. This time it’s what’s needed. The people of Riverfarm begin cheering my name, and then I hear the people of Windrest take up the feeling. They shout my name and cluster around me.

Do they believe I’m an [Emperor]? I don’t know, but Durene tells me I have a look about me that makes me different. And whatever they believe, I’ve promised them safety. So they shout my name and a man fights his way to me.

“Your majesty, it’s me! Helm, sire!”

I find my hand being shaken rapidly by huge, callused hands that nearly break mine. I extricate myself from Helm’s grip as he shouts at me.

“We’re ready to work, sire! I know there’s houses needing to be dug out and more built—us Windrest folk have brought our tools and there’s some good [Carpenters] and [Builders] among us! Just say the word and we’ll do what needs doing, milord! I’m a [Blacksmith]! I have my anvil—I’d sorely love to ply my trade here, if your lordship’s willing?”

Didn’t I hear that Izril has a lot of [Lords] and [Ladies]? It seems like I’m being treated like a more outstanding version of one. I nod at Helm, raising my voice so the people around me can hear.

“We’ll have work for you soon, Mister Helm. If you’ve an anvil, all the better. We could use nails, repairs to tools that were damaged in the avalanche, more nails…there’s always work for a [Blacksmith], as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yessir! And the rest of my kin—I’ve a cousin and two daughters, what will they—”

Helm’s voice is anxious. I place a hand on his shoulder—amazing the people around me since I’m talking and moving with my eyes closed—and reassure the man.

“Everyone will work, don’t you worry, Mister Helm. So long as people work, they’ll have a roof over their heads and a hot belly and a place to sleep. We might have to build the roofs first, but…if you have any concerns, Prost, my [Steward], will handle them.”

When I mention Prost’s class I hear gasps, none more loudly than Helm’s own. As if my words have summoned him, Prost strides into the crowd and takes the attention of the group off of me.

“The [Emperor]’s not a man who has the time to deal with you louts himself! Line up—divide yourselves by classes, the lot of you! I’ll put families together once we’ve sleeping places sorted out—leave your tools and such over there! We’ll organize it later I said! And we’ll share what we have—no hoarding! Helm, who’s the [Village Head] around here?”

I walk away from the group and watch Prost get to work. He’s efficient. The people of Windrest know what to do, and when he tells them where to put their belongings and what needs doing, experienced workers like the [Carpenters] immediately peel off and get to work on the felled trees, while other [Woodcutters] grab axes and head towards people cutting.

More people go to the barn to help unload the carts, quite a number of women and a few men stay to manage the children, and in the midst of it all, an old man with a limp, bad posture, and a desperate note in his voice grabs me.

“Your majesty, I beg a word.”

“Certainly, uh—”

“Jelov, your majesty! I’m afraid that your man Prost might not have a job for me! I—I’m old and might not be worth the effort of keeping, but I beg your mercy! Please!”

He looks desperate, and no wonder. He’s the oldest person I’ve seen in this world, and his hands are as contorted as his back. I calm him down and take him a few feet away from the crowd around Prost.

“I’m sure there’s work for you Jelov. What’s your class?”

“Woodworking sire!”

“Oh? Well, if you’re a [Carpenter]—”

The man’s voice contorts with equal measures agony and indignation.

“I’m no [Carpenter], your eminence. I’m a [Carver]—damned class though it is! I carve toys of wood, hilts, handles—my hands can’t hold an axe in my old age, much less lift all that weight! There’s not a call for it at the moment, not now with folks building and whatnot. No need for toys when there’s not enough places to sleep, but it’s all I can do!”

He looks pleadingly at me.

“I wouldn’t dare ask normally, but I’ve a granddaughter and if I can’t work—”

“Of course you can work! If carving’s what you do, we’ll let you carve, Jelov. Toys? Why wouldn’t we need them? Children have to play after a disaster, and I’d consider it a blessing to have things to occupy them.”

The old man’s eyes widen as I interrupt him. He looks so relieved he might faint. I can see why—if a village is in dire straits, the elderly might be the first to be deemed expendable.

“Why thank you sire, I’d do whatever needs doing—I could fletch too, although I’m a slow hand if it’s not with a carving knife—”

“No, no. Carving’s just the thing. You could help me with a project I need doing.”

Is it coincidence Jelov found me? I recall one of the things—a piece of advice I’d been given. Intrigued, Jelov cocks his head to one side, his beard blowing in the wind.

“You’d like something carved, [Emperor] Laken, sire? I can do detailed woodwork. A piece for your mantle?”

“More like a pole in the ground. I’m thinking of a large wooden pole, Jelov, the kind of thing you could plant in the ground and leave for years. Like a signpost, only…etched.”

“Etched? Ah, you mean illustrated with letters and so on, sire? I could do that! Is there a name for this piece you’d want?”

“Less of a piece, and more of a marker. Let’s call it a, uh, totem pole of sorts.”

The old man starts looking worried again, and just when I’d calmed him down.

“Totem, sire? What kind of wood is totem? We’ve naught but cedar trees around here mainly, although I know a good birch—”

“Uh, not that. It’s a kind of carving. Which I’d greatly desire. Do you think you could take a large block of wood, around this wide—”

I measure a square about a hand-and-a-half wide in each direction and eight feet high for Jelov and tell him what I’m thinking. Soon the old man’s stroking at his beard and chattering to me, spraying me and the nearby surroundings with a bit of spit as he does. His earlier timidness is gone as his love of the craft—and pride—takes over.

“A pole like that? Pshaw—oops, sorry ‘bout that, your majesty. Carving a few fancy shapes into this much wood? Naught a problem. See, the issue’s in varnishing and I know a few young lads who’d do it right quick if you let me have them—and I’ve the oils and resins I bought from an [Alchemist]. Served me well these last few years—no, I could have it carved up in a day or two. The processing’s the thing, see? And design of course.”

“So quickly?”

I edge away from Jelov, but he just crabs over to me, talking excitedly. Aw, well, who needs a dry face anyways? Isn’t spit good for the skin?

“I’m not this old for nothing, sire! I’ve many a Skill—reckon I could get a good start, just so long as I know what you’re wanting. Got anything in particular you want on it, or just some fancy etchings? I can do fancy—folk think I’ve written mage symbols when they’re nothing but scribbling on the bark.”

“I have an idea, thank you. I’d like the top to have a symbol. This would be a, uh, marker of sorts, so I want it to show that.”

“Right, right. What kind of symbol?”

“How about…an eye?”

I really hadn’t though this part through too much. I need a symbol of my domain, so an eye naturally pops into my mind. I sketch an Egyptian-style eye into the ground and Jelov nods appreciatively.

“Not hard at all. You want two of them?”

“One’s fine. It would go here at the top, and then maybe carve a line to separate it…can you put the eye in a, ah, triangle? A pyramid? It would look like this.”

“Ooh, now that’s occult, sire. Feels like it’s staring at me, so it does. And them little lines—are they bricks?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s a pyramid. An ancient structure. And below it, some ground—”

“Ah! A floating eye in a pyramid-thingy! Very good. I can carve that no problem sire.”

Jelov’s making encouraging noises, probably taken with the symbol I’m designing for him. Myself, I feel a bit…embarrassed. It’s not as if I’m coming up with the design, obviously.

It’s just a silly thought. But the Eye of Providence—a part of the U.S. bill and often associated with the Illuminati—is a cool symbol. It makes for as good an inscription as any, and I have a sense that this totem pole, this marker, needs to have this kind of symbol.

Because it will represent my people, my village. Me. And I can always change it later.

“That’s the head taken care of your majesty. What’s the next bit?”

“Next bit? Uh…”

There’s a lot of totem pole to go. I frown, thinking on the go.

“How about some fancy symbols below it? You could do a—a hawk. And a village, maybe? And then you write on it sideways—‘Claimed by Emperor Laken Godart’. How about that?”

Jelov’s busy drawing in the dirt. When he’s done, I stare at the plans for a totem pole practically covered by ‘fancy occult stuff’ that has the old man rubbing his hands together in glee. I smile.

“Add whatever you think might be good. Maybe carve it so it’s not just a rectangle of wood? I’ll leave it to you, but when you have the final design, show it to me. I’ll…need quite a few once we have the design set.”

“At once, your [Emperor]-ness! I’ll uh, need a piece of wood—”

“I’ll have Prost get some to you right away. And helpers if you need it, but for now the pole?”

“At once! Don’t you worry milord, I’ll have the pole ready to show you tomorrow. Let me just find my best knife—have to cut with the best tools I say. Have you met my daughter? Want to show her the trade, by your lord’s leave of course. A natural. Woodworking’s in the family blood. You’ll see—it’ll be my finest work, my word on it. Won’t let you down. I recall one time I did a piece—”

Somehow, I get away from Jelov and by the time I do, the village is bustling with activity. Prost is in the thick of it, and I find myself talking with people, reassuring them, pointing out my adventurers and…being an [Emperor], I guess. I have an answer for every trivial problem, which isn’t hard, but I’m doing it and everyone’s watching, which is apparently all they need.

The sun has set by the time I have a bowl of hot soup in my hands and am eating it standing up. I’m exhausted from talking, but I have time for one last person who approaches me on horseback.

“What news, Beniar?”

The adventurer and captain of the Windfrozen Riders ducks his head towards me, for once not showering me with compliments or praising himself. He sounds grim, and a bit worried.

“Trouble, your majesty. Windrest was mostly devastated, but it’s hardly the only village. I met a group of travelers on the road heading straight for Invrisil—they say their village was attacked and torched. The Goblins took everything and slaughtered everyone they caught. They’re killing this time, not just raiding.”

I feel coldness inside my heart. Goblins. I nod to the village.

“Do you think they’ll come here?”

“Unless they get what they want, it’s a surety, sire. We’ll double our patrols, but I’d be more comforted if I knew how many Goblins might come our way. We can handle Hobgoblins, a large band, even a Goblin [Shaman] if one of those bastards is hiding among them. But Goblins can come at any time, from anywhere. That’s what makes them dangerous.”

“I understand. And I have a plan to deal with that, Beniar.”

“Do you, your majesty?”

He sounds skeptical. I just smile at him.

“Trust me.”

He hesitates. I can hear him getting off his horse, and then shouting for some soup for himself and fodder for his mount.

“For some reason, I do your majesty. Emperor Laken.”

“Oh?”

I’m a bit uncomfortable with Emperor Laken, but it is who I am. And Beniar seems to think so too. I sense him nodding towards the villagers.

“I’ve never seen a [Lord] shaking common folk’s hands before, much less an [Emperor]. It gives them hope. I…I’m glad you care about villagers, sire. I was one once, too.”

“Villagers. Lords. We’re all people, Beniar.”

He laughs shortly.

“Yeah, but you’d not see a [Lord] care so for common folk.”

“Really? Then—here.”

I hold one of my hands out to Beniar while I cradle the hot soup bowl with the other. He stares at it. I waggle my fingers impatiently.

“Go on, shake it.”

He does, tentatively. I smile at him and take another hot spoonful of soup.

“Well? How does it feel? You’ve just shaken hands with an [Emperor]. I’m no [Lord], Beniar. I’m better than that. I care about all of my subjects. And I’ll protect them no matter what.”

He stares at me.

“Does that include us, sire? Me and my riders?”

“I’ve hired you. While you work for me, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re as safe as anyone else.”

“That’s reassuring to hear, your majesty.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Let’s work hard to make sure I’m not made into a liar, Beniar.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

 

[Emperor Level 10!]

[Skill – Empire: Low-born Militias Obtained!]

[Skill – Rallying Presence Obtained!]

 

“…Is there an instruction manual or something?”

“Whuzzat, Laken?”

“Nothing, Durene.”

 

Day 62

 

People skills. That’s all being an [Emperor] is. People skills. Or is it more like a video game about allocating resources? My job as an [Emperor] is not to manage the details of what I do—I have Prost, Helm, and the other older villagers to take that duty off of me. I look at the grand scheme, give broad orders, deal with situations—

And make sure people do what’s most effective. Which is why Beniar’s enthusiasm can be a problem.

“Give us the order, and we’ll bring back enough game to feed the village, sire! My team can cover countless miles and be back by the end of the day!”

Beniar seems determined to be of help the next day, but in an odd way. He’s offered to hunt, and I admit, having a food source might be just the thing now that we have far more mouths to feed than I had projected for. Prost calculates that we have enough supplies to last for a month, but not through till spring anymore.

Still, I shake my head as I talk with Beniar and the other adventurers in the morning.

“I’d rather have your people patrolling. A few hunters might be acceptable Beniar, but your riders need to patrol.”

“As you say, sire.”

He’s disappointed, but his idea is solid. I turn to Odveig and Wiskeria.

“Do you think you could hunt with your group, Odveig? Wiskeria? If the Windfrozen Riders patrolled, I think we could spare the Celestial Trackers.”

They’re not a mounted group, so the idea seems fine to me. Wiskeria voices her agreement immediately.

“We could send several groups out, sire. There are trails of deer and other animals we picked up—”

It’s Odveig who interrupts her, shaking her head adamantly.

“Not a good idea, Wiskeria. I think we’ll keep our group here by your leave, your majesty. There could be trouble and I’d hate to fail our contract if we don’t keep you safe from all dangers.”

She frowns at Wiskeria and I frown too. But Odveig is the leader and she makes sense. The Mossbear could wake up, or something else could happen.

“If you’re sure. In that case Beniar, I’ll let you take three of your riders and hunt…the rest will spread out with the Celestial Trackers nearby…”

Every day has a challenge. Today’s is rats. Apparently, the new ground Prost is trying to dig up has rats.

In the winter.

“How are there rats, Mister Prost?”

I walk around the edge of the new village boundary. I can vaguely sense this place, mainly because the villagers are laying down the foundations of the new houses as we speak. Prost grimaces.

“The little devils have to make their burrows somewhere, Emperor Laken.”

“Yes, but…what do they eat? How can they survive?”

“There’s root stores in the ground, and the rodents prey on our fields. I reckon there’s a few burrows here—they’ll infest the houses and cause a mess if we can’t get rid of them first.”

“Right…how do we do that?”

Prost sighs, sounding vexed.

“Only way is to dig up all the ground about here with pitchforks and kill the damned vermin as they come out.”

I frown.

“That sounds like it’ll take a lot of time and effort we don’t want to spare.”

“Yes sire, but it’s the only way. We don’t know where they could be hiding—”

Wait. I frown as Prost says that. Rats, hiding in the ground? I feel like…I feel like I might be able to solve this one. I cut Prost off and stare at the ground. This area is mine. Vaguely mine. And I can sense what goes on in the ground, can’t I? I saved the villagers that way. So why can’t I look—

Down.

My senses go beneath the earth. I sense thick, rich loam beneath my feet, roots—the remains of a grass stalk and its system. And across from me—two feet down, a tunnel network. Something moves in it. Big, furry, chewing at a bug that wriggles through the soil—

“Emperor Laken? Sire?”

A hand touches my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. I start, look around. Prost is staring at me with concern in his eyes. I blink at him, and then grin weakly.

“Mister Prost, I think I can solve our problems. But we’ll need a way to kill the rats when they come up. Unless you’re planning on stomping the rats to death or hacking them apart?”

I don’t think I could stand to see that. But Prost only smiles.

“No sire, we’ve a time and tested way to deal with that!”

“Oh?”

 

—-

 

Dogs. Eight dogs of varying shapes and colors snuffle around my feet and sniff me, wagging their tails as they circle around Prost and a group of [Farmers] with shovels and pitchforks. I watch as Prost sticks his pitchfork into the loose, frozen earth that’s been broken up and lift it with a grunt.

Something squeaks. I recoil, and the dogs go nuts as a group of rats unearthed by the pitchfork flee. The dogs growl and run down the rodents in moments. The [Farmers] cheer them on, whistling as they unearth more rats which the dogs hunt down with almost contemptuous ease.

Terriers. The world’s finest ratters. Of course, that’s what they were bred for, back when they weren’t just pets but companions. I feel stupid for not thinking of it, but I’m both gratified and entertained to see the dogs in their elements. They clearly love to hunt down the rat nests which I can pinpoint with ease.

That’s right. Just like the villagers trapped under the snow, I can see under the ground. And that means I can see every rat that’s infested the fields we’re trying to turn into a new area for houses.

It feels almost dirty to have this ability. And I have to say, when Prost’s pitchfork comes up with a tiny impaled rat on it, still squeaking and struggling I feel awful. But they are rats. They’ll destroy a field and breed until they start eating each other given half a chance, and Prost and the other farmers clearly hate them with a passion.

“Damned fine work, your majesty!”

One of the farmers shouts at me, earning a jab from his friends for swearing, but I only grin and wave at him. This is one of the cases where my [Emperor] talents really help the villagers in a concrete way. I wonder if all [Emperors] can see their lands like I do. Am I just attuned to these senses more than others because I’m blind?

Ah, well, I can’t tell.

I hear a squawk as another group of rats makes it to the surface to be pounced upon by the dogs the villagers of Windrest brought with them. I look over and hear fluttering wings.

“Frostwing giving you trouble, Gamel?”

“I think she wishes to join in the hunt, sire.”

Gamel struggles with my pet bird. Frostwing’s bigger than ever and antsy at being cooped up in Durene’s cottage all day, so I’ve asked Gamel to bring her with me when I walk around the village. It might have been a mistake. Frostwing is struggling as she perches on his arm—he has to wear a cloth armguard to keep her talons from puncturing his skin.

“Calm down, Frostwing.”

She shuts up for a second, and I can sense her head turning to glare at me. I nod to Prost.

“Here’s another nest.”

I tap the ground and the man comes over and sticks his pitchfork in the dirt. The dogs tense and he heaves—rats go flying.

Frostwing shrieks as the rats run about. I hear Gamel struggling to keep the bird steady on his arm as she flaps wildly. Then her wings open. She launches herself from his arm.

She flies.

Five feet. Frostwing smacks into a rat as it tries to scurry away from one of the dogs. She knocks the rodent aside and then hops towards it, wings spread aggressively. I see Prost yanking one of the excited dogs back as Frostwing pecks at the large rat with her sharp beak. It tries to flee and she hops right after it.

There have been epic battles waged in the name of survival between different animal groups. The duel between the lone rat and the fledgling Frostwing is not one of them. She pecks at the rat and the rat tries to run. Frostwing pursues, hopping rather than flying, and I give her a bit of assistance, blocking the rat with my foot.

Hop, peck. Hop, peck. In the end Frostwing downs the rat, but I have to say, she does not deserve the sense of satisfied pride I feel from her in my mind. As my bird savages the rat she’s killed and begins to disembowel it, I kneel by her side.

“Who’s a good bird? You are. You’re a good bird. Even if you are fairly bad at your job.”

She pecks at me with a bloody beak, and then flares her wings aggressively as one of the villager’s dogs sniffs near her. It retreats, whining, and I decide to pick Frostwing up before she can cause trouble. She agrees to perch on my arm only after grabbing her kill in one talon. On the way back to the cottage she drops the rat. Twice. Nothing would do but I let her grab it again.

Ah, birds. They’re quite stupid. Dumber than dogs at times, which I’ll admit is difficult. But I love mine even so.

 

—-

 

“Emperor Laken! Your majesty, I have your pole of totems! Here! Won’t you inspect it?”

At the end of the day Jelov comes to me with a finished pole, just as he’s promised. I inspect the pole with my hands, running my fingertips along the carvings, and feeling the deep-cut symbols in the wood. I get a splinter. Twice.

“It’s not smoothed yet, and there’s work to be done rounding and varnishing, but if you’re satisfied, I can copy the design onto however many poles you want, sire!”

“That will be excellent, Jelov. You’re a fine craftsman.”

“Thank you, your majesty!”

He beams. I wonder whether anyone else in the world has ever been so happy to have their work praised by a blind man. But this new totem pole has caught people’s imaginations. Certainly Durene’s.

“It’s so creepy, Laken! Are you sure you have to have the floating eye-thing? I keep thinking it’s staring at me and Jelov’s carved it onto all four sides, so it’s staring at you no matter where you’re facing!”

“It’s important because it’s a marker, Durene. The symbol marks who I am. Okay, maybe it was a mistake to make it the Eye of Providence, but—”

“Oh, if it’s a symbol, that’s fine. I was worried it’d be on our flag or something!”

I have to laugh as I sit next to her.

“Flag? Our flag? What are you talking about?”

Durene turns to me, surprised, as she munches on some fresh bread that Prost’s wife, Yesel baked in one of the ovens we uncovered this morning.

“Well, we’re obviously going to have a flag. This is your empire, right? Our empire, I mean. You’re going to rule us so we’ve got to have a flag! And a name! I think the Unseen Empire sounds cool, don’t you?”

The question throws me completely for a second. An empire? I suppose that is the logical step, but I’ve just seen what I’m doing as managing a village. But Durene’s already talking about it as if it’s an empire. I try to quell the uneasiness her words provoke with a slight joke.

“We’re far away from an empire, Durene. We’re just a village—”

“Two villages, now.”

“True. But the people of Windrest are just staying here because they’re afraid. Once the Goblins are gone—”

“They’ll still be your subjects. They said so.”

“Who did?”

“The people of Windrest, silly! You promised to keep them safe, remember? It’s as good as being protected by a [Lord], they say, only you’re real. I don’t think they’d go anywhere even if the Goblins were gone.”

The statement leaves me flabbergasted. Silent. Durene chews happily.

“Want some bread? It’s really good and doughy, the way I like it! Laken? Hello? Laken?”

 

[Beast Tamer Level 5!]

 

Day 63

 

The reports of Goblin attacks continue. Beniar brings in two travelers on the road who say their caravan has been attacked by Goblins, a group of well-armed ones that looted their wagons and slaughtered their guards in a moment. I take them into the village. What am I supposed to do?

The situation with the Goblin incursions is clearly getting worse. I have an impromptu meeting with Beniar, Odveig, Prost, and Wiskeria and come to a quick decision.

“Train them.”

“Who?”

“Anyone who wants to be trained. My village needs soldiers to protect it, and not just your adventurers.”

I rest my hands on the table and stare at Beniar, Odveig, and Wiskeria. They sound uncertain, but my mind’s made up. Odveig coughs.

“Begging your pardon sire, but we’re adventurers, not instructors. We can teach basic swordplay and fighting skills I suppose, but—but we can’t lead a group. And it’ll take weeks to make proper warriors out of most of this lot!”

“You don’t have to worry. I have a…Skill that might help matters.”

I grin at Odveig. I gained the [Empire: Low-born Militias] skill two days ago and I’ve been wondering what it does. I can’t help but suspect it would grant my subjects some combat prowess on the field. As for [Rallying Presence]—I can’t help but feel that’s one of the reasons why Windrest’s villagers have grown to trust me so quickly.

Regardless, relying on the two adventuring teams I’ve hired isn’t a good move long-term, which is why I’ve come up with this idea. I nod towards the [Witch] as she adjusts her pointy hat. Indoors. I guess she just likes wearing it.

“Wiskeria, do you think you could teach some of the people with magical aptitudes some magic? Gamel knows a fire spell, but it’s not useful for anything but lighting quick fires. If he could throw fire on the other hand…”

“I could teach them a bit, sire.”

“And I’ll show your young folk some swordplay your majesty, don’t fret! If Odveig wants to look out for Goblins, I’ll gladly demonstrate my Skills!”

Beniar is only too happy with the idea, of course. I smile sardonically.

“If you’re willing Beniar, I’d be grateful. However, I’d like you to take a certain student under your wing personally?”

“Who? Your man Gamel? I could turn him into a decent [Warrior] with enough time. It’d be my pleasure—”

“No. Durene.”

The tent goes silent. I sense Beniar gaping at me, but it’s Wiskeria who agrees first.

“Durene? She’s stronger than anyone I’ve met. As strong as a Minotaur. Stronger perhaps, with her [Enhanced Strength] Skill. Give her a sword and we’d have a warrior capable of facing down a Hob.”

“She’s untrained! And there’s not a sword that would fit her hands. We’d need a custom-built greatsword, and that would cost—”

Odveig protests, but my mind is made up. Within the hour, I have Durene, Gamel, and a bevy of young men and a surprising number of young women who have volunteered to train with the adventurers.

Beniar’s all for teaching everyone how to use a bunch of practice swords that Jelov and some [Carpenters] have thrown together, but I stop him and ask him to run the trainees through some exercises first.

“Exercises, your majesty? What, like swinging a sword? I can do that, but holding a sword’s important. Half of your folk look like they’d cut their thumbs off, swinging the swords like they are.”

I nod, watching Durene lift a huge club made from hammered-together bits of wood. It looks like a poor weapon, but I can’t help but wonder how much damage it would do if she smacked me with it. Certainly the other villagers are keeping away from her, and she’s using a partially-converted door as a shield. It still has the door handle on it.

“I know swordplay is important, but from what I understand, classes and Skills still rely on the body of each individual and their skill, don’t they?”

“True…I suppose I could have them train their bodies a bit. Although your villagers are fairly hale, milord.”

“Hale isn’t the same as trained. I’m thinking of giving them a little test first. Some running, arm exercises—”

“Oh?”

I nod to the excited villagers and eye Riverfarm. It’s an expanded mess of tents and lean-tos as the first few proper houses are going up. But the snow’s mostly cleared by now and there’s a good path for people to run around in.

“Six laps around the village might be good. It’s not too far. If they do that every day when they wake, I think it would help. And pushups. Sit-ups…I’ll show you how to do burpees. It’s a delightful exercise that everyone’s sure to love.”

Is there a bit of devil in me? Perhaps. I smile a bit as I see Beniar go over to the villagers and watch their enthusiasm drain away when they hear what they’re going to be doing. I also studiously ignore Durene’s glare as Beniar leads the villagers away at a run.

I’m no expert at swordplay. I have listened to descriptions of how soldiers train, though, and I am aware that a fit body matters a lot in battle. Is this the right method, teaching villagers how to do exercises that have half of them groaning with muscle pains by the end of it? Maybe, maybe not.

All I know is that by the end of the training session, the excited young villagers are a lot less excited about the prospect of training to be [Warriors]. By the time Beniar has them learning to hold a sword, half of them are looking longingly towards the other villagers and their normal duties.

That’s where I step in. Everyone turns to stare at me as I walk forwards. Beniar’s busy showing them how to strike properly. I raise my voice and address them all.

“I’m glad so many of you want to learn to fight. But please know this: if you want to train, I’ll expect you to do what you just did every day, not just today. You’ll have days to rest, but you’ll be exercising like this as well as training and doing your jobs.”

The young men and women look horrified at the thought. Durene opens her mouth, and I shake my head slightly at her. No favoritism. I look at them all, and then do a rare thing. I open my eyes slightly. I can’t see obviously, but I want to look into their eyes like I’ve heard all good leaders do.

“Yes, I know how you feel. These exercises are grueling. But that’s the point. Learning to fight is not fun. It’s not easy. In fact, if you want to fight, you’ll have to work twice as hard as everyone else.”

There’s silence. I’m sure if I let them go now, not more than one or two would turn up tomorrow. Which is why the next bit has to count. I look at them all, trying to convey my feelings as openly as possible.

“You might ask why you have to work so hard. Well, it’s because being a [Soldier], being a [Warrior] isn’t an easy job. You’re fighting for your life. Not just your lives either—you’ll be fighting to defend your families, your loved ones—it’s not a game. If you want to learn to fight, I’ll gladly let the adventurers train you, but only if you are serious.”

That’s all. I nod to them and step back. I sense the villagers looking at each other. I don’t know how many will come back tomorrow, but to my surprise, Prost comes over for part of the sword fighting lessons. I don’t make him run around the village. He runs about enough without that.

To my surprise, Helm and a few of the other older villagers know how to fight too. Beniar trains with them and some of the adventurers and puts the young people through their paces.

“What do you think?”

I ask him that when the adventurer has returned to drink some water. Beniar mops sweat from his brow and frowns at me.

“Maybe it’s luck or a Skill you have, your majesty, but I’d swear half of those villagers could put up a good fight if you gave them arms. I’d hate to be a [Bandit] gang that tries to rob this place.”

“And Goblins?”

He grimaces.

“Your average Goblin? Hardly a threat, sire. But Goblins around Invrisil are nasty. They have to be—we purge every tribe we come across as a matter of course. And the monsters around here get nasty. So the Goblins—”

“Are just as nasty.”

“Just so, sire.”

“Well, keep training them. I’ll—”

I break off. Frowning, I stare away from the village, in the direction of our cottage. Beniar stares at me.

“Something wrong?”

“There’s someone in my cottage.”

I sense it. But when I get there with a panting Durene and Beniar, there’s no one to be found. However, Frostwing is shrieking her brains out. I ask Durene to look around, but nothing seems to be missing.

“Maybe it was someone from Windrest?”

“Maybe.”

I frown, but there’s nothing I can do, and there’s certainly no reason for me to post a guard on the cottage. Still, I wish I could identify people precisely with my [Emperor] senses. Who would want to check out my cottage in the first place?

It might just be a coincidence. But the next day, I find something else unexpected.

 

Day 65

 

“Are you sure we should do this, Laken?”

Durene’s voice quavers a bit as I hike up the slope with her in the lead. I’m grasping the back of her shirt as she walks. I’d normally use my cane, but I’ve grown so accustomed to moving about without it that I leave it in the cottage most days.

However, my [Emperor] senses don’t extend beyond the village limits, and so I’m blind out here. Blind, and possibly making the dumbest mistake of my life.

We’re trudging up a small hill towards the bear’s cave. Yes, the Mossbear’s cave. Durene has a large basket of dried fruits, cured meat, and other goodies. All things a bear might like.

“Why are we doing this, Laken? Couldn’t we just let it sleep?”

“Yes, but the trouble is, I don’t think it’s asleep anymore, Durene. The bear woke up once—it might wake up again. And I’d rather not have it go looking for food, especially if we can parley.”

“With a bear?”

“If we can. Just let me do the talking. You hang back a little bit.”

“What if it charges at you? I’m coming with you!”

“…Okay.”

In truth, I’m grateful. It’s one thing to have a stupid idea, and another thing to carry it out. But the Celestial Trackers have said the Mossbear is moving from his cave now and then, and I’ve been worried about what he might do.

What would you do if a bear was active in your vicinity? Run from it? Set a trap? Hunt it? Bury it in its cave? All of these options were given to me, and so I chose the dumbest idea I could think of myself: feed it.

It’s not entirely insane. I’ve explained my reasoning to Durene and she doesn’t buy it, but it makes sense to me. I was able to speak to the bear once. Intimidate it. Get it to leave. True, I had a bunch of scary humans and Durene with me at the time, but I am a [Beast Tamer]. And what is a bear if not a beast?

It’s just…a lot bigger than Frostwing is, that’s all. I feel Durene stop and stop with her.

“Is it…?”

“Just ahead. I can see the entrance. Laken, if it attacks—”

“Beniar’s waiting with a group of his riders. If the bear’s angry, he’ll lure it away. Just run, and take me with you.”

“If it comes after you I’ll kill it.”

There’s a steel core of determination in Durene’s voice. It shocks me for a moment.

“Don’t risk yourself, please. Running is fine. I know you’re strong, but I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt.”

“Hah!”

“What?”

“Bear. You said bear—”

“Oh, right. Haha.”

I’m too nervous to laugh at my own pun. I reach out and feel Durene deposit the heavy basket into my arms. I step forwards with it, and guided by Durene’s voice, place it at the entrance of the cave.

“Hello? Bear?”

Something ahead of me growls. I back up fast, and hear Durene move. I hear movement—and wish with all my heart I could sense what’s ahead of me. I get the impression of something big and heavy coming my way, and then a wet snuffle. The bear is investigating the basket, but it smells both me and Durene. It growls warningly.

Time for my brilliant plan to go into action. I clear my throat nervously.

“Uh, hi.”

The bear growls. I hear Durene shift and raise a hand.

“Hold on, I’m friendly.”

The bear doesn’t seem to listen. I hear it take a step and then Durene speaks.

“Laken—”

Stop.

This time the bear stops dead. I stare ahead, sightless, and hear Durene’s breath catch. Yes, now the feeling’s in me. Will. That is what an [Emperor] is. I project it at the bear, ordering it.

Listen to me. I am not your enemy.

It makes a whining sound and I think it backs up. I step forwards and Durene squeaks. But in this moment, as I am, there is no fear. An [Emperor] cannot be afraid when he is ordering a subject, and this bear is my subject. That’s how I must think of it.

Look at me. See? I am a friend. Friend. And this is food. For you.

It’s like speaking to Frostwing, I feel. I have a bond with my bird that allows me to feel what she’s thinking. With the bear, I have no such link, but I can still imagine what he’s feeling. Confusion, hunger, maybe a bit of fear—but I am not his enemy.

And I think my voice reaches him. The bear doesn’t retreat and he doesn’t whine—instead he makes a whuffing sound that sounds tentative, almost inquisitive. I smile.

“Hello there. I’m Laken. Who are you?”

Shuffling. Durene makes another noise and I turn to signal her to stay put. And then—fur. I jerk in surprise and feel the bear’s face jerk back from me. Durene moves.

“Stay put, Durene.”

I breathe the words. The bear is only a few inches away from me. I can smell his sour breath, hot on my face. He’s sniffing at me almost like a dog, and I can feel his size. My knees want to quiver. A small, primate part of me wants to shriek and flee. But the rest of me is calm.

He is not my enemy. He is my subject.

And then the bear nudges my face with his. He blows hot air into my face—I sneeze on him. We become friends.

Of a sort. The bear is wary, but when it’s clear neither I nor Durene are openly hostile, he immediately turns his attention to the basket. It’s got all the food I know bears love. He paws at it, knocking the basket over and begins gulping down the food on the floor.

“Laken, do you think I—?”

Durene starts to the bear and it backs up in surprise. I wince as it nearly tramples my foot with its claws.

“Better not, Durene. I think you might be a threat to him. You’re as big as he is—”

“Take that back! I’m not as big—well, maybe I’m sort of—he’s a lot heavier than I am!”

I can hear Durene flushing, but the moment breaks the tension. The bear continues eating. I poke it in the side and it doesn’t even feel the gesture. So I take the moment to run my hands along the bear’s side. It grunts. In pleasure?

“You really are crazy.”

Durene’s voice is wondering. I can hear her edging around the bear for a better view, and then her voice lifts in surprise.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what, Durene? Is there something in the cave?”

“No, on the bear.”

“What on the bear?”

“It looks—looks like there’s a patch of his fur missing. I can’t see at this range.”

“Wait, what? Where?”

“Along the neck. Can you find it?”

Tentatively, moving very slowly I run my fingers down the bear’s head, trying to find the spot Durene mentioned. The bear lets me do it—it might be my insanity talking or my [Beast Tamer] class, but I have the sense that I can interact with him, at least to this level.

My fingers run across something odd. Short hairs, bristly. The bear farts. I recoil and Durene gags. When the air clears I go back to the bear, coughing.

“Hm. That’s odd.”

Durene’s right. A patch of the Mossbear’s fur is indeed missing. It’s hard to tell with my fingers, but my impression of the bear is that a good chunk of his fur is definitely absent near the nape of his neck.

“Why’s that there? Do you think someone cut it off when we were fighting?”

“No, there’s no blood. And the fur’s too neat. This was no accident but…huh.”

Another mystery. And not one the bear can solve; he eats all of the basket, turns, sniffs me, goes to crap in the woods and walks into his cave. That’s about the extent of my interaction with him; I never claimed I would be best pals with him, and nor is this Winnie the Pooh.

Lovely book. Not many people know that Winnie the Pooh came from a book written by an English author, long before he became a Disney animated character. But I digress.

Durene and I leave the bear’s cave and twenty meters later, Beniar rides out of the woods, practically shouting his amazement. The rest of the village clearly thinks I’m insane and fearless by equal measures.

It’s just more embellishment for my reputation as an [Emperor] if you want to be cynical, but I did it because I wanted to see if I could. I know something now. An [Emperor] can command more than people. I know this because the second test I did was to get a few dogs and march over to the fields where the first house’s walls were already standing upright.

A few rats survived the purge of two days ago. I sense a few under the earth. The dogs pad around me and warily edge back from Durene as I stand in the frozen snow. I point at the earth. At the rats hiding there.

Out!

The earth shifts. Three rats wriggle out of the earth and the dogs bark and fall on them. I stare at the ground. One of the rats is staying put.

“So it doesn’t work on all of them.”

“So you can command rats? Can you call me a deer? I’d love to eat fresh meat for dinner.”

Durene looks wistfully at me. I shrug.

“Worth a shot. If I expand the boundaries of my domain, I could try it. Not all of the animals obey me entirely, though. Maybe if I level up as [Beast Tamer]…or is it [Emperor] that decides it?”

“Dunno. Look! Ew! One of the rats is in pieces!”

“I’m just as glad I can’t. Durene, could you kick up the dirt right here, please?”

She does so obligingly. I failed to mention the rat. I didn’t think it would be an issue, but when it ran up Durene’s leg and she screamed—well, I supposed I didn’t think to ask how afraid of rats Durene is. It took several apologies and some cuddling that night to calm her down. But on the whole? Another successful day.

 

[Beast Tamer Level 7!]

[Skill – Animals: Basic Command Obtained!]

 

“Wow. I’ll finally be able to make Frostwing stop crapping on my hands.”

“Wha…? Laken, you say something? It’s late.”

“Nothing, Durene.”

 

Day 66

 

It’s just past midnight when I hear the pounding on Durene’s door.

“Emperor Laken! Sire! Please get up!”

The shouting wakes me and Durene in an instant. We untangle ourselves from the sheets and I’m the first one at the door. I yank it open and Gamel’s there, gasping and panting for air.

“What is it, Gamel?”

“It’s Beniar! He’s hurt!”

“What? How?”

Gamel opens his mouth and I hear a mortified cry from behind me.

“Laken! Close the door!

“Oh shit.”

I realize Durene’s in a considerable state of undress as it were. I leap through the doorway as Gamel ducks back, flushing and apologizing. Standing half-naked in the cold, I hear Durene banging around the inside as Gamel shuts the door.

“I’m sorry sire—”

“What’s this about Beniar?”

“He rode back to the village half-dead, sire! His own group found him as the first patrol never came back—we’ve got healing potions on him, but they’re not working fully! Wiskeria says to come quick because she’s got to mix up a brew!”

I leave the cottage at a run, stopping only to grab a coat. When Durene, Gamel and I get to the barn, there’s a crowd of villagers around Beniar, staring and talking anxiously.

Everyone move back! Give him space!

Being an [Emperor] has its advantages. The way clears and I can see Wiskeria bending over Beniar, mixing together something in a bowl.

There’s an arrow in his stomach, and a half-empty healing potion on the ground beside him. Despite that, Beniar looks closer to death than life. His face is greenish and Wiskeria’s telling his party not to give him any more of the healing potion.

“The poison’s preventing it from working. The wound won’t heal and you’re wasting potion! Let me finish this.”

“Your majesty.”

Beniar croaks as I kneel by him. He’s still conscious. Apparently he was on his horse and riding this way when his team found him. As for what happened, he insists on telling me himself. He can’t sit up and has to whisper to me as I bend my head down.

“Arrow. Got me and Fabiel while we were riding. Didn’t even see—Fabiel died in a second. I think—I think it’s poisoned.”

“Who shot the arrow?”

“Goblins.”

It’s a whisper that silences everyone around him. I feel something begin churning in my gut. Of course.

“Five of them. They were waiting in ambush. Never seen—heard they did it sometimes. But didn’t expect—they rushed the horses. Fabiel’s is gone—I got away. They didn’t want to pursue. Just kill and loot.”

Beniar choked as someone tried to give him water. He coughed it out and continued as Wiskeria grabbed at her pouch, searching for something to add to the paste she was making.

“They’re not just coming, sire. They’re already here. Hiding.”

I stared at him. Beniar down. One of my adventures dead. All while I’d slept. All without me knowing. The Goblins weren’t anywhere in the village, that I could vouch for. But beyond it? Suddenly, the limits of my senses made me feel as if I was blind all over again.

“I have to apply this. Beniar, we need to take the arrow out, understand?”

Wiskeria brushes past me, not bothering with formalities. I step back and watch as Durene bends down to hold his legs. Someone else gets Beniar’s arms—he screams as Wiskeria pulls the arrow out and then applies the mash.

The people around me are worried. Children are crying, families are hugging each other. And all eyes are on me. Only this time, I don’t know what I should be doing. I search for words to reassure, and then hear something.

A horn call in the distance. It wails—a high, piercing sound that cuts through the night and makes the people of Riverfarm sit up and wake from their comforting dreams. It goes on for ten seconds, and then stops. Then it blows again.

Mocking. Taunting us. Telling us that we are not alone. I can see Beniar’s pale face in the moonlight, Prost’s worried expression, Odveig’s intent eyes on his wound and Wiskeria’s gaze. Hers traverses the room to find mine, cold, expectant. Waiting.

They are here. They are coming. It turns out there’s evil, real evil in this world, and it’s not just us. It has a name. It hungers. It enjoys our suffering.

It is my enemy. And I will hunt it down. I hear the horn call a third time before it fades. It’s a prelude, an ending of the few moments of peace we have. They are coming.

Goblins.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.22 E

Day 66

 

So here it is. My first test as an [Emperor]. I, Laken Godart, am facing my first true crisis since I claimed Riverfarm. The avalanche was one thing, but I had the means to save the village at my fingertips. This time, I have no such ability.

The Goblins are here. Monsters with the cunning of people who want to destroy my village, slaughter my people, take all we’ve made. I don’t know who they are or what to do.

I have protection—two Silver-rank adventuring groups. I thought it was enough, but in their first attack they killed one of my adventurers and nearly got Beniar. Now they’re out there, probably planning to strike again and I have no idea what to do.

I’m no military buff. I don’t know how to deal with an enemy that fights like this. And yet, ironically, I can put myself in the Goblin’s minds. I know what I would do if I came to a village like this. Pick off my enemy one by one. Hide, ambush them, whittle them down and starve them if possible and then go for the kill.

So I suppose I do know what I have to do. I need to find the Goblins and kill them before they kill me. Simple to say, hard to do. I have to rely on others for this. I cannot fight. I cannot see past the boundaries of my village.

“Odveig, take your Trackers and find the Goblins. Don’t attack if you think it’s dangerous, but I want to know where they are and how many there are.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Prost, I want those palisades built now. Forget about the houses—go around the village and find out how many entrances there are. Don’t go alone though—from now on, no one strays beyond the boundaries of the village unless they’re with an escort. And within it…we need sentries, weapons in case there’s an attack, a place for children and the elderly to hide—”

People around me burst into action as I snap, breaking the silence Beniar’s words have caused. I’m scrambling, searching for the right orders. Are they the right ones? I don’t know, but I am obeyed. And no one else will take charge; that’s my job.

The minutes after Beniar tells me about the ambush are watchful, tense. The rest of the Windfrozen Riders and the Celestial Trackers led by Odveig head out while Wiskeria mixes more of the poultice to neutralize the poisoned arrow.

Beniar has fainted. He screamed as we pulled the arrow out. Now he’s pale, but the poison in him seems to be neutralized by whatever Wiskeria’s made. I saw her pulling roots, dried bugs, and even an egg out of a pouch and pounding it all into the paste she made.

I’m glad she’s here. I pace around the barn until I realize everyone’s staring at me. Then I force myself to wait for an age before Odveig gets back.

“We found the place where Beniar was attacked. There’s no sign of Fabiel or his horse. We followed the tracks for a bit, but we pulled back.”

“Why?”

Odveig hesitates. She draws me aside and I realize I shouldn’t be discussing this where all of the frightened villagers can hear. She whispers to me.

“I felt we were being watched from afar. I couldn’t tell where the Goblins were and if we were ambushed—”

“I understand. I trust your decision. However, we have a problem Odveig. What should we do now, according to your expertise?”

She looks at me. I can sense her head turning, hear the hesitation and fear in her reply.

“I—your majesty, I’ve hunted Goblins before. But I’ve never been hunted by them. Were I alone, I’d track them and risk a battle on their terms or retreat until I could set my own traps. But defending a village means I can’t do either. I could send half of my group out and keep the other half here to defend, but that would create two weak points for them to exploit.”

She’s explaining. That means she doesn’t know. I nod.

“In that case we’ll wait. Pull your team back around the village. I’ll—decide whether to send out scouts later.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

 

—-

 

So there it stands. As Wiskeria finishes tending to Beniar, she estimates that he’ll be able to take a healing potion the next day. Prost is mustering the villagers, and they’ve begun working. The Celestial Trackers and Windfrozen Riders are keeping a tight perimeter around the nearby forest and village.

And I’m sitting by myself, trying to figure out what to do.

The enemy is out there but invisible. Their numbers are unknown. Their levels unknown. They could be just a stone’s throw outside the village’s limits and I wouldn’t know. There’s a way to deal with that, actually. I’ve been working on it for a while, but I’ve been told that it will take a few more days. I want to insist, but it’s only a chance. Not worth counting on.

What are my assets? What are my weak spots? My assets are two Silver-rank teams. My weakness is a need to defend my village. The Windfrozen Riders are a group of ten—were a group of ten suited to rapid attacks and retreats. Perfect for scouting—not for taking out armored enemies or hunting hidden foes. If they know where the enemy is I can send them at the Goblins. Assuming they’re not hopelessly outnumbered.

The Celestial Trackers are the opposites of the Windfrozen Riders in many ways. They’re experienced at ambushes, tracking their prey—finding hidden monsters, in short.

I’ve a [Mage] in the Windfrozen Riders who can cut his opponents with air spells. Nothing powerful; it’ll take an eye out and he can cast while riding, but Wiskeria’s the only truly specialized spellcaster in either group. And she can’t throw fireballs. I asked.

“Your majesty? Prost is asking permission to fell a few trees further into the forest. Miss Odveig thinks it’s safe, but he wanted to ask you.”

I look up and sense Gamel hovering about me. I nod.

“That’s fine. Ah, what else is going on? Have you, Durene and the others begun training? Without Beniar, you’ll need to get another adventurer to teach you—and what about the markers Jelov was working on? How many has he finished?”

“Three, sire, with one for varnishing. But he says he’ll have another one tonight…”

And just like that, the day continues. Villagers get to work, taking care not to stray far but doing everything they were doing yesterday. Cutting wood, building—only there’s an undercurrent of fear to everything, now.

Odd, it feels as though everyone should be hiding or getting ready. But you can’t tell when the enemy will come. So the day passes, filled with anxiety and watchfulness, but nothing else. That’s life now. The threat of death is in the air, but we have to continue living.

Damn the Goblins.

 

Day 67

 

I think everyone in the village was awake late at night. Certainly the villagers were a lot quieter the next day. I felt awful and Durene wasn’t her spirited self; but we got through the morning and midway through the day without incident.

Beniar was up and about by that time. The poison had been flushed out of his system and a healing potion had him on his feet in minutes.

“Your majesty, I’m as fit as can be. I’d ride out to hit those Goblins in a flash if we knew where they were! Just give the order and I’ll scout with my group—far faster than the Trackers!”

He’s also itching to find the Goblins and exact payback for Fabiel, his teammate. I have to overrule Beniar, though.

“I can’t let you leave the village unprotected, Beniar. I’m sorry for your friend’s loss, but it’s too risky. If you’re shot at again—”

“I’ll know it’s coming this time, sire. Last time was an ambush. This time I’ll dodge.”

“I have no doubt you would. But my villagers can’t dodge arrows like you.”

Instead of Beniar riding forth, I let him teach the villagers and Durene. There’s definitely a renewed interest in learning to fight now, and thanks to my Skill, the villagers are fighting well. But we don’t have enough swords to go around; Helm is working on forging some, but he lacks enough iron, let alone steel to make many. Without that, people are training with pitchforks, shovels—Gamel has a club he’s hammered nails into. He keeps asking to trade it for a sword with someone.

“A ragtag army, sire. But it’ll do for a small group of Goblins.”

Beniar’s professional opinion is that the villagers are ready for a fight if the adventurers support them. I wonder if they’ll break and run if it comes to that. The villagers might have the ability to fight thanks to my Skill, but the temperament? No.

As the sun is halfway down in the sky, I hear a horn call and leap to my feet, abandoning a lunch with Durene. It’s not a Goblin horn—this one’s from the Celestial Trackers and urgent. I rush outside with the others and see a woman wearing a dark brown cloak sprinting into the village, shouting.

I think we were all waiting for it. The villagers freeze and I turn my head.

“Odveig?”

She’s already running to the adventurer.

“Report!”

There’s no hesitation in her voice now, as there always is around me. The woman gasps for air—she must have been on the perimeter, scouting the forest.

“Goblin group. Five hundred meters to the southeast—I saw two Hobs and at least thirty smaller Goblins!”

“That’s our cue! Let’s ride!”

Beniar’s already mounted. Odveig turns to me as Wiskeria runs up, clutching her magical wand.

“Your majesty?”

I hesitate only for a moment.

“Do it. If you hear a horn call from here, double back at once.”

The adventurers nod and race out of the village, Beniar leading and shouting, sword already drawn. They’re gone for five agonizing minutes and I hear nothing. Then, to my surprise, they all return at once.

Odveig and Wiskeria are on foot, and practically dragging an incensed Beniar back. He dismounts, shaking with anger.

Nothing. They’ve covered their tracks. We could follow them, but Wiskeria and Odveig both agreed we’d be walking into an ambush. We let them get away!”

“It was the only smart choice, Beniar.”

Wiskeria defends herself as she argues with the leader of the Windfrozen Riders. Beniar’s voice is hot.

“I’d ride them down if I knew where they were, ambush or not! We could have attacked—”

“And done what? Two Hobgoblins were in that group. If they got the drop on your riders—”

“Better than letting them attack again! I’m telling you, we had the advantage!”

“Against thirty? You idiot, together we’re only twenty in number, and with two Hobs—

“Enough!”

I raise my voice to stop the argument. Everyone looks at me. I’m aware of the villagers listening to the adventurers shouting. This can’t be good for morale.

“You three, come with me. Prost? We’re going to make a plan.”

And so we do. It’s not easy, and no one’s happy by the end of it. All three adventurers reluctantly agree that pursuing the Goblins is a bad idea without making absolutely sure there’s not a trap waiting. If there are only thirty, it’s a close match thanks to the two Hobgoblins. If there’s more we haven’t seen…

Guard duty. The Windfrozen Riders are now to stay in the village while the Trackers keep watch. At the nearest sign of trouble, the Riders will attack any Goblins that are spotted. That’s all we can do. Meanwhile, Prost is working double-time on the palisades. We’ve got the portion of the village around the barn walled off; hopefully that will help if we’re attacked.

If we’re attacked.

What a thought. That night, I stay up while Durene sleeps beside me. I can’t say she’s not as worried as I am, but she’s been hammering sharpened logs of wood into the ground and lifting felled trees all day. She sleeps like a rock, snoring gently beside me.

Frostwing is agitated. I think she can smell the Goblins, or sense the tension in the air. She flaps her wings at night, forgetting she’s supposed to be asleep. I have to get up and soothe her.

“Shh, Frostwing. There’s a good bird. Eat some meat—damn, not my finger! I know. I know. There are monsters out there. But you have to wait, understand? We don’t know where they are.”

She cocks her head at me in the darkness. I think she’s beginning to understand more of what I say. I smile as I stroke her head.

“A shame you can’t find them for me. I did ask, you know—I’m not an idiot. But Odveig says Goblins eat anything they can kill, and I won’t risk one putting an arrow into you.”

Frostwing nips at my fingers as if to agree. I’m laughing when my heart stops. It does stop, I’m sure. For a moment the steady beat in my chest falters. The next, I’m shouting.

“There’s a Goblin in the village!”

“Wha?”

Durene wakes up as I shout. She struggles in her bed, flailing around for me.

“Laken? What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

“Durene, get up! There’s a Goblin in the village! It’s gotten past the adventurers!”

“Oh no! Dead gods—where?”

She springs to her feet. Durene sleeps practically naked. I grab her bare arm.

“It’s got a bow and a knife. I think they’re poisoned.”

I can sense the Goblin all the way in the village. It’s moving slowly, very carefully avoiding the attention of anyone awake. And it’s making for—

“Where, Laken? I’ll raise the alarm!”

Durene’s voice is tense. I can sense her fists clenched. I hesitate for a moment out of fear. What if she’s hurt? But she’s Durene. I make up my mind.

“Go! It’s behind Prost’s house!”

She doesn’t wait for another word. I hear thundering footsteps, and then the door to Durene’s cottage is thrown open. The half-Troll girl races down the road, running faster than I’ve ever seen her go. I pause at the doorway, about to run out myself and realize I’ll never catch her.

So I close the door as the icy wind pours into the cottage and Frostwing screams. I find one of Durene’s knives and dress myself as I mentally follow her progress down into the village.

She’s running. The Goblin is doing something behind Prost’s house, checking a window, seeing if it’s unlatched. It freezes as Durene comes running into the village and squeezes down, hiding. Durene races around Prost’s house and it freezes.

It has a dagger in its hand. I can see it all in my mind, like some kind of awful movie without sound. Durene doesn’t see the Goblin—she’s looking right in its direction, but she doesn’t see it.

Then the Goblin leaps. It jumps out of the place where its hiding and slashes at Durene. She recoils—the Goblin runs around her, racing for the forest. I see Durene turn, and then her hand. She grabs the Goblin and it slashes at her arm.

I sense the blade sinking into Durene’s skin; see her mouth open in my head, the wordless howl. But then Durene’s other hand comes up. She breaks the Goblin’s neck like she would a chicken’s, in a moment.

It’s all over. I can sense Prost and his family waking up in alarm, sense villagers and the adventurers racing towards Durene. By this point I’m running towards the village.

“Dead.”

That’s the first pronouncement one of the [Scouts] in the Celestial Trackers makes when we’re all in the village. The Goblin’s corpse has been dragged out into the center of the village and everyone is shivering around it, staring down at the small body in the snow.

I’m there too, the only person who’s dressed. Durene is hiding in Prost’s house. She’s naked, and by that I mean she’s got underwear on and—yeah, that’s about it. Modesty came after saving Prost’s life, and so she’s a hero everyone politely thanks—through a closed door.

Wiskeria is kneeling by the Goblin, intent on it. Beniar and Odveig are both patrolling, looking for more Goblins. They’re rattled by one getting through their perimeter and worry another one’s out there.

I know there’s not another Goblin in the village, but I don’t tell anyone how I know. To the villagers, Durene’s simply a hero who uncovered the Goblin by accident. It’s better that way.

“You’re sure it’s dead?”

Yesel asks the [Scout] anxiously as she clings to her husband. Prost has a pitchfork—hardly an elegant weapon, but the tines are sharp and he seems ready to use it. The [Scout] nods as he inspects the body.

“Neck’s broken. Not many Goblins survive that. You say that Miss Durene did it with one hand? Never heard of that before.”

He shakes his head and whistles quietly as the other villagers murmur. I’m not surprised; I know how strong Durene is.

“So what was the green skinned bastard doing here?”

Prost’s voice is rough as he steps forward and looks at the Goblin. I start.

Green skin? I’ve never seen colors, but I know how things are supposed to look. Grass is green. And Goblin skin is the same color? I can’t imagine it, or fit together the feel of grass with—with a Goblin.

“At a guess, it was coming here to slaughter you all in your sleep. The dagger isn’t poisoned, but it’s dressed in black, see? No need for poison when you can cut a throat easier.”

“Dead gods.”

Yesel buries her head in Prost’s shoulder. He clutches one of his daughters to his side.

“We’ve you to thank Durene, truly.”

“I’m glad you’re okay!”

Durene calls from inside. The [Scout] is checking the Goblin for anything else as I kneel down next to him.

“You said the Goblin has green skin? Ah…it’s Jeighya, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

I sense him looking sideways at me, and starting a bit as he realizes that I wouldn’t know what a Goblin looks like. He clears his throat.

“They’ve all green skin, some shade of it, sire. Red eyes, too. The color of monsters. Just as well this one won’t open its eyes again.”

It takes me a minute to remember how our eyes are supposed to look. White and colored in the center, right? Just another thing to distinguish Goblins, but in my head—

“I’ve never seen one. It’s not dangerous in any way now, right Jeighya?”

“No sire, but why—”

I kneel down and gently feel the Goblin with my hand. I pat gingerly at the skin, feel the arms, and then, slowly, the face. It’s a surreal feeling, touching something dead.

So this is a Goblin. I kneel down and touch the body gently. It feels…like any body would, I guess. Only smaller. Colder.

I feel like I’m touching a dead child. I shudder and pull my hand back. But for the sharp ears and pointed teeth, I’d think it was a young Human kid. I can’t see the green skin or the crimson eyes.

Standing, I look at the other villagers. They’re anxiously clustered around. I raise my voice, grateful I’m dressed. The dignity of an [Emperor] and all that. I’m not about to recreate the story of the emperor’s new clothes right now.

“We’re safe for now. Please thank Durene for finding and taking care of the Goblin. In the morning, though. Right now I think everyone should get to sleep; I doubt we’ll see more trouble tonight.”

The villagers are hardly reassured by my words, but they do take some comfort by a dead Goblin. They disperse slowly, murmuring anxiously. I turn to Jeighya.

“Keep a watch. They might try this again.”

 

—-

 

Unfortunately, that night I’m made into a liar. There are no Goblins that I sense entering the village, but they are active after Durene makes her way back to her cottage, modesty preserved by a borrowed towel.

Two hours after the Goblin is caught, someone fires a flaming arrow into the side of the barn. The villagers put the fire out before it spreads, but a second arrow hits a house and sets the roof ablaze. The village is filled with fear and no one gets a lot of sleep that night.

 

Day 68

 

Discontent. That’s the mood in the village the next day, after the villagers wake up from a sleepless night and see the smoke and burnt roof.

Many of them haven’t slept since the first fire. Neither have I. I slept through the first arrow until Gamel ran to wake me, and when I sensed the second fire starting I went down to the village and stayed there until morning.

The roof of one of the villager’s houses is toast, but it could be worse. That’s what I tell myself as I cough, smelling the burnt wood in the morning. But it’s still bad.

The Goblins are harassing us with attacks, striking and fleeing since their attempt to send an assassin in failed. The two arrows were fired from the forest. Both times the Celestial Trackers found the Goblins and exchanged shots with them in the dark. The second time they got one of the Goblins in the stomach, but they found only bloodstains and no body when they went to check.

No one’s happy about that. But the villagers are the least happy it seems. Especially the ones from Windrest.

They don’t know me. I’m an [Emperor] to them, a strange, majestic class and a blind man with few impressive qualities to recommend him blended into one being. I must confuse them terribly.

I’ve talked with them of course, and tried to reassure them along with the Riverfarm people, but I know I’m not too convincing at this moment. I don’t have the same bond with them as I do with the Riverfarm people. And it shows.

If I separate the interactions I have, the people fall into three broad groups. The first are like Helm and the older villagers like Jelov. They treat me like Prost and Gamel and the others, grateful for the protection I offer mainly.

The others are more distant. I’m a [Lord] to them, and since the aristocracy of this land can be touchy, they’re wary of me. Still, if they have their complaints they keep their feelings private.

However, the last group is vocal in their grievances. Quietly vocal since saying I’m a bad ruler is an invitation to a fight if someone like Gamel hears it. But nevertheless, the lid is boiling. And things get worse when the Goblins step up their attacks the next morning.

One of the [Hunters] comes back with an arrow in his thigh and cuts along his arm.  The Windfrozen Riders gallop off as I hear what happened.

“Arrow. I was at my post when I saw a group of Goblins coming towards me. They showered my position—ran before help came.”

He’s not badly wounded, but the incident speaks to how defenseless we are. And the Windfrozen Riders don’t find the Goblins either. Too slow, and the Goblins know how fast the horses can move. So we get back to work. We have healing potions, but how long until they run out? I can hear the villagers talking, sense their nervous postures, and sense the few who are vocally worried. That worry and fear turns to resentment.

But what can I do? Wiskeria’s still arguing against any attempts to go out and hunt the Goblins down, and I agree. But Beniar points out the obvious each time too—if we don’t do anything, we’ll just keep being attacked. I think Odveig wants me to decide and I—

I can’t risk it. It’s too dangerous. And while the adventurers understand that, the villagers only see them patrolling and not hunting the monsters. That leads to an incident at lunch.

I’m about to go check on the villagers training with Beniar. It’s the one thing I feel like I have control over, the thing that I can do to really prepare for the Goblins. I hear someone’s voice raised as I pass by one of the tables set up in the barn where food is distributed communally.

“Some [Emperor]. Any proper [Lord]’d keep his people safe, but this one just sits about while we suffer in fear. I thought we were supposed to be safe here!”

I’m clearly meant to hear that. I turn my head and sense a group of Windrest folk sitting at a table. The person who speaks…I think it’s a woman sitting in the middle of the party.

Her words don’t pass by unnoticed either. Heads turn. There aren’t many villagers in the barn, but the ones who are from Windrest stare at me and the ones from Riverfarm stand up.

Uh oh. I wave to my villagers and walk over to the woman before her words can start a brawl. She’s sitting there, defiant, surrounded by her friends. I stop before her table.

“Do you have an issue with me, Miss?”

I’m looking right at her. That throws her for a loop already, I can tell. But the woman rallies in a moment. She looks around the room and speaks directly to me.

“I do. You’re an [Emperor]. You promised us folk of Windrest we’d be safe if we joined your village. But those Goblins are attacking and you’ve not done a thing! You hide here while we’re shot at—in a few days we’ll be dead for you doing nothing!”

Her words cause a susurration around the barn. And for all the people of Riverfarm are speaking angrily, watching the woman with ill-intent, I can tell they’re agreeing a bit with what she said. I speak calmly, looking down at her.

“I am doing everything in my power to keep you all safe. I assumed two Silver-rank teams were adequate protection for Goblins. I was wrong, and for that I am sorry. However, you are still safer here than you would be on the road or in another village. It’s too dangerous to risk sending the adventures out to hunt the Goblins—they could walk into a trap or leave the village defenseless, and in both cases, we’d all die for my mistakes. I’m not willing to take that chance. You may disagree, but I am choosing the best options as I see fit.”

My words are the truth. That’s my weapon and how I sway the villagers. I can sense some nodding around the room. How could you argue with that logic? And I do have a plan for the Goblins. I just need more time. A little more time and…besides, how could you argue with that?

With emotion, that’s how. Perhaps she feels like she’s at a disadvantage now, but the woman stands up. I think her name’s Rehanna. I can sense her glare, even if I can’t see it.

“Big words for a man who can’t see! How’re we supposed to trust the word of a blind man? You can’t tell who you’re talking to, can you? We must all be the same to you.”

That makes me mad. Why do some people seem to think that blindness means I can’t tell people apart or sense where I am? People have voices, tones, and ways of speaking. Idiots who try and change their voices to make me think they’re someone else really get on my nerves. But I don’t snap. I cross my arms.

“I am blind. So what? I am an [Emperor], not a [Warrior]. Why shouldn’t I be as capable as any other [Emperor]—let alone a [Lord]—at my job?”

“You know why. Blind people are—they’re not the same!”

Now that—that’s an insult. I hear a woman behind me shout something towards Rehanna. It sounds like a threat. I cut her off with a hand. I’m angry now. My voice is loud in my ears.

“If I was a [Warrior], I suppose being blind might be a problem. If I were a [Painter], I would understand people having their reservations. But I have known blind painters, blind singers; men and women who have done as well as—if not better than any person with sight in their own way. A blind man climbed the world’s highest mountain. I have met him and shaken his hand.”

Silence. I have spoken the truth. But the woman denies it. To my face. She shakes her head and makes a sound like a scoff. Because she doesn’t want to believe what I say is true, she thinks I’m lying.

The nerve. I’m fighting not to open my eyes and use [Intimidating Glare]—or punch her at this point. Either one would be satisfying, but it’s not how I win this argument. People are watching. I’ll beat her with words.

“I don’t think you’re a proper [Emperor], not a real one. I won’t bow to you. What do you say to that? Will you throw me out for disobeying?”

“No, but I might cut off your head.”

Just words. Satisfying, savage words. The woman chokes. I fight down some guilty pleasure as the people around me gasp in horror. I smile slightly.

“I am an [Emperor]. Do you think a true [Emperor] would let a challenge to his rule go unanswered?”

I don’t think she did. I turn around the room, speaking to everyone listening. Calm. Project calm and confidence.

“I am an [Emperor]. If I walked around naked or covered in tree sap, I would still be an [Emperor]. Your belief matters not. I am an [Emperor]. And this is my demesne.”

I don’t think she knows that word either. The woman makes another sound but refuses to back down. She’s cornered by her own actions now. I can sense her approaching. She stops a few feet away from me, glaring.

“Please.”

I don’t speak to her, but to the Riverfarm men and women who approach, looking ready to grab her. They stop, reluctantly, and I stare up into the woman’s face. She’s glaring at me.

Hah. That’s funny. I smile and sense her stare faltering. She doesn’t get the joke.

Fierce, glaring…it doesn’t matter. I don’t bother to use [Intimidating Glare]; there’s no point. I can show these people that I can stand up for myself without a Skill.

She’s pretty tall. I look up and meet Rehanna’s eyes with my closed ones. I feel her hesitate. I almost smile, but keep my composure. Internally though, I have to smile a bit. Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t think about it too hard, did you? What’s the point of trying to scare me?

There’s no way to stare down a blind man.

“You are frightened.”

She starts and opens her mouth. I talk over her.

“You are frightened of the Goblins and afraid. I understand that. Everyone is frightened. However, we must work past our fear.”

Heads are nodding around the room. I look past Rehanna, hearing her splutter for words, and then back at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what you have said, but it tempers my decision. I won’t kick you out of my village because that would be cruel and you would die. And I won’t order you beheaded or beaten, and I’ll make sure no one harasses you. When this is over, you’re free to go. But until then, you will address me with respect.”

She hesitates. Now would be the time when she apologizes. Does she? Not a chance. That would imply she’d thought any of this true. Instead, she thrusts her chin at me.

“I won’t kneel to you. I came here to survive, but I won’t bow and scrape under your rule no matter what you offer.”

I hear someone growl. Actually growl. I just sigh. Why is it that some people will keep digging a hole when they’re already ten feet under?

“I won’t ask you to kneel, but I will have you obey. And if I were you, I wouldn’t say another word.”

I turn. At some point you have to walk away from a stupid argument or end up being just as stupid. And I have more important work to do. I’m halfway out of the barn when I hear the woman’s voice.

“Or what?”

That’s it. I pause. The barn is silent, and I can sense the woman behind me. Trembling with bravado and fear. Trembling. I can see in my head her every flaw, her imperfections. Why does she pretend? I can see right through her.

I don’t turn. I open my mouth and say one word.

Kneel.

I hear a gasp and someone falls to her knees. I keep walking and don’t look back.

Do I feel good about that moment? Yes. I gave Rehanna every chance and she kept pushing. I was lenient in this. Far too lenient, perhaps. But everyone saw.

Next time, if she’s stupid enough for a next time, I’ll have to get nasty. I don’t want to imagine what I’ll do, I only know that it will be unpleasant for me—and quite unpleasant for her. I don’t fully care. Sometimes you have to trample over people, I guess. That’s what it means to rule. She’ll obey, or I’ll have to crush her—

Wait, crush her? Where did that thought come from?

Troubled, I make my way over to the training grounds—a patch of cleared dirt where I can hear people shouting and hitting each other or the wooden sticks that have been set up. And then I hear a far more pleasant female voice.

“Laken!”

It’s Durene. I hadn’t seen her this morning—as usual she’s been rushing about the village, helping people out. I regret not being able to spend more time with her. And she has a surprise for me.

“I’m a Level 9 [Paladin]! I got a Skill—guess what it is? Guess!”

She must have leveled up from the training and killing the Goblin. I smile at her.

“I’m no good at guessing.”

“Just guess anyways!”

“Okay…[Shield of Radiance]? [Holy Hands]? [Sword of Justice]?”

A pause. Durene sounds downcast.

“No…those sound like great Skills. Mine isn’t that good.”

“Durene…I made those up. Whatever Skill you have is wonderful. But you did ask.”

I sigh, but smile at her. Durene perks back up.

“You did? Okay, then. Well I got…are you sure you don’t want to guess again? No? Okay, I got…[Quick Strike]!”

“Oh! That’s great!”

I try to sound as happy as she is. Honestly, I have no idea if that’s a good Skill. It sounds…cheap? But Durene seems happy about it.

“Let me show you how it works. I was going to try it with Beniar.”

“Yes, Durene told me all about it. [Quick Strike]’s a basic move. It’s more common to get [Power Strike] and move from there, but Durene’s strong enough. I’ve a shield—why don’t you try and touch me? She hasn’t so far Emperor Laken. Today might be her lucky day, though.”

Beniar’s a bit too cocky and full of pent-up energy at the moment. I’ve seen him training with Durene and the others and he doesn’t let anyone touch him with a sword no matter how hard they try. I suppose he’s got the Skills, but it does seem like bullying at times.

Durene’s never come close before. She has that wooden club of course, and her shield, and both are too slow for Beniar who’s adept at dodging and keeping his distance. Now Durene takes a stance and gingerly swings at him.

“Too slow!”

Beniar laughs as he ducks her club and nimbly springs forward to tap Durene on the stomach with his practice sword. She jumps and swings her shield at him, but he’s already moving back. I sigh internally, frustrated a bit.

It’s not that Durene’s that slow, I think she’s also afraid of hitting Beniar, a fact which he capitalizes on. I’ve seen them do this before, and I don’t want to see Beniar bullying Durene for a few minutes. However, today’s my lucky day.

“Take this!”

Durene lashes out with her shield and Beniar sways back. The shield misses him and he grins. He’s taking a step back when Durene shouts.

“[Quick Strike]!”

Her arm blurs. I hear Beniar’s voice and a thud almost at the same time.

“Oh sh—

To his credit, I think Beniar saw it coming. He tried to block and then dodge when he saw the club coming. But he was too slow.

Thanks to my [Emperor] senses, I saw the entire thing. Beniar stepping back, the sudden acceleration of Durene’s club to wicked fast speeds—and the impact. I enjoyed it more than I should.

In the aftermath, Durene stands horror-struck over Beniar as everyone turns to stare at her.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—is he alive?”

He’s groaning on the ground, which answers her question. I squat next to him and speak gently.

“Good thing Durene was aiming for your chest, huh, Beniar? I don’t want to imagine what your head would have been like.”

“Agh! No, sire.”

 

—-

 

A bit of fun, a bit of frustration. Neither occurrence goes unnoticed. Soon, Beniar’s up and treating Durene with a lot more respect, and Prost’s seeking me out.

“I heard what happened, Emperor Laken. I’ve had a word with that Rehanna woman, and let me apologize for her words, sire. Few folk think like her—”

“But they do think like her, Prost. Don’t worry, I’m not offended—or vengeful. But if people feel that way, I’d like to know. Preferably without the rudeness, but I’d still rather know than not.”

“Yes, sire. I’m sure she’d never have said as much, but that woman’s a hothead and a malcontent. And I think she was prompted to it.”

That gets my attention. I stop as Prost and I walk around the village.

“Prompted, Prost?”

“Yes, sire. Rehanna won’t speak to me—stubborn as a mule—but her friends say she’s been talking with someone else, getting an earful of what to say to you, maybe. Apparently she’s been having a drink as she does. Building courage to say such things.”

“Alcohol? I didn’t buy more than a cask—we don’t have any in the village, unless the Windrest people brought it…?”

“No, your Majesty. And Rehanna didn’t have any herself. There’s only one group that brought some drink with them—”

“The adventurers.”

“Yes, sire. If you want I can ask around, see who’s been spreading rumors about you—”

“No, Prost. Thank you. I think…I have an idea of who it might be. I’ll handle it myself.”

“Yes, sire.”

Oh boy. That’s not good. I excuse myself and leave Prost behind and go for a walk. I have a bad feeling in my chest. I’ve had it before, but I was worrying about the Goblins. Now…a few things are falling into place.

Pieces. It’s just pieces in my head, but they fit together in a way I don’t like. A few odd events have caught my attention. Someone breaking into my cottage while I was away, the missing Mossbear fur and it attacking the village—and now someone stirring up trouble and prompting people to challenge me.

It could all be coincidence, but I know for a fact that the people of Windrest were all settling in on the day my cottage was broken into. None of them would have known where I lived, much less done anything on that day.

And the Windfrozen riders were all riding patrol—save for Beniar and a few who were training the volunteers from the village. That rules them out.

So that only leaves the Celestial Trackers and the people of Riverfarm as suspects. If you rule out Riverfarm—because if they were going to snoop, why not do it when I wasn’t there?—then that leaves only one group.

And of that group…only one person I can think of would want to get ahold of Mossbear fur. After all, [Witches] can hex opponents and cast all kinds of spells. Why not do voodoo tricks with hair? As for my cottage and stirring up the Windrest villagers, well, if it’s all part of a larger reason…

Suspicions. I can’t rely just on my intuition and throwaway guesses for this. I have to confirm it.

It’s not hard to find Jeighya. He’s not patrolling and the man is maintaining his bow. I sit with him and he reacts—well, cautiously but with a good deal of friendliness. I’m not some aloof [Emperor] and we have bonded over a dead Goblin’s corpse.

“I’ve been wondering about your group, Jeighya. It seems weird to me that a [Witch] is part of your party. I’ve never met one and I was hoping you could explain their class to me. I’d ask Wiskeria, but I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Oh? I’d be happy to share what I know, your majesty. [Witches] are a rare class, I’ll say, but they’ve got useful Skills and spells most common [Mages] would turn their nose up at learning. Wiskeria’s been a boon to us, for all she’s new.”

“New?”

My heart sinks. The man with the bow nods as he fumbles with an arrow.

“She wasn’t in our party last spring. Wiskeria and Odveig—they’re old friends. Older’n they seem, I know. Odveig formed our group a while back—she’s not always leading us, but she’s always around Invrisil.”

“Oh. I thought she’d been part of your group forever. And Odveig’s not your leader?”

He pauses, scratches at his beard.

“Not so much that she’s not our leader as much as that we don’t adventure together all the time like most groups, sire. Begging your pardon. We don’t take on that many contracts each year; a lot of us make our livings from hunting and join up when she says there’s word of a good contract. But Wiskeria now, she joined the group not two months ago. Came out of nowhere, but Odveig knew her and she’s a good thinker. Her spells have gotten us out of a lot of scraps.”

“I see. And she’s got a lot of talents? Did I hear she can manipulate animals?”

“Oh yes! Very helpful that is. I saw her pull a Corusdeer’s fur out one time and summoned an entire herd later. Helped us take down some Snow Golems. ‘Course, it’s harder to make animals do what doesn’t come naturally, but Corusdeer love killing Snow Golems. Natural enemies.”

“You don’t say.”

Wiskeria. I let Jeighya drone on about monsters as the worry in my heard grows. It was just a suspicion. Now…now I think I have a serious problem.

 

—-

 

That night I summoned Wiskeria to Durene’s cottage. It wasn’t hard; I mentioned that I wanted to see her, and so she came. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing out of the ordinary with Durene being there either. Frostwing being gone might have raised an eyebrow, but she doesn’t mention it. Durene barring the door though…

“Your majesty? Is something wrong?”

Wiskeria glances towards Durene as I sit at her dining table, across from Wiskeria. I sigh. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be right.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to clear up a few things, Wiskeria.”

The [Witch] glances towards Durene and back at me.

“I’m at your majesty’s service.”

“Are you? Good. So tell me something. Why’s there a clump of Mossbear fur in your pouches?”

She freezes. I stare at her. It wasn’t hard to sense the distinct fur in Wiskeria’s belt pouch. And when I found it, I knew.

I knew.

Silence. I can sense Durene glaring at Wiskeria. She knows. I told her, and no one else. I didn’t want to alarm anyone in case I was wrong, but…the fur. I’m waiting for an explanation and hoping against hope that I’m mistaken.

Because I think Wiskeria’s trying to sabotage my village. I think she’s my enemy, and I don’t know why. But something Ryoka mentioned to me makes me think she might be in this Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. It’s just a hunch, but Ryoka says Magnolia sent [Assassins] after her. Why not a spy masquerading as an adventurer in Wiskeria’s case?

At last, Wiskeria opens her mouth. She glances at me and Durene, and I’d bet she’s lost all color in her face. I always wondered what that would look like. How would that work? And why does it happen when you’re scared? Blood flow? It makes no sense.

“I—know how it must seem, your majesty. But I swear I took the fur before the Mossbear woke up, while it slept! I was sure I did it stealthily enough not to wake it—you have my oath on that!”

“Oh? And so this Mossbear just woke up around the same time you cut the hair? You didn’t set it on the village with a spell?”

“Me? Set it on the village?”

Wiskeria repeats my words as if she can’t believe what I’m saying. She hesitates. The pieces click together and she bursts out.

“But I—no! I would never intentionally wake it if there was no reason! Emperor Laken, please believe me! My taking the hair was just a precaution! I’ve no notion why the bear woke up. If it was my fault, it was a mistake I truly regret!”

“Really.”

I stare at her. Wiskeria’s trembling. Is it an act? I clear my throat.

“Very well. Say I believe you, Wiskeria. Onto another matter.”

“Another…?”

She says it as if she has no idea what might be coming next. I nod gently.

”Someone was in my cottage. It wasn’t one of the villagers. I’d suspect one of the Windfrozen Riders, but they were patrolling a good ways out from the village. However, I recall that the Celestial Trackers were deployed closer to the village. Just in case. Which means you could have snuck in on that day.”

“I—are you—”

I fold my arms. I can hear Durene’s teeth grinding from here. Wiskeria makes a few incoherent noises. Then—

“I didn’t do it. I cannot prove I wasn’t there, but—I would swear to it under truth spell.”

“Too bad we don’t have one. And I suppose you had nothing to do with a villager from Windrest named Rehanna challenging me publically today?”

“No! How could you assume I’d—”

“Mossbear attack, going through my cottage, inciting my subjects…all actions worthy of a [Spy].”

“You mean—me?”

Disbelief. Shock. A hint of outrage, but mostly confusion and fear. That’s what my ears tell me and my senses confirm Wiskeria’s posture matches these emotions. For a moment I feel uncertain.

She sounds very convincing for a spy. But isn’t that what any trained spy would sound like? My stomach hurts. I can only trust in what I’ve observed, the conclusions I’ve come to.

“Emperor Laken. Your majesty.”

Wiskeria licks her lips, clearly afraid. She glances at Durene again before speaking urgently to me.

“I did not do—any of the things you believe I did. I did take the Mossbear’s fur, but only as a precaution! Its attack was a mistake, and I swear that’s the truth.”

“And the other things? Are they coincidences?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. They seem suspicious—but I can only say I had nothing to do with them.”

She says it faintly, knowing how it must sound. I sigh.

“I don’t believe you, Wiskeria.”

I hold up a hand as she protests.

“…But I can’t prove you’re not telling the truth. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to imprison you. Take away your wand, put you in a house and under guard…and ask some questions. If you can’t answer them, or your friends can’t, well—”

“I can’t accept that. Sire.”

Wiskeria interrupts me, sounding panicked. She half-pushes back her chair.

“I would be in danger for my life if your villagers found out what I was accused of. They—your subjects would kill for you. I don’t want to die or be held captive for weeks.”

“Sit down.”

Durene growls at Wiskeria. The [Witch] hesitates, and does not. I look at her.

“You have no choice, Wiskeria. I’m not about to risk another incident, or working with someone I can’t trust.”

I can’t. Not now so much is at stake. But Wiskeria is shaking her head.

“No, I can’t—won’t be held here when there are Goblins about! What if they attack?”

She speaks pleadingly to me.

“I’m willing to leave and void my contract, Emperor Laken. After the Goblins are dealt with. Or return with a truth spell testimony proving my innocence. But I can’t let you take my wand.”

“Wiskeria, I have no choice. You have to know how this looks—”

“I do. And I’m sorry for this. [Paralyzing Touch].”

Before I can react, I feel her finger on my chest. I gasp and my body goes rigid. Durene shouts. I sense Wiskeria going for the door.

My body’s frozen, but my mouth can still move.

“Wiskeria, stop! Don’t make this worse!”

She doesn’t reply. She’s ducking around Durene, hand raises, shimmering with magic. I can sense Durene hesitating. What do I do?

No good answer. But I know she can’t get away. I look to Durene standing by the door.

“Durene. Hit her. Gently, so she can’t get away.”

“No!”

Wiskeria backs up, hands raised as Durene makes a huge fist. She knows how strong Durene is. My half-Troll girlfriend could kill Wiskeria with a punch. Durene looms over Wiskeria, abandoning the door.

“Give up or I’ll hurt you.”

Wiskeria slowly raises her hands and backs towards a wall. She glances at me, and realizes she’s got no excuses. But she still speaks desperately.

“I’m innocent. You’ll see that in the end. Just don’t—I don’t want to die. Not here! I didn’t even want to take this contract on! I was against it!”

“What?”

Durene pauses for a second. Wiskeria speaks rapidly, eyes flicking left and right, too afraid to move and be hit.

“We normally take on contracts for monster exterminations, scouting, that sort of thing! We get the occasional request from the Reinhart family! I told Odveig there was no need to spend this much time on escort duty, but she insisted!”

“Odveig did?”

“Yes! She insisted! Said we’d get no better deal though we could have been hunting Frost Golems or making gold coins selling pelts! I have no idea why she wanted—”

“Wiskeria? I heard [Emperor] Laken wanted to talk to you, and I heard shouting. What’s going…?”

Someone opens the door. I sense Odveig come in.

“What the—? Odveig?”

Wiskeria gapes at her friend. Durene turns, but keeps her focus on Wiskeria. I’m…

Dumbfounded. Was that coincidence? No, it can’t be. That was movie-level timing right there. Was Odveig outside? Why was she here? I didn’t notice she was outside the cottage!

And suddenly the pieces in my head change. Odveig. Wiskeria’s actions. One of the Celestial Trackers. I shout.

“Durene! She’s the spy! Get her!”

Durene swings around. Odveig curses.

“Damn. He is smart.”

She steps nimbly to one side, unhooking her mace. Wiskeria is gaping, staring at me. Durene raises a hand.

“Hey, stop—”

Durene grabs for Odveig. The [Macewoman] steps back and as Durene misses, slides forward like a ghost. She taps Durene behind the knee with her mace and Durene’s leg collapses.

“Huh?”

The half-Troll girl goes down onto one leg, sounding stunned. She turns, reaches for Odveig, and Odveig taps her on the head with the mace.

“Sleep.”

I hear Durene hit the ground. My protector, my mighty [Paladin] knocked out. Just like that.

“Odveig!”

Wiskeria raises her hand. Odveig steps back as Wiskeria tries to touch her with the [Paralyzing Touch] spell. She hits Wiskeria; I hear a cry.

“Sorry, Wis. I didn’t want to let you take the blame…or let you find out this way. But I have a few secrets.”

The [Witch] crumples to the ground. I’m still locked in place by her spell. I sense Odveig coming around behind me, still holding her mace.

“Well, you are a very intelligent young man, Laken Godart.”

“Thanks. Is this the part where you tell me why you did what you did?”

I’m stalling for time. Odveig shrugs.

“You guessed. I’m a spy. That’s not my class, but…how did you know I broke into the cottage? How did you find out what was in Wiskeria’s bags without looking?”

“I sensed it.”

“Ah. Interesting.”

I feel all the hairs on the back of my neck trying to dance. I wait. Odveig moves closer.

“I have so much I’d like to ask you, but your protector might wake up soon and my cover is gone. So I’ll just say this.”

I feel someone brushing hair around my ears, and then a higher-pitched voice, an elegant tone, so unlike Odveig’s accented words.

“Lady Magnolia sends her regards. She will be very interested to speak with you once I deliver my report. If you survive.”

I feel a chill as Odveig whispers into my ear. I’m afraid to make the wrong move, tense. I can sense her holding her mace at her side.

“Who are you really? Why did Magnolia send you? What does she want?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say much, Laken. But my real name is…Sacra. I regret that we couldn’t speak under more pleasant circumstances.”

She shifts. I wait for the end, or at least, unconsciousness. But Odveig doesn’t lift it and smash my brains out. She turns and strides out of the cottage. I sense her pick up speed as she leaves—she’s running down to the village incredibly quickly. Then she’s on a horse, trotting it out of the village until she’s out of sight, and then racing it—

She’s gone.

It takes five minutes before my body starts being able to move again. Wiskeria’s magic wears off slowly, and I feel like I’m moving through molasses. My arms and legs tingle like they’ve been asleep. At last, I stand up, around the same time Wiskeria and Durene wake up.

Both of them get up and immediately start a riot. Wiskeria runs out of the cottage and Durene chases her shouting for Odveig. That leaves me in the cottage, alone. I put my head in my hands.

“Damn. I feel like an idiot.”

 

—-

 

I’m an idiot. That’s my conclusion after the chaos, with Prost rousing the village and the Celestial Trackers demanding to know why Odveig’s run and Wiskeria trying to defend herself and avoid Durene hitting her. I sort it out by shouting at everyone and kick myself that night.

I’m an idiot. Have I said it enough times? No. To put it in a delightfully American way, I done goofed. That’s an appropriate way of thinking of how stupid I was.

What was my plan? Confront Wiskeria and hope she’d confess? And then what? Confine her as a prisoner or—kill her? Let her go? Aside from the fact that I was wrong, I didn’t give any thought to what I was going to do.

I panicked. And because of that, Odveig’s gone and I’m left with more questions and one less warrior to defend the village. If I had been smarter, I could have observed Odveig and let her help me—or see how far Magnolia was willing to go to attack me and my village.

Now I’m down another adventurer, and a good one if she can knock out Durene in a single hit. If only I’d…

Too late now. Too late. At least one of my worries has resolved itself. Only, now it’s a bigger worry and I still have to worry about them.

The Goblins.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.23 E

“I can’t believe it. It was Odveig—I mean, Sacra, the entire time?”

“Yes, Durene. I didn’t realize it until it was too late. Damnit, I feel like an idiot—”

“But how? She didn’t act like—she was always so respectful and—and not like a spy at all! I thought Wiskeria was odd when you said she might be the one, but—Odveig?

“The best spy’s one you don’t see coming, Durene.”

“And she works for Lady Magnolia? I mean…the Lady Magnolia?”

“You know her?”

“Everyone does. She’s Magnolia Reinhart. She’s…why’d she want you, Laken? Why’d she send Odveig?”

“I don’t know. Curiosity, maybe. Or—no, it’s no use questioning it. But now she’s gone and we could have really used her, Odveig’s abilities.”

“Yeah. You know, when she hit me, I didn’t feel a thing? She just tapped my head, like that, and it was…poof! What level do you think she was?”

“High. It was a mistake to confront her. Not that I knew it was her. Now Wiskeria’s afraid she’s trapped in some political game, and the adventurers are nervous. It was a mistake to do this now.”

“But you know who was causing trouble now, right? That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, but we don’t know why, Durene. We don’t know why and if she did anything else and what she’ll tell Lady Magnolia. We don’t know—and the Goblins are still out there.”

“Yeah. They shot arrows at Gamel when he was cutting wood. Everyone’s afraid.”

“I know.”

“Oh! But they know you’ll take care of it! You have a plan, right Laken? Right?”

“I—I have something, Durene.”

“What is it?”

“It’s—well, it’s just a guess. An idea, really. The Goblins are hiding, and I’ve been taking…steps…to deal with them.”

“Steps is good. But what…? Is it a secret?”

“No. Just stupid. I mean, it sounds stupid in my head. It’s got to do with Jelov. I’ll—you know what? It’s time. I have to try it. Otherwise we’re in trouble. We’ve lost Odveig, I mean, Sacra, Durene. Everyone’s afraid. It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to run or gets killed, or people try to replace me—either way, that’s when the Goblins attack and we all die.”

“I won’t let them do that. I’ll kill them. All of them. By myself, if I have to.”

“…”

“Laken?”

“I know you’d do that, Durene. But it’s my job to—to make things easier. I’ll do it tomorrow. And the situation with Wiskeria and the others—we’ll deal with it afterwards.”

“What if she’s, you know, angry I tried to hit her?”

“Then she can be angry. But she’ll obey. We’re only coming out of this one way, Durene, and that’s if we stick together. And I’ll do it. I’ll make us fight as one if I have to force everyone to do it myself.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Really? That sounds terrible to me.”

“Well forcing people, yeah…but you’re you, Laken. I know you’ll help everyone, even if it means twisting their arms.”

“Hah. You always know what to say, Durene.”

“…”

“…”

“Laken? Are we going to die?”

“…No, Durene. I won’t let it happen.”

“Good. But if we do, I wanted to—”

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

“But I wanted to—”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

 

Day 69

 

Three attacks. Arrows flying out of the woods and Goblins charging a group of the villagers. Both times there were only wounded, not the dead—the Windfrozen Riders chased the Goblins away before they could do more than cut at the villagers.

And yet, the pain is still there. I can hear a man screaming and whimpering before the healing potion is applied sparingly to his leg. An oval of flesh had been carved off of his leg.

It’s too much. I can sense the villagers’ fear, sense the adventurers wavering. Odveig’s sudden departure and the suspicion Wiskeria was put under has rattled both groups. Wiskeria’s in charge now, but she’s jumpy too. Whatever relationship I had with her is strained…

But we’re all in the same boat. I don’t know if Odveig—I mean, Sacra, got away safely, or if she was killed by the Goblins. We’re cut off right now. Isolated.

But not hopeless. Not yet. Once I’m done talking to Prost, I stride over to my one hope, my secret weapon, my ace in the hole.

Jelov looks up at me as I find him eating in the barn.

“Your majesty, can I do something for you?”

I don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“The markers, Jelov. Are they done?”

He sounds startled.

“Yes, your worship. Not polished as good as could be, but—”

“Good, have them brought out. I’ll be using them in a few moments.”

I leave him scrambling to get up and find Wiskeria. I think she’s trying to hide from me, but I know where she is. The [Witch] tenses.

“Your majesty, about Odveig. I—”

“Wiskeria, how dangerous would it be to go…let’s say four miles out of the village with a wagon and plant something in the ground?”

“Plant? What?”

She stares at me. I’m not making sense. I take a steadying breath. Calm down.

“I have six—no, seven wooden markers. Each one’s thick—and heavy. I’m sure you’ve seen Jelov carving them.”

“I—yes, sire?”

Still not making sense. I speak slower.

“I want to plant them in the ground. Each one needs to be hammered into the ground in a circle around Riverfarm. Deep. Somewhere where they won’t fall down, around four miles or so away from the village. Can it be done with a small group? Without danger?”

Wiskeria stares at me. She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then answers without asking the why of it.

“I suppose it’s possible, your majesty. It’d be a job for the Windfrozen Riders, and risky. If they’re attacked. Otherwise we could send out a huge band, but that would leave the village undefended and I guarantee the Goblins are waiting for that moment.”

I nod.

“Okay, a small group, then. What would that entail?”

“…Four riders, I suppose. Six, maybe, depending on how heavy the markers are. It would slow them down, and hammering it into the ground would take—”

“What if Durene carried the markers? She could probably drive them into the earth with her bare hands.”

Wiskeria gulps and I hear the noise.

“That could work. But it would be dangerous.”

“You’ve said that. How dangerous?”

“I wouldn’t risk it, your majesty. Why—”

“Give me odds, Wiskeria. Solid odds. Out of ten.”

She pauses.

“…Four in ten odds they’re attacked, sire. If they move fast enough, if they keep in the open.”

“Good. In that case—do it. Seven points around Riverfarm, evenly spaced as possible. A perimeter. Four miles away from the village, each one.”

“But—”

“I’m not discussing this, Wiskeria. Do it. Take Durene with you to make it quicker and however many people you need to feel safe, but get it done.”

I turn away from Wiskeria abruptly. My faith in her is…weakened. I thought I could trust her. She wasn’t the spy, but she did place us in danger with the Mossbear. That might have been her doing, not Sacra’s. That she didn’t come clean about it bothers me most.

And Sacra. It seems like she was one of Magnolia’s spies, someone who could pose as a Silver-rank team leader when needed. Was her hiring Wiskeria really due to them being old friends? Or was the entire team in on it?

I don’t know. I only know that she’s gone and the Goblins are my biggest threat. I stand in the village and hear the Windfrozen Riders—and Durene depart.

My heart is beating too quickly. I’m taking a huge risk. I’m gambling their lives—and Durene’s on this. I wouldn’t risk her for anything, but I have to do this. It has to work.

Prost hurries up to me, worried.

“Emperor Laken, I heard you’d ordered a group to take Jelov’s decorated poles out and place them in the dirt. It’s not my place to say, but—”

“Then don’t, Prost. I know what I’m doing.”

He falls silent. I wait, feeling seconds turn into hours, at least in my mind I feel a twinge of guilt, realizing Prost is standing with me. I’d like to explain. However, I might be wrong.

No, I can’t be wrong. But nothing else has been going my way of late. Goblins. Spies. It’s all out of control. I have only this idea—hell, it’s not even mine! I just want it to work. It has to work. Otherwise—

Thump.

There’s a feeling in my chest. I pause; put a hand to my chest. I can sense Prost looking at me worriedly in silence.

Thump. I feel it, and scraping dirt. It’s coming in the direction the riders and Durene left. A sensation, far away. Miles away, in fact. I’d bet anything it was exactly four miles.

“One.”

I can feel it being hammered into the ground in the distance. It’s like a beacon in my mind. Prost looks at me.

“What’s that sire?”

“One, Prost. Wait for it.”

It’s…twenty minutes or more before I feel the thump again. Can you travel four miles in twenty minutes? You can if you’re running with a horse. And Durene—I’ll bet she can run pretty damn fast too.

“Two.”

Prost looks at me, silent. But he’s catching on. It’s about the same time when I feel it again. Three points now, each one in the distance. One to my east, another southeast, another almost directly south…

“Three.”

Forming a circle. It goes on. Now one to my west. It takes a while. But then—

“Four.”

North, now. Prost is waiting and so am I. My heart is pounding. North—north west.

“Five.”

Two left to go. I wait. The next thump makes my body shake. I feel Prost steady me. The earth shifts. I feel it—

“Si—”

I stagger. I’m not aware of Prost catching me, shouting for Wiskeria. I only know it’s happened.

Six. That was the magic number. I feel it. A huge area of land, marked by six points, opens up in my head. Suddenly, I can see the entire world encompassed in that space.

That’s right. The markers. The pieces of wood Jelov worked so hard on. They’re in the ground now, and they demarcate a rough hexagon, slanted oddly near the north side, but circular, around my village.

Six points. Six markers made of wood, bearing my symbol, claiming this land as my own. Now the points are connected in my head, and the wide area they encompass is suddenly there. I can stretch my senses beyond the limits of the village.

I sense the forest, still covered with snow, the melting water as it drips off of a branch under the light from the sun, the Mossbear slumbering in its cave, a squirrel hibernating in a tree, worms wriggling under the mud near a rock

And the Goblins. There they are. Hiding in the forest, a group of them armed with bows watching the adventurers and Durene racing across an open road to the last point. They’re hidden in the trees, waiting in ambush I see a Goblin raising a bow, aiming at Durene’s back, an arrow drawn.

No! I draw breath, sightless, seeing it in my mind as Wiskeria asks me what’s happening. But my soul, my very being is somewhere else. I’m with Durene, watching her pant and carry the last marker, exhausted from her rapid pace. My heart is with hers, and its life rests on the arrow the Goblin sights down. He’s aiming at her head. I shout.

“Stop!”

The word echoes. It freezes the people around me—and the Goblin. His arm freezes as he’s about to release. He halts—and then curses, looks around. The Goblin sees nothing and looks at Durene, suddenly concerned. His fellows stare at him impatiently. Durene is nearly away.

He hesitates, falters. I say the word again.

Stop.

This time the Goblin still moves. He jerks, snarls, draws the arrow to his cheek again. The word doesn’t work on him fully.

It’s a pushing, a mental shove. That’s what effect my [Emperor]’s command has. I can see the Goblin have to brace itself in some way as I demand he stops, but he can keep moving now he knows what’s coming. This time he aims at one of the adventurers.

Stop!

The hesitation is barely a flicker. The Goblin releases the arrow, howling with triumph and fury. The arrow streaks after the adventurers, strikes a horse’s side. The horse and rider go down and I see Durene dragging both away. The adventures are retreating. The Goblins get ready to swarm them.

There’s a huge Hobgoblin, all fat and muscle, holding a longsword and signaling the Goblins to move in. One of two. The other Hobgoblin is closer, watching the village from afar with a group of Goblins patiently waiting in a forest clearing.

But this Hob. He’ll try to kill Durene. I see it in his eyes. So I whisper a command to him.

Leave this place. Go far away and never come back.

He starts as well. I sense his foot take a step away from Durene, and then he jerks it back. The command was almost completely ineffectual. But it gives Durene a chance to put more ground between her and the Goblins. And now he’s distracted.

The Hob casts around. He knows something is happening, but can’t see what. He’s wary, rightly so. He snarls something at the Goblin archer and I see the two conferring. The Hobgoblin turns his head, stares with narrowed eyes the way the riders and Durene have gone.

Towards the village. Towards me.

In my mind, I can see Durene and the riders running back towards the village. They abandon the last marker; they have to abandon the horse too. The [Rider] slits her horse’s throat, sobbing, rather than let it be taken alive by the Goblins. They come back.

And the Goblins do too. I see them streaming through the forest, some stopping to crap in the snow, others laughing, fingering weapons. The Hob snarls at them and they keep silent.

Now both Hobs are together. They gesture towards the village, the one with the sword arguing with the other. A decision is reached.

By the time Durene reaches the village, practically collapsing with exhaustion, I see it. The Goblins move out. A small group breaks away from the larger mass, circles around the village. The Goblins begin sharpening weapons, chattering excitedly. I sense their intent, see it in the way they move.

They have nets. Bundles of dry wood. They mean to capture some of the villagers and torch this place when they leave. The Hobgoblin is shouting at them, ordering them—

“—Laken? Laken! Please, get up!”

Someone’s shaking me. Someone’s holding me, pleading with me. I hear a voice I love, feel sweaty, callused palms, smell Durene—

I don’t open my eyes. There’s really no point. But suddenly, I’m back in my body, lying in Prost’s house, as Durene shakes me and Prost, Wiskeria, and all the villagers who can fit in the room over around me. I can sense them all, hear their distressed voices. Gamel is clutching the bedframe so hard I can sense the wood splintering a bit.

“Durene? Stop shaking me, please.”

“Oh! Thank goodness!”

She sweeps me up into a hug that nearly kills me. I gasp, and Wiskeria and Prost manage to make Durene let go. I sit up, breathless, and look around. Prost hovers around me, worried.

“Your majesty? What happened? One second you were speaking, the next, you fell over!”

“I’m fine, Prost. I told you I had a plan. Thanks for catching me. Now…I need to get up.”

“Are you sure? If you need to rest—”

“Up, Prost. And then you, Wiskeria, and Beniar will meet me…right here. Everyone else can get out. Durene can stay if she wants. We’re going to end this thing with the Goblins right now.

 

—-

 

This is what an [Emperor] sees. Three people, a young man, an older young woman, and an older man standing around a dining room table in a house still bearing the marks of the avalanche. I sit in a chair, holding a mug of tea.

And see my empire. Now it’s a huge plot of land, not just a village. I see forests and hills, animals, grass and trees buried under the snow, and all things in between. This is mine.

And there are trespassers on my land. Thanks to my senses, I can count them all. I can see where they are. And I know we’re in trouble.

“Sixty four Goblins? And two Hobs?”

Wiskeria looks at me. Credit to her, after all she’s been through she can still focus. Even more credit—after hearing what I’ve said, her voice is only slightly shaking.

I nod.

“And you’re…sure, your majesty? Absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely. I may have miscounted—”

“Oh?”

“It may be higher. They move around and I lose track. But it’s at least sixty four. At least.”

She pales. I turn my attention from her, to the fidgeting young man. Beniar stares at me.

“How can you know this, your majesty?”

I shrug.

“I can see them. The markers you placed claimed this land as mine. I can sense everything that goes on in my empire, including how the Goblins are moving. It’s a Skill that [Emperors] have. Or maybe just a function of my class. I don’t know.”

Beniar’s open-mouthed, staring at me. So is Prost, but Wiskeria’s focused on what I’ve said about the Goblins.

“Sixty. That’s…too many. We’ve twelve of the Trackers and seven of Beniar’s riders. We’ll be overwhelmed. And two Hobs—each one’s as dangerous as the Mossbear. More dangerous because they can think.”

Beniar nods. He strokes at the stubble around his chin, sounding worried.

“Sixty four. I uh—if they’re not trained warriors—and if they are—well, it’s doable if we can catch them off guard, right, Wiskeria?”

He turns hopefully to the [Witch]. She nods with less conviction and looks at me.

“Do you know where they are, your majesty? We could ambush them and whittle their forces down. I have a few spells I could use if I had the time…”

I wince. Here’s the bad part. I shake my head as Prost turns, sharpening a kitchen knife with a whetstone.

“They are coming. I—tipped them off.”

Prost’s hand slips. I sense the blood and hear him curse. Beniar starts and Wiskeria gets up—

“It’s nothing. Your majesty, if they’re coming, we’re doomed. At least, that’s what I understand from my own class and the looks on these adventurer’s faces.”

“Perhaps. But if we run, they’ll hunt us down, Prost. If we can fight them back…there is a chance. We’ve been training the villagers, and there are over a hundred and fifty of us.”

“Not all warriors, sire. Many children, folk too old or injured to fight, and most’ve never fought anything before. A far cry from a seasoned Goblin [Warrior].”

“Yes. I know.”

Silence. I can sense the adventurers and Prost looking at each other. But there’s no options available. Wiskeria clears her throat.

“We can rely on the palisades, block off the main street now we know they’re coming. I’ll prepare spells; see what the best area to fight in is.”

“I’ll do the same.”

Beniar springs to his feet. I raise a hand and he stops.

“There’s something else.”

I detected a group of Goblins splitting off from the main force, circling around the village. They’re clearly trying to flank us. When I tell Wiskeria that, she nods.

“How many?”

“Twenty…three. Including one of the Hobs. That leaves less Goblins to attack from the front, I guess.”

“But more to hit us where we least want them. I have a proposal, your majesty. If we let the Windfrozen Riders handle them—”

What?

Beniar’s outraged. Wiskeria freezes him with a cold stare.

“You have seven people in your group, Beniar. Seven, including you. I doubt you could fight off that many alone. We’ll give you some other villagers who can use bows.”

“Yes, but—that leaves the Trackers and villagers to hold off forty Goblins and a Hob!”

“We’ll have to do it. We can’t risk being attacked from two sides. If you can finish off your group, you can help us. But we can’t let ourselves be overrun.”

Wiskeria’s in charge. She’s taking command in this moment and no one, including me is about to stop her. I can’t see the map she’s looking at, and she understands more of war than I do.

However, my input matters. I talk with Wiskeria as Beniar goes out to let his party know what they’ll be doing. Prost is already organizing a barricade.

I can sense her glancing at me from time to time. After a while, she breaks off from asking me what the Goblins are using as weapons—swords and spears, mainly with a few axes for good measure—and speaks quietly.

“I…wanted to apologize, your majesty.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For casting a spell on you. For not telling you about the Mossbear fur. For Odveig…all of it. I know that if I were in any other kingdom, the punishment for any of these things might be my life. I can only beg for forgiveness.”

I grimace.

“I put you in a bad spot, Wiskeria. I’m still angry about the Mossbear fur, but I understand that was a precaution.”

“Yes. I was actually trying to drive it off before you did. I didn’t understand why it was so furious—I suppose Odveig might have done something to it.”

“Well, her actions are not your fault, Wiskeria.”

“But they are. She is—was—our team leader. Because she did all these things…”

“Tell you what, Wiskeria. We’ll sort out blame after all of this. But if you fight and put your life on the line with all of us, I’ll consider that a very strong endorsement of your innocence. Deal?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Now tell me how likely it is you think we’ll survive.”

For a while she’s silent. Wiskeria traces the map and I hear the rustle of paper.

“Truly? We’ve no [Strategist] or [Leader] and neither do they.”

“I’m an [Emperor].”

“Yes, but—I apologize, your majesty. However, you’ve not said you have any direct combat skills. Without those, the battle remains as it is.”

“I see. You’re correct. In that case…”

“We have Durene. She might be as strong as a Hob, but she’s never fought before. We outnumber the Goblins, but only with the villagers who are as inexperienced. And these Goblins are trained, deadly. It will come down to your people, sire. They would win no matter what the odds if they were without fear—”

“But they are afraid.”

“Yes. And they will die, and see their friends and family dying. They’ll pay the cost in blood. And if they break and run—”

“We die.”

“Yes.”

Wiskeria takes my hand for a moment. Her hands are cold and clammy. I squeeze her hand gently.

“Well then, I suppose it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I sense her smile weakly. We say little more. The village is alive with fear, with tension. But also, strangely, a bit of certainty. After so much waiting, the Goblins are finally coming. For all of us, there’s some relief in that finality.

I don’t want to die here. Wiskeria and I part ways after a while. I want to be with Durene for the hours before night, when we think they’ll strike, and she has work to do.

“Emperor Laken? May I ask you one question?”

Wiskeria stops me before I go. I turn.

“Yes?”

She hesitates.

“I’ve wanted to know this the entire time. You—you’re truly an [Emperor], aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“In that case…how did you become one? Were you born to it? Are you from some distant land?”

I have to laugh softly.

“I am from a distant land. One you’ve never heard of, Wiskeria. But I was not born an [Emperor]. In fact, I only became one when I met Durene.”

“What? Then how—?”

“I decided to be one. Because I knew I could be one. Because I’d heard a story about an [Emperor] with no crown. An [Emperor] with no castle. An [Emperor] with a city to live in and not a penny to his name. Beloved by all.”

With that, I leave her. I walk out the door and kiss Durene in the middle of the village. And night falls.

And the Goblins come.

 

—-

 

This is the sound of the end. It’s blowing horns, shouting in the woods, and wind howling through the trees. The wind has to howl. It’s only fitting.

It’s the sound of your own teeth chattering as you try to make a speech. It’s the sound of a young man weeping and people around him shouting at the Goblins, roaring as if to drown out the guttural shrieks coming towards them.

It’s the sound of saying goodbye to your loved ones, holding a child’s hand, lying, saying all that will be well. It’s the sound of ‘I love you’, spoken a hundred ways to a hundred people.

It is the sound of Goblins.

They burst out of the woods around midnight. It’s a terrible wait, knowing they’re coming. When they do come, it’s so quick I can barely shout before the alarm is raised.

But we’re ready. The Goblins falter a second as they see the barricades made from overturned wagons and spikes driven diagonally into the ground. But on they come. A huge Hob is leading them, sword gleaming in the winter moonlight.

And the Goblins are everywhere. I know there are only forty of them, but they stream across the ground like one mass. I can only imagine what it’s like to see all of this and not sense it. I’m standing at the back of the rows of villagers and I think I can hear Wiskeria’s heart stop.

But she doesn’t falter. As the Goblins approach she shouts and the villagers with bows and the Celestial Trackers loose quarrel after quarrel at the Goblins. They’re answered with arrows from the Goblin’s bows, and I hear villagers cry out around me.

“To the rear! More goblins!

A shout goes up. I can sense the Hobgoblin’s smile, but the trap he’s set with his friend cuts both ways.  I hear a wild war cry as Beniar and his Windfrozen Riders charge towards the Goblins trying to attack from behind. I pray for him.

And then the Goblins are here. I hear a voice like gravel shrieking and feel helpless. I have a woodcutter’s axe with me, but I’m to stay behind the fighting. Everyone insisted. Prost told me privately that he thinks the villagers will flee if I’m killed or wounded.

So I wait. And I see it all.

The first group of Goblins doesn’t charge onto the wooden spikes. That would be suicide. They hack at the sharpened points instead, cutting with their weapons and then surge through the gaps, climbing the barricades and fighting with the people jabbing spears and other weapons down at them.

“Celestial Trackers! On me!

Wiskeria screams and throws glowing blue fire at the nearest Goblins. She and the Celestial Trackers rush forwards. Some hang back, loosing arrows in point-blank archery duels with Goblins.

“For Riverfarm!”

Prost leads the counterattack. He and the villagers keep formation, trying to hold the Goblins at bay. But retreating. The Goblins are expert warriors and they swarm and try to get around the villagers, some going as far as to try and climb the roofs of the houses and leap down on the villagers from above.

“For Laken!”

I hear a different cry, and sense Durene. She’s towering over the other Humans, and the Goblins are reluctant to go near her. She swings her club and they back up. Wiskeria is trading spells with a Goblin in the back wearing war paint—a [Shaman]?

And then I see the huge, fat Goblin towering over the rest. Only it’s not fat, is it? Hobgoblins like this one are round and made of muscle. And he is taller than anyone but Durene. Stronger, too.

The Hob is fighting across from Durene. He’s smashing the wooden barricades, sending villagers tumbling off it and opening a hole with pure brute strength. As I watch, he turns and cuts. One of the Celestial Trackers screams and falls, her hand severed at the wrist.

No. I want to cry out, to rush forward, but the villagers are forming a solid mass between me and the Hobgoblin. I look around—there’s a platform the archers are meant to be using, only this one’s lost its archer. I find a young woman on the ground behind it. Dead. There’s an arrow in her throat.

No time to be sick. No time to cry. I stand on the platform. I can’t use a bow. That’s one of the things sight is essential for. But I can use my voice. So I shout.

“I am Laken Godart, [Emperor] of Riverfarm! You are trespassing on my land! Leave or die!”

I’m shouting right at the Hobgoblin. I know he can hear me. He turns—his eyes are glowing, although in my mind they have no color. I shout.

Halt!

For a moment he does. Long enough for a villager to attack him with a pitchfork. But the moment of hesitation isn’t enough for the young man to capitalize on it. The Hobgoblin twists his body and the tines of the pitchfork break on his armor. He slashes—the young man falls.

“I said, halt!

This time the Hobgoblin gives me a dismissive glance. My voice of command is useless on him. He turns and grins as the Goblins around him shout and drive the villagers back.

Helpless. I feel helpless. Wiskeria is shouting orders and Prost is fighting. Durene swings her mace and Goblins scatter around her. One is too slow. The blow breaks something in the Goblin and it—she—falls.

And I do nothing.

My voice is useless. The Goblins laugh and sneer at my attempts to stop them. I can only shout. My words—

I see them falling. My villagers. They’re being pushed back by the Goblins’ relentless assaults. And their morale is weakening. Already three of the Trackers have fallen. Wiskeria screams as the [Shaman] hits her with a bolt of energy that scorches her shoulder black.

They are my people and I cannot help them. In this moment, I know it. I see a young man with a hoe cutting at a Goblin, and watch as it ducks beneath the blade, snarling, and stabs into his stomach.

His intestines come out. I see the Goblin duck away as he collapses. I know his name.

Calop, the name of a root. He is mine.

Mine. I pulled him from the ground. I saved his life. They can’t take him. He is my subject.

But he fades. I see him sagging, see a young woman clinging to him, trying to pull him up and ward the same Goblin away. He grins and cuts her.

Her name is—is Fulca. I offered her sanctuary. I told her she would be safe.

She falls too. Dying. They’re all dying.

My mouth opens silently. You cannot have them. They are mine. My subjects. My people.

Mine.

I don’t realize that I’ve leapt off the archery tower. I’m standing at the backs of the villagers now, shouting.

“Stand and fight! Don’t retreat! Don’t let them advance a single step!”

They hear me. I can see villager’s heads turning, see them struggling harder. But they are mortal and frail. This is all they can do and spirit is—a Goblin guts a young teenage girl, barely older than a child.

It’s not enough. Now I’m screaming at the Goblins, shouting as they laugh in my face.

“You are not worthy of standing on this land. You did not bleed for it. You have not died for it! The people of this village have lived and died here for generations! This is theirs. And mine!”

I point at the Hob. He sees me now and throws a man aside as he cuts towards me.

“I will burn your people to dust. I will hound them from the face of the earth! I swear to you, for every one of my subjects that falls I will take a hundred of your kind as vengeance! I will not let you take this ground!

There’s fury in my heart. Something bursting in my mind. I feel something ignite. The Hob is coming. I hear Durene’s scream, Prost yelling.

Kneel, Goblin.

This time the Hob’s knees buckle. He pauses and when he looks at me, it’s no longer with a smile. He raises his longsword. I have the axe. I raise it.

Someone shoves me aside. The Hob’s sword descends and cuts the young man who gets in the way. Gamel blinks at me as the longsword opens up his chest. I see bloody ribs, see his open mouth.

He falls. The Hob turns to me and Durene bellows a challenge. She roars, hurling villagers and Goblins aside and the Hob backs up.

I don’t see her collide with the Hob. Gamel’s on the ground. He’s trying to tell me something. I tried? Please…?

I can’t hear. I can sense the light leaving him as I try to grip his hand. Not him. I can’t let him go. I can’t.

I won’t.

“Stand up! Don’t die! I said, stand up! Gamel!”

He tries. But there’s nothing left. He’s given it all to me. All. His life fades and I see it flowing out of him. I reach for it. It’s not enough. I want more. I demand more. He cannot die yet.

I will not allow it.

“Stop bleeding. Stop. Stop.

It doesn’t work. Something in me speaks. I look into Gamel’s heart. His soul.

“Stop.”

Something—Gamel stares at me. The wound on his chest is gushing blood. It stains the ground. But now the blood stops. Gamel’s body jerks. He stares at me. My voice is an echo. Distant. Loud like tempests, terrible. Alien. It rolls and breaks upon the ears of the living. A command.

“Stand up.”

His legs move. Weakly. There’s not enough strength in him. That’s fine. I’ll give him more. I rise.

“Stand up, Gamel. You swore to follow me on the graves of your parents. In ice and blood and loss. It is not time for you to die. I need you. Stand up!

His body moves. Gamel rises, the sword in his hand gripped in a pale hand. I turn. There are Goblins fighting with the villagers. They stare at Gamel as he turns towards them, his chest opened, covered in his life’s blood.

“Fight!”

Gamel charges. Flames burst from his hand and sear one Goblin’s chest. He hacks at another Goblin. They fall back, afraid.

The other villagers are fighting. They see Gamel and falter. But then they hear my voice.

“Fight, people of Riverfarm! Fight, folk of Windrest! Fight! You have sworn yourselves to me! Fight for your [Emperor]!”

I command them. I command their very souls. The wounded rise. Exhausted arms move as if they were fresh. Limbs without strength grapple with their opponents and force them back. My voice is in their ears as the villagers form up, forcing the line of Goblins back. The words come out of me, out of some place in my soul.

Stand. I see your lives like flames on the sea. You are mine. The water will not touch you. The wind cannot quench your fire. So long as I live, your fates and mine burn together. I do not give you permission to die. So stand—and show me nothing but victory.

The Goblins hesitate. They have never seen this. An old man with a rake charges them, hacking at faces. He blinds a Goblin with a strike, bites the sharpened points deep into another Goblins’ back. Others stab him, mortal wounds to his chest and throat.

Breathless, he keeps swinging his rake. Heart stopped, he seizes a Goblin and tears at his throat. He keeps moving as he falls, keeps fighting. And he is one. Gamel fights past him, face contorted with rage. Prost runs through a Goblin and keeps running. The villagers charge and the Goblins retreat.

Something roars. The Goblins turn and something charges them from behind. The [Shaman] casting spells at the dying witch stops laughing and sees a paw descend. The Mossbear smashes the Goblin flat and bites into a second. It roars, and bites the intruders. Called by a spell. Commanded by an [Emperor].

Two shapes fight amid the Goblins and Humans. Two giants. Durene and the Hobgoblin strike at each other, trading blows. He has a shield to go with his sword and moves with trained grace. She is slow. Her shield is crude, but it blocks his sword.

Yet she is wounded. He’s cut her deeply on the side and along one breast. Now the Hob senses the tide turning. He snarls and swings his sword. Durene sees it coming on her club arm. She does not try to block.

She howls and swings her club. The sword bites deep into her arm, cutting through grey flesh and stopping on bone. The Hobgoblin raises his other arm, his shield. The club falls through the sky and nothing in this world can stop it.

The shield deforms. The arm breaks. The Hobgoblin’s head implodes and it falls. Durene turns with his sword still buried in her left arm and roars.

She has forgotten who she is. I have forgotten who I am. A girl reaches out for fury and finds it in her desperation, in her rage.

The Goblins look at her and step back. She looms over them, bleeding, holding her club. They see the part of her the Humans fear. The part of her that has never come out before.

Troll.

Durene roars and swings her club. Two Goblins die. She hammers another one into the ground, dead the moment her weapon touches him. On the hill, an [Emperor] howls and his people rush forwards around the Troll, screaming, fearless.

The Goblins are warriors. Not heroes. They break and flee as they are overrun.

A screaming band of riders rushes out from the village, weapons and armor covered in blood. They charge the Goblins from the side, cutting down Goblins from behind.

Not one escapes. The last is crushed by a massive hand. Durene tears the Goblins’s arm from his socket and hurls the body to the ground to stomp on it. In the sudden silence, every head turns.

Like magic, the villagers, the adventurers, and the half-Troll turn to look at a young man. He stands by himself, apart from the fighting. Something is looming in his shadow. He stands like a giant amid the dead, and for a moment his words are bolts of lightning, strings that death cannot cut.

Then it fades. He sags and villagers drop like stones. Laken Godart stares at his hands. They are not covered in blood. They are wet instead.

With tears.

 

—-

 

It’s over. The Goblins are dead. But it is not over.

There are wounded to attend to. So many. So many dead. In truth, not that many—

Not all. But more fall by the second, whether from exhaustion or mortal injuries, it’s impossible to say. Prost carries people to beds, opens healing potion bottles with trembling hands. It’s a race against time and some die despite his efforts.

And mine. I open bottles, hand them to people, pour the liquid over wounds and wait for them to close. Some don’t. I’m just one person in the village. One person among many that no one speaks to.

No one can look at me. No one speaks to me. I think they’re afraid to. I can barely exist myself. I—feel like I was another person for a while. I feel like another man’s memories are in my head.

What did I say? Why did I say it? How could I—

I stop and lean against the wall of a house. It’s cold. I feel sick. I want to throw up, but I can’t. I am their [Emperor]. I gave them the orders. No one else did. I ordered them to fight, and when they were dying, I told them to live.

Because I willed it.

And then I remember Gamel. I find him among the wounded, lying on a cot in the barn. I slow as I see him.

“Gamel?”

“Emperor?”

He stares up at me. I can feel his hands shaking as they try to grip mine. The gaping wound in his stomach is gone. All healed. But the trauma and blood loss can’t be healed so easily. He can’t stand.

He is hovering at the edge of life and death. He was dead. He was meant to be dead. The wound’s closed, but he can’t be alive. Like the old man with the rake. He was still moving afterwards. But though the potion closed his injuries, he never opened his eyes.

“Gamel. I’m sorry.”

“I—was happy to serve. You gave me strength.”

Gamel struggles to talk. I can see something in his eyes, fading away again. I shake my head. Tears.

“I shouldn’t have. I took something from you. I—”

“Wanted to. Give. A ruler is more than a man.”

I stare down at Gamel.

“No. Yes. He is. But I am still sorry.”

It’s not a word. Just a question in his eyes. I sit by Gamel. The words come out of me slowly.

“A ruler can afford to see nothing but pawns and tools or break his heart against his duties. But the mortal, human soul in him must cry out for every injustice he commits. Or he is no ruler, but a monster wearing the same skin. I am both. And I am sorry.”

“Still my [Emperor]. Saved us. I’ll live.”

I smile. My heart is twisting in my chest.

“Yes. You will live. Sleep now, Gamel. Sleep—and rest while I can still let you.”

He closes his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s dying or not. I put my hand on his chest and feel nothing.

I look around. The lines of bodies are long. But I sense many chests rising and falling.

Thirty one dead, forty six wounded. Of that number, eight had wounds that could not be healed with potions. A young man lost three fingers. A wife a leg. One of Berniar’s riders lost an eye. Some should have died from the wounds they took.

But they lived. Because I commanded it. They lived when many should have died.

The Mossbear is gone. It left after eating some of the dead Goblins. I think it was wounded, but not deeply. Wiskeria summoned it from its cave.

A last resort. An emergency measure. That’s why she wanted the fur.

These are all numbers I see. In my mind. But it doesn’t change reality. I stare at the few people who are upright. Some are still holding their weapons. A shovel, a rake, a frying pan of all things. But they killed with them. The blood is still on some.

I have made warriors of these humble folk. I have turned farmers into killers and taught them what death is. Is there anyone who wouldn’t be changed by such an experience? They have killed.

Goblins. They killed Goblins. But Goblins are too much like people. The people of Riverfarm and Windrest will remember this day for the rest of their lives.

Prost finds me kneeling next to Gamel. He takes me away for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a simple statement.

“You saved us.”

“You saved yourselves.”

“No.”

He shakes his head.

“You saved us. I felt it. When you spoke—”

“I manipulated you. I took away your will. I forced you to—I had no right. Surely you agree.”

He shakes his head again. There’s pain in Prost’s eyes. His wife was the one who lost her leg. But his children are alive. I look into his eyes and see little gratitude. It hurts too much for that. But neither do I see anger or hatred, either.

“Not for us to say, my Emperor. We are yours. We gave all we had to you for our lives, and that of our families. We are sworn to you. Servants, subjects to a ruler. If we wished for freedom, we could only but rebel and break our oaths. We would be damned for that.”

“Some oath. What do you get, then?”

“You, lord.”

I look at Prost. He reaches out.

“You. We are yours and you are ours. So it is for every ruler and his people. They are his, or hers. And they belong to their people. One cannot live without the other. For better or worse, they are bound until one is gone.”

“Is it a Skill? Part of my class?”

For the first time in a long while, I see Prost smile. He shakes his head.

“It is not just part of classes and levels. It is the bond we have made. You gave us hope and purpose. You gave us life when the snow buried our home and our families. You pulled us out with your bare hands. How could we not give you everything we have in return?”

He leaves me with that. I go back and find Wiskeria. She’s sobbing over one of her friends. When she sees me she bows her head.

“I don’t know what—I heard you. I felt you. I—I can’t go back to Invrisil after this. I can’t.”

I kneel as she chokes on her words. She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

“Part of me died here. Part of the Celestial Trackers. We’re gone. We put too much of ourselves into that battle.”

Of the Trackers, four out of twelve survived. Of the Windfrozen Riders, five. I look at Wiskeria. At her as she is, raw, grieving. It’s not the time. But there’s nothing else I can give her.

“Wiskeria, I—I’ve misjudged you. You and your group have given—no. Wiskeria, listen to me.”

She looks at me.

“Be my [General].”

I say it softly. She blinks as if she can’t understand. But she’s smart.

“What? How?”

I turn. So many wounded. So many hurt. A battle with no [Strategist] or [Leader]. I look back at her.

“I have…a certain number of positions I can give away as an [Emperor]. Not many positions of nobility; they’re filled. But every ruler needs someone to direct their armies. I’d like that person to be you.”

“Me?”

“You lead the battle. You’ve lead a group. No one else can do it. Beniar is too reckless, but you—you could do it.”

“But I’m a [Witch]. I never dreamed of being a [General]. I can’t just give up my class.”

“Be a [Witch], then. Be a [General], too. Be the first [Witch General] the world has ever seen. If that class exists, you’ll have it. If not—I’ll make it for you. But be mine, Wiskeria.”

I hold out my hand to her, in the barn full of grieving voices and death. There isn’t anything else in the world but Wiskeria and me. She stares at my hand, at me.

“Take my hand and walk with me until the world ends or we do.”

Forever passes as we look at each other. There’s still so much we don’t know. But she knows enough of me and I know her. She takes my hand. And it’s done.

I find Durene after the rest of it. She’s crying, holding a friend. I hold her close and feel her shaking. We lie down for a second and hold each other. For a second of rest. Then she gets up to help the wounded again. My [Paladin]. I close my eyes.

 

[Emperor Level 15!]

[Skill – Empire: Art of the Builder Obtained!]

 

[Skill – Undying Loyalty Learned.]

 

Sleep calls. But I hear the voice and know. In my heart. It pulls me up. I stand.

[Undying Loyalty]. A word for what I did. A chance. Just one.

So I sit with Gamel throughout the night. He alone lives. The rest, those who I called back from the grave—

Die.

 

Day 70

 

Durene leveled too. That’s the upshot of it. Wiskeria became a Level 4 [General] overnight—Prost leveled. I don’t think there was one person in the village who didn’t level or gain a class, come to that.

There’s no work to be done the next day. Just burying the dead and burning the Goblins. I feel like a ghost at times, so little do I speak. There’s no need for an [Emperor] to order anything at this moment. I just need to be there so people can see me. To know I’m there.

They still believe in me. They believe in a man who ordered them to fight and die. Because in doing so, I saved them. I cannot forgive myself, but there is nothing to forgive for them.

We are alive. I go on with that knowledge keeping me sane.

Durene and I sit together after the digging is done. The cold ground is rough, but she is tireless. Among her new Skills is [Lesser Endurance].

Now, in the quiet of mourning I finally tell her the truth. She sits cross-legged with me, feeding Frostwing and letting the bird nip her fingers. Frostwing flaps her wings and a feather floats down.

“A [General], a [Steward], a [Paladin]…all of these classes are rare. Special. Stronger than normal classes because they’re more important, you could say. Or so my theory goes.”

“So that’s why you gave it to me.”

“Well, that wasn’t my idea to begin with. That was…luck.”

“Oh. But it’s better than other classes?”

“Better than [Warrior]? Yes, I think so. I think some classes are just designed that way, in whatever system this world works off of.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“Of course not. But it has to be this way, Durene. How can a [General] be both a [Strategist], [Warrior], and [Leader] all at the same time? It’s because he—”

“Or she.”

“Thank you. Yes, or she—must be all these things and arguably just as good as an expert in all three fields. There’s a famous [Lord] in the north named Tyrion Veltras. Apparently he’s not only able to manage a vast amount of his lands, but he’s one of the leaders who commands the Human armies when they fight against the Drakes. To me, that sounds like he’s got at least two classes’ worth of Skills packed into one.”

“Oh. That’s good, then. So you’ll give more classes to other people?”

I nod, staring at my hands. This is one of the things I can do for them. I owe them this.

“I’m going to make Gamel my [Knight] if he wants me to. If not—there are other classes I’ve thought of. I have a few good suggestions, too. Wiskeria will offer the rank of [Captain] to Beniar to start with, and if I need to, I’ll give him a higher rank. If he doesn’t like that, I’ll see if he wants to wear armor. If there’s a [Cataphract] class, I’d love to see if his [Riders] could obtain it by wearing armor.”

Durene nods. She stares across the village, at the churned ground, still stained in places, where the fighting happened. She feels at her arm where the sword cut her.

“So how do you know all this, Laken? Claiming lands with markers, giving all these classes out—did you think of it yourself?”

“No. Actually, I…”

I break off and look around. But no one’s nearby to listen. Still, prompted by some hunch, I lean over to Durene. She obligingly bends her head down.

“I…was given this advice by someone. Let’s call it some insider advice. Ah…you don’t know what I mean by that, do you, Durene?”

“Nope.”

“My…informant, let’s call him, was rather strange. He seemed to know exactly how a lot of things would turn out and he knew a lot about my class. He admitted as much. So I’ve used a lot of his suggestions—”

“Like making Mister Prost a [Steward]? And turning Wiskeria into a [General]?”

“And the trick with the totem poles—I mean, markers. Yeah. It’s a bit odd how much was exactly like he said. I was wary about taking all the advice, but it was free, and there’s a saying where I come from…”

I trail off for a second. Durene nudges me.

“What? What’s the saying?”

“Oh, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.”

She shifts and I hear her voice rumbling in confusion as we sit together.

“Why wouldn’t you look one in the mouth? It could be dangerous. What if it was a Dresh Horse? You’d be sorry for not checking, then!”

I have to laugh at that. Trust Durene to come up with a practical answer to a silly folk saying.

“What’s a Dresh—never mind. I get it. And you’re right. But I can’t help but think someone’s on our side out there. Or at least, we’re getting help because it suits someone for the moment.”

“Okay, but when did you meet him? I never saw—”

“I’m not around you all the time, Durene. In fact, I met him in Invrisil. While I was there.”

“Really? But—”

“I’ll tell you all about it. Later. Hold on, someone’s coming.”

I stand up, suddenly worried. Someone is coming. Someone on horseback. Odveig? Sacra?

It’s not her. Instead, a man on horseback rides into the village, staring at the Goblin bodies and asking for me. He’s escorted to me by the villagers, some of whom are holding weapons.

I’m not worried. The man showed Prost his Runner’s Seal. Some use horses. And he has something for me. The man clears his throat a few times and I hear him speak quite nervously as he half-bows in my direction.

“I have a letter addressed to an…[Emperor]? Emperor Laken of Riverfarm?”

“That’s me.”

I have no Runner’s Seal, nor any way to prove who I am. Nevertheless, the City Runner doesn’t hesitate for a moment to hand the letter over. It smells faintly of…orchids? Perhaps. Something close to that, a delicate perfume. Durene’s murmuring tells me the parchment is rich. There’s no name on the letter, just a wax seal.

A letter to an [Emperor]. I break the wax seal and open the letter. It’s short. I have to have Wiskeria read it out loud to me.

To the esteemed [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm, I am humbly…”

Looks like it’s a greeting from a [Lady] Rie who lives in Invrisil. She greets me, invites me to her estate which is only a few miles away, offers me her congratulations…I listen to Wiskeria read through the letter, barely able to process it at this time.

“Well. She gave this letter to you, did she?”

The City Runner coughs nervously.

“Her manservant did, mil—your majesty. However, this—isn’t the only letter.”

“What?”

“That is the first letter, ah, your majesty. I have three more.”

He has three more letters, two from [Merchants] and one from a [Lord]. I hold them in my hands and sense the Runner fidget.

“Would you like to send a return message? That service has been paid for by each sender.”

“I’ll consider it. Please, stay for a while and allow me time to decide. Unless you’re busy?”

“No your majesty! My time has been paid for. I will wait wherever you please.”

“My [Steward] will find you a spot. And something hot. I will deliberate by myself.”

I wander away from the City Runner and hear him asking what happened. I wonder what Prost will tell him. Myself, I step away from the village and sit on a rock, brushing the snow off of it.

So much has happened. And this is just the latest development. It’s mind boggling. Insane.

“Strange. I can’t believe it.”

I whisper the words out loud. I stare at the letters, sniff the perfume. Each one addressed to me. All coming at once. From [Lords] and [Ladies], no less.

“It’s all happening like he said. Exactly like he said.”

I don’t know what to think. My head is whirling, my heart still bleeds. I look back towards my village and raise my head to the sky. Here it is. My empire. My people have bought it in blood and I am bound to it now.

My lands. My people. My love. All things start here. I open the next letter with my thumb.

“Well then. Let’s begin.”

After a second, I look around. I wander back into the village and raise my hand. Everyone looks at me.

“Hey, can someone read this to me?”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.24

It was going to be an important day. Ivolethe felt it, just like she felt the rays of the sun warm her frozen body slightly. She could sense…there were no words for what she sensed. The English language had no words for it, because Humans had only five senses, and perhaps a few others that were more instinctual and sometimes slightly magical.

A proper comparative would be that Ivolethe tasted the sense of foreboding and premonition on the air and felt déjà vu creeping over her while she simultaneously smelled, heard, and thought of all these sensations as well. It was the feeling of destiny, of fate.

Contrary to what Ryoka Griffin feared, Frost Faeries could not in fact tell the future. They could, however, predict the future, but that was a skill most beings had. Humans could do it. Less well than the fae, but they could do it.

It was easy. Show a Human an apple and most would agree that it would fall when dropped. Some might suspect the apple would explode, defy gravity, or commit to some other miraculous feat, but insanity lurks within all species. By and large, Humans could predict the future in simple ways like this.

They could see the apple and know it would fall. However, Ivolethe and her kind were different. The fae could see the apple and know what would happen if it was caught, what would happen if it landed, and what would happen if an arrow shot it out of the air during an archery competition.

They could predict what would happen after the apple fell, but they couldn’t see the whole of the apple’s fate. Just more of it than most. Where mortals saw only the road in front of them, faeries could see the crossroads.

It didn’t mean they knew everything. But Ivolethe could see strands of destiny weaving and changing each other. She could sense…peculiarities and moments in time that mattered.

And today, a lot of these threads were coming together. So many, and the ones that were already moving were pulling the rest. Because of course, destiny was connected. How could it not be?

So today would be momentous for many people in this small part of the world. It would be special. Ivolethe didn’t question the coincidence that pulled together so many events at once; she sometimes thought that reality liked such things. Special things should be special.

It could have been the work of a god as well, of course. Immortal beings were all about important days and destiny. But in this world, such an occurrence would be impossible. Ivolethe knew this. The gods were dead. And they had better stay that way.

The Frost Faerie sighed as the sun rose a bit. She could hear a Gnoll child flopping around her room, waking up to the smell of food as she ran over a young woman’s face. Ryoka Griffin groaned and Ivolethe smiled and flew away from Ryoka’s windowsill.

Today was going to be important. She flew into the Wandering Inn’s kitchen and stole a huge sausage link and some garlic. Even faeries liked something to eat while watching.

 

—-

 

Ryoka knew it was going to be a bad day when she woke up. She opened her eyes and knew something was wrong.

There was nothing supernatural about this premonition. Ryoka had lived through too many days like this not to remember.

It was the feeling of things going wrong. It was the sensation in her mind of the sun going out. On days like this, Ryoka couldn’t help but feel angry and unhappy.

It had been a while since she felt like this. Back home, on earth, Ryoka could go for months without days like this. Other times it was a never-ending week of bad days. And oddly, it always felt like the world seemed to agree with Ryoka’s mood.

There was a large, brown beetle with a speckled exoskeleton crawling on her toothbrush. Ryoka stared at it for a long time as it crawled over the fine bristles and investigated the insides of her runner’s backpack. It was a fitting start to her morning.

She flicked the beetle off her brush and then tossed it out of the window. Then the Asian girl determinedly spread the foul toothpaste—a blend of sage, salt, pepper and other herbs Octavia mixed up and sold in small jars—and brushed her teeth with her toothbrush.

She took extra-long to brush her teeth just to show the damn beetle what was what. Then Ryoka remembered she hadn’t had breakfast.

“Fuck.”

She made her way downstairs, trying not to scowl that openly. But her mood had followed her. It lived in her mind. It was a blackness creeping in her thoughts.

“Good morning, Ryoka! Would you like some pancakes? They’re hot and we have honey!”

A smiling Lyonette greeted Ryoka. The tall girl grunted at her. The little devil sitting on her shoulder made her shake her head. Just to be contrary.

“No pancakes. I’ll have the cinnamon muffins Erin made a few days ago.”

“Oh? Sure! I’ll heat them up. It’ll be a moment. And you want—”

“Milk. Thanks.”

That was the thing about Erin’s inn. Ryoka could order a steak Erin had seared to perfection five days ago and have it fresh and hot in moments. The hot, warm muffins with a side of honey and milk made the clouds around Ryoka lift for a bit. Then Lyonette came back and showed her Apista.

Ryoka recoiled in her chair as she came face to face with two black, fragmented eyes and a massive, furry insect’s head. She backed up and realized it was only massive for a bee. Apista the bee was a bee twice the size of Ryoka’s hand, clinging quietly to Lyonette’s arm and fanning its wings.

“Isn’t she amazing? I have a lesser bond with her, and she listens to everything I say!”

Lyonette beamed as if a bug crawling on her shirt was something to be proud of. Ryoka took one look at the bee and decided to ask Octavia about what kind of poisons she sold. Preferably powders. A nice can of Raid would be acceptable too.

“Okay. Good. Please get it away from me.”

Lyonette did, looking somewhat hurt. However, the sight of the giant bee crawling over her arm was frightening enough at a distance, let alone up close. Ryoka eyed the bee’s stinger.

“It looks like a queen bee. Are you trying to start a hive or something?”

“No—it’s just a pet. I really didn’t want to keep it at first but…it grew on me, you know?”

“I see. Can you take it somewhere else while I eat? I don’t usually share my meals with insects.”

After Apista was gone, Ryoka looked around and found Mrsha was busy harassing Zel Shivertail before he left the inn. He was always in the city doing something. The Gnoll was trying to pin down his tail and having no luck. Zel could lift Mrsha’s entire body up with his muscular tail. For some reason, seeing Mrsha enjoying herself with someone else annoyed Ryoka.

“She’d just annoy you if she was here. Think, idiot.”

Ryoka smacked herself in the head. That was the thing. She could tell when her mood was bad and she did try to account for it. Well, she tried in this world.

But while Ryoka could tell what was coming, she could never realize when the snap was coming, when the bile rose up and came out of her mouth. When Lyonette gave her a muffin sans bee, Ryoka glanced around to look where it had gone. Apista was calmly eating from a bowl on a table, watched warily by some of the regular customers and hungrily by Bird.

That was another thing. Bird was now a permanent fixture in Erin’s inn. He didn’t say much and sat on the roof where the third floor and new wing were slowly being constructed. But there were also several Drakes and Gnolls who had decided Erin’s inn was a good place to have breakfast.

Right now Ryoka didn’t want any company. She unsubtly glared at a Drake who was sitting across from her table, eying the Ashfire Bee queen warily. And meanwhile, Erin had just edged out of the kitchen carrying a pot that was shaking of its own volition. Ryoka stared at it. Lyonette coughed.

“Um, Ryoka? Are you okay?”

“Awesome. Great. What the hell’s in the pot?”

There was something disturbing about Erin. It was that when you got to know her, the innkeeper of the Wandering Inn never did normal things. In any other person, Ryoka might have assumed the small pot with the shaking lid was…something explainable. With Erin, Ryoka immediately suspected the worse.

“It’s a, uh, slime.”

“A what.”

“A slime. Remember when Erin was talking about healing slimes?”

“No.”

As it turned out, Ryoka was one of the few people Erin hadn’t told about her idea to make a slime out of a healing potion. Lyonette told Ryoka how she’d cajoled Typhenous and Octavia into helping her create one.

“And they did it? They went along with that insane idiot’s—just like that?”

“It’s not hard, apparently. It’s just a mana stone and a bit of existing slime. Apparently they can create themselves. Erin made one out of water to see if it would work first.”

“That stupid—Erin!

Erin came over, beaming and holding the small pot. She opened her mouth.

“Hey Ryoka, guess what—”

“A slime. Why the hell did you do it, Erin?”

The other girl looked put out. She stared at Lyonette, who mimed an apology and scooted away to help Drassi wait the tables. Erin put the pot down on the table and took off the lid. Ryoka had a glimpse of a mostly transparent blob slowly rising from the pot, questing around with part of itself. She slammed the lid down.

“Aw! Ryoka!”

“Are you insane? Why do you think creating a monster is a good idea?”

“It’ll be cool! Lyonette has a pet, so I thought I could get one. Besides, did you hear about my idea to make healing slimes? We could feed it water and mana and get infinite healing potions!”

Ryoka ground her teeth together.

“Erin, no. This is exactly like the Rags situation. And Toren! Haven’t you learned anything from the past?”

At that, Erin’s smile vanished.

“What do you mean? This isn’t—Rags was cool.”

“She started her own tribe and started ambushing travelers on the road, Erin. She nearly killed me the first time I met her.”

“Yeah, but—she’s innocent, Ryoka. And she’s smart. She’s not like Toren at all.”

Ryoka let that go for the moment. She scowled at Erin. This conversation had been a long time coming. Why did it have to be today it happened?

“Toren? We should have talked about him a while ago, Erin. He was a monster and he didn’t listen to Pisces’ spells or your orders. That much is true, but you were also the problem. You never realized he could think, that he had free will, did you? I warned you. Didn’t I tell you about Frankenstein?”

Erin’s smile was long gone at this point. She sat down.

“Yeah. But I didn’t think he could think. He’s undead! He was undead.”

“And that’s a slime. A living thing. How long before it gets upset you’re keeping it in a pot—”

“I was going to build a larger place to keep it!”

“—Keeping it prisoner and trying to harvest it, and decides to kill someone? And what was that about healing potions? You want to do what, lick its body now and then? Scoop out its insides whenever you have a cut? Doesn’t that sound a bit like cruelty?”

Ryoka stared at Erin. The other girl wasn’t prepared for this, but she was now on the defensive. And getting angry.

“Typhenous said that slimes don’t feel pain! Or think, really. Why are you so grumpy today?”

“I’m grumpy because this seems like another mistake that’s going to cause trouble for everyone, that’s why! Typhenous is a [Mage] and an adventurer, Erin. He’d blast a hole in a Goblin’s head as soon as look at one.”

“Yeah, but—he’s still right when he’s right, right?”

The Runner girl didn’t dignify that with a response. Erin scowled at her. She suddenly seized the pot.

“Look, it’s just a slime. It’s not dangerous, it’s small! See?”

She brought it up right to Ryoka’s face so Ryoka could see inside and tilted it to her. Ryoka saw what looked like plain old tap water swirling around in the pot for a moment. Then the fluid inside grew decidedly non-Newtonian and leapt onto her face.

Ryoka screamed. It was like being splashed by water, but without the splash. Suddenly, she was choking as water clung to her face and shoulders, trying to cover her head.

Mmfh! Getr off!

“Oh no! Ryoka!”

Erin tried to grab the water, but her hands passed right through the slime. Ryoka felt herself choking—drowning. She staggered back and shook her head. The slime lost whatever grip it had and splattered onto the floor. It formed into a blob and was immediately scooped up into Erin’s pot.

“Are you okay, Ryoka?”

Everyone was staring at her. Ryoka swayed. She put one hand up to her mouth as Mrsha ran over, looking distressed.

“I think I swallowed some of it.”

Ryoka felt something squiggling down her throat. She was immediately sick.

 

—-

 

Six minutes later Ryoka sat at the same table. The vomit was gone, the slime was in the kitchen with a very heavy rock weighing down the lid, and Erin was sitting across from her. Both girls were angry at this point. Ryoka because she’d nearly been drowned and Erin because of what Ryoka had said to her afterwards.

“You’ve got to get rid of it.”

“You mean, kill it.”

“That’s the general implication, yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Erin hesitated. She looked around—Zel had left, the Gold-rank adventurers were gone, the Horns of Hammerad were in Celum looking to see if there was any work to be had there, and only the objectionable Drake Ryoka had seen this morning was still around. Finding no inspiration, Erin could only shrug.

“I don’t kill things if I can. Duh. Killing’s bad, m’kay?”

She paused and grinned expectantly. Ryoka’s face remained stony. Erin waited, and then grinned again.

“Hey Ryoka, did you get the reference? See, that was a reference to South Park—”

“I got it. If killing’s so bad, why are you feeding and housing a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers? They kill things all the time.”

“Well, those are monsters—”

“Like the fucking slime.”

“That’s different. They kill really bad monsters that are threatening people. Not slimes that accidentally got on someone’s face.”

“Oh? Bad monsters? You mean like Goblins. Like the Goblin Lord’s army, and Rags’ tribe, come to think of it. I suppose they’ll kill all those Goblins and things will be great, won’t they?”

The other girl stared at Ryoka.

“No. No one’s killing Goblins. I put a sign up.”

“The one buried by snow? Good job.”

“Hey Lyonette? Lyonette, get a shovel and—”

“Shut up, Erin. What good is a sign going to do? For that matter, mind telling all the victims of the Goblin Lord’s army that they shouldn’t kill Goblins? I’m sure that’ll go down wonderfully.

What was she doing? Ryoka remembered the last fight she’d had with Erin. It hadn’t gone well. But there was a feeling in the air now. Erin glared at Ryoka.

“The sign stays.”

“Why? So we can all get killed when some actually dangerous Goblins come around?”

“I’m sure that when the evil Goblins are marching around and being…uh, evil, no one’s going to worry about my sign. It stays because I don’t believe all Goblins are evil.”

“Right. Some of them are ‘just’ bandits. Name one Goblin—”

“Rags.”

“—One Goblin who hasn’t tried to hurt or kill you at some point.”

Erin hesitated.

“There was this big Hobgoblin that Rags brought one time.”

“Right after the Goblin Lord’s army tried to kill me and—”

Ryoka broke off, saw Mrsha sitting on a table and playing with a wooden spinning top.

“—And did other things which I’m sure I remember. What’s your excuse there?”

Erin stared at Mrsha and shook her head.

“None. They’re bad and if they die that’s…that’s how it has to be. But Rags was different.”

“How?”

The innkeeper poked at the spotless table, speaking quietly and then meeting Ryoka’s eyes.

“Rags was small. She only wanted to survive. She did bad things, but she wasn’t a monster. She deserved a chance. Just a chance.”

“Sounds like she took that chance to do more ‘bad things’.”

“Maybe. But she’s gone. You didn’t see how Relc treated her, Ryoka! He kicked her and tried to hurt her!”

“For good reason, it sounds like.”

“Oh come on. All Goblins are bad? That’s racism—”

“No, that’s practicality in a world where making a mistake gets you killed, Erin.”

“This is about the slime, isn’t it?”

“Yes! It nearly got me! What happens if it crawls out of its pot and finds you asleep? Or Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub’s ears pricked up. Erin looked at Mrsha, horrorstruck, and then at Ryoka. She wavered, and then got up. She came back with the bumping pot and took off the lid. The slime slowly oozed over the sides. It would have been fascinating, magical to watch if it didn’t make Ryoka so wary.

Erin stared at the clear blob, slightly tainted by a bit of the vomit it had absorbed from Ryoka. Apparently slimes weren’t picky about what they picked up. Ryoka stared at it with deep distrust.

“Fine.”

She pushed the slime out of the pot. It seemed reluctant to go this time. It swirled around on the table. Now Ryoka could see a single part of it that wasn’t fluid. It was a bobbing stone, a shimmering little blue gem hovering around the slime’s center.

Erin sighed.

“They don’t feel pain. And they’re really stupid. But I still feel bad.”

She reached into the slime. It immediately began flowing up her arm. Erin ignored that and quickly plucked the gem out of the slime. It tried to resist, clinging to the stone, but Erin was too quick and strong. The instant the gem left the slime’s body completely it collapsed. Water sloshed over the table, drenching Ryoka and Erin’s lower halves.

“What the hell?

Ryoka stared at the remains of the slime as Lyonette rushed out of the kitchen with a towel. Erin showed her the shining gem. It still had bits of water stuck to it.

“Slime core. It’s this crystal, see? A mana crystal that’s got…slime stuff all over it. It can’t do much this small, though. It needs to be at least the size of an apple before it’ll move around. But the slime stuff is still part of the slime. They’re like a microbe-thing, I think. A fungus, maybe.”

“Amoebas that reproduce and join together when exposed to mana?”

“Yup.”

Erin put the stone on the table and didn’t quite meet Ryoka’s eyes. She spoke to Ryoka’s right ear instead.

“I’ll make a very small healing slime. I’ll keep it safe, and if it seems violent or dangerous in any way I’ll destroy it.”

Ryoka sat back. She was hungry again. But she didn’t feel like having breakfast twice.

“Well, well. Aren’t we hypocritical. Killing stuff’s bad, m’kay? Except when you want to experiment. Then it’s fine to make life and destroy it.”

Erin’s head snapped up. She and Ryoka locked gazes and Lyonette desperately tried to get in the way with her body while mopping up the mess.

A howl punctured the silence. It came from a Gnoll’s voice and from outside. Ryoka and Erin leapt to their feet. They ran outside and Ryoka saw Mrsha. She was running and a leathery, brown-green creature was attacking her.

It was a bird, a scaled beast. A pterodactyl in almost all respects. It was twice Mrsha’s size and it was swooping at Mrsha as the Gnoll child howled and tried to run for the inn. But the bird wouldn’t let it. The dino-bird—the Razorbeak grasped at Mrsha’s fur and flapped its wings as Mrsha struggled and bit and clawed at it. It was trying to lift Mrsha and carry her away!

Images of giant eagles hunting goats and dropping them from huge heights filled Ryoka’s mind. She snarled and ran at the bird. The Razorbeak flew away from Mrsha and Ryoka crouched over the Gnoll protectively. She raised her hand.

“Ivolethe? Where the hell are you?”

The Frost Faerie was usually about. But not today. Ryoka concentrated, spoke a word.

“[Flare]!”

She threw an orb of searing bright red light at the bird, which squawked and dove away. The light was harmless, but it made the Razorbeak hesitate. Unfortunately, the bird seemed to sense the magic was just light and dove at Ryoka instead. It clawed at Ryoka as she swore and tried to fend it off while reaching for her belt knife.

“Ryoka! Duck!

Someone shouted. Ryoka ducked. She heard a whirring noise, and a thunk. The Razorbeak attacking her suddenly went limp and fell on Ryoka. She shoved it away and staggered back with Mrsha. Ryoka had a dagger in her hands, but there was no need to use it.

The Razorbeak was dead. A kitchen knife stuck out of the bird’s chest. Sharp as a razor, it had gone through the bird’s body, ending it in moments.

“Are you okay?”

Erin was standing in the doorway, a frying pan and another knife in her hands. Ryoka stared at her as Mrsha clung to her chest, sobbing. Slowly, she brought Mrsha inside and when the Gnoll was being hugged by Lyonette and Drassi, she looked at Erin.

All the fear went one way. All the fury too. Ryoka didn’t thank Erin for saving her or Mrsha. She looked at Erin and flicked the mana stone on the table. Then she nodded to the Razorbeak’s corpse lying just outside.

“For someone who doesn’t like killing, you’re awfully good at it.”

Erin’s face went white. Ryoka waited.

“Ryoka, Erin, please.”

Lyonette had heard it all of course. Ryoka turned her head and Erin punched her stomach. Ryoka swore and hit Erin in the shoulder before dodging back from Erin’s next swing.

Erin kicked her. Ryoka threw the magical chessboard at Erin and missed. She punched Erin twice before the other girl tackled her and they rolled around on the ground, hitting each other. The fight ended when Mrsha leapt into the fray, biting indiscriminately and Lyonette hit both girls with a bucket of water and then the bucket.

 

—-

 

A bad mood. The Queen of the Antinium felt like that didn’t describe her current feeling. A bad mood was just a chemical imbalance, a result of emotion and circumstance. In lesser creatures it might become an issue if not corrected, but the Antinium were perhaps the most biologically advanced creatures in the world. They could suppress mere bodily imperfections.

But only if they wanted to. The Queen did not want to in this moment. She was furious. Beyond furious. She was betrayed.

Klbkch had told her. Her faithful Revalantor had learned from Xrn—he had told her—

The Grand Queen was not attempting to create more Queens.

That news had broken the Queen of the Free Antinium. It had shattered all her ideals, all the faith she’d put in the Antinium on Izril. They were no longer trying to create more Queens? Why? How could they? Did they think six Queens were all they needed? Had they given up hope? Why?

Was it that they wanted to be the sole rulers of the Antinium?

No. The reasons didn’t matter. The outcome was the same. The Queen shifted. In her private chambers, she did something she rarely did. She moved.

The Soldiers who guarded her shifted as their Queen slowly rose. She had huge, massive legs and she used them to swivel her gargantuan body around and then fall onto her side. Slowly, awkwardly, the Queen pushed herself across the ground, lifting her body with effort. But she did move, and because she was huge, even a grudging step carried her far.

There was a way out of her quarters. It carried her down a tunnel where no other Antinium ever went, even Klbkch. He probably had bad memories of such places, but it was there the Queen dragged herself. Her voice echoed through the dirt hallway, filled with rage and anger she could barely remember feeling. She hadn’t felt like this in years.

“Traitors. Cowards. Fools!”

She whispered to herself, dragging her immense body past primitive rooms she had built. They were all airtight, one of the few places in the Hive that were sealed by proper doors. They had to be; mixing the enzymes, chemicals, and other reagents necessary for the Antinium to change and grow required facilities beyond what most [Alchemists] made use of.

She stopped in front of one of the rooms and rested a palp from one of her feelers on the entrance. The Queen of the Free Antinium knew what was within without having to look.

Corpses. Half-rotted bodies of malformed Antinium, mixtures, formed concoctions of enzymes, chemical triggers made from combinations of magic and alchemy, designed to trigger sequences in bodies as they grew. And sacs, embryos. Gelatinous containers like those that Workers and Soldiers emerged from, but far different.

Experiments. Forbidden of course and practically doomed to failure because the Queen of the Free Antinium lacked the resources the other Queens kept to themselves. Without them, she could not create specialized Antinium. But she had tried, oh yes. She had rediscovered the Rite of Anastasis through her experimentations, saved her beloved Klbkch’s life with it. And Ksmvr had been created here.

Still, it was the countless failures that paused the Queen’s body as she recalled the years of death that had gone on here. That did not stop her from turning to the carefully arranged collection of bottles and objects on the far wall, however.

“My work. It must be done. We cannot let the Antinium die here. Six queens? We should be legion. We should have names. I thought—they are failures, all of them. We should never have become so small.

The Queen reached for a bottle of saltpeter. She hesitated, turned to an extract used in creating new Antinium. She would need eggs. The Queens of the Antinium produced eggs as a matter of course; it was one of the reasons why they grew so large, so they could sustain the populations of their hives. There were Birthers too—Antinium designed for one purpose. But the Queen of the Free Antinium used only her eggs for these experiments. It was…just.

She had no idea where she could begin. How could you create a Queen out of the base material? What were the formulas her predecessors had used? The Queen of the Free Antinium wished she could remember anything of it, but she had never once been privy to the process. Not before it was too late.

She had not been made for this. Once upon a time she had been young, a new Queen, barely more than a child created to venture to a new world. Over three hundred Queens had been sent, the majority of the living Antinium, to flee. To build and reproduce and prepare for their enemy’s return. They had left a rearguard to fight for years, decades if need be. But the sleeping god would one day overrun Rhir, and so the Antinium had left. To win, retreat. To survive, flee.

But never to hide. The Antinium had sent warrior-queens, geniuses who fused and melded Antinium shapes into new forms. They had sent their Centenium, the ageless champions of old.

And they had all died. The Queen of the Free Antinium tasted despair on her mandibles. They had drowned at sea, died battling krakens and monsters from the depths. The Antinium had underestimated the sea. And what was left was unworthy.

Eight fools who were not qualified, not trained. A handful of uncertain Queens trying to rebuild the majesty they had been born of. And of that number, six remained.

“Six, and it seems only I recall what our purpose is.”

The Queen’s body shuddered. Traitors, all. How could they? If only she could speak with them. But she was an outcast, wasn’t she? What irony. At least it would help her now. She selected the gel that was the beginning of life for Antinium eggs and smeared it gently into a stone basin.

“It was said that we sacrificed a million lives for the first Centenium. I will sacrifice my Hive and my body if I must. But we shall have Queens again. We shall have champions. Klbkchhezeim—you shall not keep faith in vain.”

The Queen sighed. She was too tired. Too old, too weary of keeping her Hive intact. Too alone. That was why she sat in her rooms, eating, managing her Hive, leaving the rest of the world to Klbkch, who had ever been more qualified than her to lead their people.

But now she felt like she was waking up. She could not trust the Grand Queen, or the other Queens. They had lost the way. Perhaps some remembered. Perhaps Xrn was wrong. But until then—the Queen’s feelers shook. But it had started. She reached for another reagent, selecting carefully, hesitating, memorizing her attempts for the inevitable next time.

She began to create.

 

—-

 

It really was her fault. Ryoka knew that. But there was truth in what she’d told Erin. She knew that too.

She wasn’t good at friends. Perhaps that was why it was easier for Ryoka to apologize to Erin after they’d both cooled down and ask for forgiveness. Sincerely. Because Ryoka was terrified of losing a friend, one of the few she had.

Not that an apology could heal things over so quickly. It was only the start. However, Lyonette had a hand in the next bit of reconciliation. Because both girls were filthy from the slime and fighting, she suggested they take a bath in one of Liscor’s public bathhouses.

It was a first for Ryoka to experience that. Normally she paid a lot of money for water to be hauled up to a bathtub or showered with water, again in bucket form.

But Drakes were a bit more civilized than Humans, or smarter. Liscor had a set of very high-quality bathhouses that reminded Ryoka of the Romans. They even had private bathing spots you could rent for a small fee.

It was an excellent service and Ryoka purchased that for the two girls today. The water in the pool they’d rented was hot and wonderful after the cold winter air. Ryoka exhaled slowly as she got into it—completely nude.

Unlike a Japanese onsen which she was familiar with, the Drake bathhouses didn’t require people to wash themselves before getting in. That sounded awful and disgusting to both Ryoka and Erin until the purification spells had been pointed out to them. Gnolls loved to bathe and they couldn’t exactly take off their fur before entering.

“I think its weird how Gnolls and Drakes bathe alone. Isn’t that a problem?”

“Dunno.”

Erin spoke shortly as she tested the hot water with a toe. She was more embarrassed about being naked than Ryoka, despite the baths being gender-specific. She shrugged as Ryoka heard the sounds of Drakes chattering away outside of their bath. Erin cocked her head, and sniffed the scented waters before continuing.

“Gnolls are touchy-feely and Drakes aren’t always like that. It makes sense to give them their own room, and Selys says she went to the bathhouse with Krshia the other day, so it’s not like there’s a big rule against it.”

“I guess.”

The two girls fell silent. Ryoka submerged herself deeper, feeling the heat and enjoying it. The little monster in her brain was gone. Shame and guilt didn’t get rid of it, but a splash of healing potion and Mrsha’s betrayed glance had banished the specters in Ryoka’s head at once. She was left tired, remorseful.

“How’s the water?”

Erin asked as if she didn’t know. Ryoka hesitated, closed her mouth on the smart-ass response.

“Hot.”

The other girl entered the water slowly, yelping a bit at the heat. She submerged herself quicker after getting both legs in. For a while, the two drifted, and said more in looks and silence than they did in words. Ryoka was sure Erin could see the emotions in her eyes. One thing Erin could do was read people when she put her mind to it. Ryoka wondered if that was a chess skill.

“Did you—did you ever go to things like anger management class?”

It wasn’t the start of the conversation, but it was the important bit. Ryoka sighed as she and Erin sat together on the underwater ledge.

“Of course. My dad insisted after the second time I got arrested.”

“And? Did it…?”

“Nope. Didn’t help. I got therapy, pills, the whole nine yards. I hated and resisted all of it. Especially because the therapist was working on my dad’s orders, not to help me. And the pills…”

“Didn’t work?”

“Oh, they did. They turned me into someone else. I refused to ever take them again.”

“Bet your dad didn’t like that. Did he try to make you take them?”

“Yeah. It stopped when I started sneaking them into his drinks. Ever seen a bunch of rich assholes—sorry, I mean, businesspeople—go totally insane from drinking a bottle of wine spiked with Xanax? Sight to see.”

“I get it. And I know you’re right about dangers and stuff. It’s just that when you said all that—”

“I was wrong.”

“No, you were right. Rags is a problem. I don’t know where she is. That big Hobgoblin looked sort of scary and Toren—”

“Look, I probably wouldn’t have given him a chance. Despite him turning out…the way he did, he still got treated better than he would have if someone like Pisces was ordering him around.”

“I wish I could go back and fix things.”

Erin hugged her knees. Ryoka sighed.

“Hell, maybe you can. Toren’s like a horror story. And you know how those go—”

“Monster comes back. I know. I’ve been asking Wesle, Klbkch, and Relc whenever they come in. No unusual skeleton sightings. If I hear of one…”

“If you hear of one, you tell Halrac or Jelaqua or Pisces. You don’t do anything.”

“Right.”

There was a peculiar feeling in the air. It was a sound as much as feeling. It was the sound of people trying to say sorry without saying sorry. Of course, in the end someone gives up and says it out loud. Ryoka did it twice, Erin once.

After a while, someone opened the curtains to their bath. Ryoka and Erin looked up. The convivial atmosphere they’d created blew out. Not instantly—at first they thought it was just a bather who’d gotten the wrong private tub.

“Sorry, we’ve reserved this one.”

Erin smiled and waved at a red-scaled Drake, an older female with a scar down one arm. The Drake returned the smile and closed the curtain behind her.

“I know. You are Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin, aren’t you? Please, let me introduce myself. I am Welsca Crimsonscale. In service to Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Ryoka sat up at once at the name. Erin frowned.

“Wall Lord—you mean that jerk I threw a pan at? Is he okay?”

Welsca smiled at Erin and then at Ryoka, looking friendly.

“He is. And you may be happy to know that Wall Lord Ilvriss has decided to forgive any transgressions made against him. You may consider yourselves fortunate for that.”

Erin and Ryoka exchanged a glance. Ryoka folded her arms over her breasts. Drakes didn’t have breasts, at least, nothing that floated. Welsca slid into the water, further amplifying the unpleasantness of the moment. No one had invited her in.

“I believe Lord Ilvriss would consider it a personal favor—as well as an act of trust—if he were to have a chance to speak with you, Miss Griffin. I’m sure you’re aware that there is a need for conversation, and if you feel uncomfortable speaking with him, I would be happy to relay—”

“You’re in our pool. Get out.”

Welsca cut off. Erin and Ryoka were glaring at her. She swished her tail gently in the water and sighed.

“Miss Solstice, Miss Griffin, I don’t think you understand. This is a serious matter. Assaulting a Wall Lord and withholding information—”

Erin splashed her. The dignified Drake lady blinked as water ran down her face. Erin stuck her tongue out.

“Bleh! Get out of our bath! No one’s allowed to mess with private baths, not even a Wall Lord!”

“Ladies, please. I am one of Lord Ilvriss’s most trusted aides. I—”

“Get out.”

Ryoka’s tone could have frozen over their tub. Welsca hesitated. Erin made a fist, cracked her knuckles, yelped, and winced.

The red-scaled Drake could read the mood. She could also probably predict the near future, at least in this situation. But she was stuck. She had her orders. She smiled weakly at the two girl’s hostile faces.

“Perhaps if we all soaked for a moment…?”

The main bathing hall in the women’s section of the bathhouse was slick from steam and bathers walking around. Thus, the walkways were made of rough stone for traction. Nevertheless, children both Drake and Gnoll loved to slide around on the rest of the bathing areas. It wasn’t exactly polite, and they often got in trouble when they slid into someone else’s pool, but it did happen.

It was rarer for adults to do that. Then again, there was a notable incident in which Relc and Klbkch had been banned for that exact practice. Legends were still told about that day, which had required healing potions for at least six people. But on the women’s side things were generally peaceful, chatter being the main focus.

That pleasant ambiance was shattered by a raised voice coming from one of the private bathing areas. There was a shout, splashing of water, and then a crack.

Heads turned. The Gnolls and Drake ladies saw a female Drake with red scales slide headfirst across the slick marble floors. She looked battered.

A young woman darker of skin than most inhabitants of Izril and totally naked, came out from behind a curtain. Another young girl followed her, electing to use the curtain as a towel. Ryoka Griffin stomped towards Welsca. The other Drake got up. She tried to back away and slipped on a wet tile. Ryoka kicked her and watched her splash into a pool filled with Gnolls.

She laughed at Welsca as the Drake flailed around in the pool. Ryoka made fists and waited at the pool’s edge. She felt a lot better. Hitting someone who deserved it was a very pleasant experience in contrast, Ryoka decided. She stared down at Welsca, ignoring the stares around her.

“Hah! What are you going to do now?”

 

—-

 

Ryoka sat in Liscor’s guardhouse, both hands bound by cord. She stared at the table in front of her and looked around. A Drake [Guardsman] with a club was eying her, and the room was filled with other criminals. Petty thieves, brawlers, and an angry Gnoll covered in egg yolk who was screaming at another Gnoll. Ryoka sighed.

“Crap.”

It turned out that kicking someone out of your private hot tub wasn’t a crime, but kicking them into someone else’s tub was. Moreover, since Ryoka had been doing the kicking, it was she who was in handcuffs until someone could interview her and get the full story out under truth spell.

She looked around. Liscor’s barracks were fairly large. This being the reception area, Ryoka couldn’t see much, but the Drakes seemed very keen on military organization. Drakes and Gnolls off-duty did loiter around of course, but there was a sense of purpose that struck Ryoka as very different from the relaxed Human [Guardsmen] who generally ambled about the city.

That was because Drakes trusted their militias to handle monsters and criminals alike. Adventurers were necessary, but the first and last line of defense for any city was their police force, which doubled as their army and in this case, judicial system.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin?”

One of the Drakes on duty came over at last. He had faintly purple scales and some ill-fitting armor. He also had a sheaf of notes that Ryoka hoped weren’t all complaints from the other bathers.

“That’s me. Look, I’m sorry about the fight, but that Drake did enter our bathing spot—”

“Please. We’ll get to that in a moment.”

Ryoka fell silent. At least he didn’t look openly hostile and wasn’t telling her to shut up because she was a filthy Human. Still, she didn’t like the fact that she’d hit an aide of a Lord of the Wall. She didn’t regret doing it broadly speaking, but in situations like this, that fact was a lot more pressing.

“So, this incident between you and Miss Crimsonscale…I see there was another Human involved. One Erin Solstice. Yes…we have a few notes from the Watch Captain, Senior Guardsmen Klbkch, Senior Guardsmen Relc, several complaints…she has quite a file.”

That didn’t sound good. Ryoka braced herself, ready to pay a fine if it meant no one got in trouble. She heard a shout.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Someone came stomping over to their table. The Drake with purple scales looked up, looking faintly alarmed. Ryoka twisted and saw a Drake with dark green scales and—Ryoka stared—huge arms striding forward. He was big for a Drake, big for a Gnoll—he looked like he was all muscle and he had scars on his arms and legs.

He was also carrying a spear, but he tossed it to one corner of the room carelessly. He approached the table, narrowing his eyes for a moment at Ryoka.

“What’s with the Human? I heard there was an incident with her and Erin. Someone punched one of us?”

He looked at the [Guardsman]. Ryoka was sure that talking about a case in front of the guilty party wasn’t exactly good form, and the [Guardsman] seemed reluctant to speak. He nodded at Ryoka.

“I’ve got this. Uh, don’t worry Senior Guardsman Relc.”

The other Drake’s non-existent eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth and then shrugged, looking unconcerned.

“Okay, but hurry it up! I want Erin back in her inn soon—she promised me I’d get roasted eels tonight, and I want them fresh!”

He knew Erin? Wait a second, Relc…Ryoka remembered him vaguely. They’d met, but only as acquaintances. And he’d clearly forgotten her face. Ryoka knew for a fact that the eels in question had already been cooked and were waiting to be eaten at the inn, but she was grateful for him prompting the other [Guardsman].

The Drake with purple scales cleared his throat as Relc wandered a few feet away and intruded in a conversation between two Gnolls. He looked harried and kept glancing at Relc. Then he sighed and leaned towards Ryoka.

“Miss Griffin, I’m going to make this very simple. Tell us what we need to and this can be over quickly.”

“Okay, I didn’t start it. Welsca did. I can swear on a truth spell—”

“Not that. Lord Ilvriss wants to know only one thing. Where is [Captain] Periss? How did she die?”

He sat back. Ryoka stared at him and felt a cold chill on her back. He was one of Ilvriss’ people too? She remembered the Drake in the inn at breakfast. Another one?

Was Ilvriss watching her? Listening in on her conversations, hoping she’d leak something? She stared at the Drake. He nodded slightly, as if confirming her worst fears.

“Lord Ilvriss is not accustomed to waiting. You may have the immunity of your Guild, but he will seek you out no matter where you go. Speak now, and this need not get worse.”

“Go to hell.”

The fake [Guardsman] sighed. He flicked through the notes on his clipboard.

“Miss Ryoka, your friend Erin Solstice has a file on her that would attract the attention of any Drake [Leader] in any city. Why Watch Captain Zevara seems content to let her unauthorized inn stand…suspected ties with the Antinium, disorderly conduct, endangerment and death of a Watch member on duty. She may be safe here, but if word of her actions reaches the de facto governing body of Liscor, their army, for instance…a few words in the ears of another Lord or Lady of the Wall might prompt them to take action, and the Assassin’s Guild in Izril is quite, quite competent.”

Ryoka stared at the Drake.

“Touch Erin and I’ll make sure Zel Shivertail learns about it. He kicked your precious Wall Lord’s tail once, and he’ll do it again. He stays at Erin’s inn, or isn’t that on file?”

The fake officer of the Watch’s eyes flashed. He learned across the table and seized Ryoka’s arm in one unfriendly claw, digging into her skin.

“Listen here, you Human flesh bag. Tell me what I want, or—”

Ryoka kicked him. She’d been waiting for him to get close and gave him her best kick right to his groin. He doubled over and let go. She backed out her chair, kicked him again, and then hit him with both her hands tied up.

“Hey!”

The other [Guardsmen] had seen what was going on. The one called Relc leapt over a table and ran at Ryoka. She whirled, ready to kick him too. She lashed out—and he slid around her kick like water.

“Criminal! Take this! [Relc Headbutt]!”

He slammed his head into Ryoka’s. She sat down. And then slid out of her chair. Relc kicked the chair away and dragged her up.

“Assaulting a [Guardsman]? Here? You’re really stupid, Miss Human. Even if you are a friend of Erin’s, you’re not getting away with that. Hey buddy, you okay?”

The Drake that Ryoka had kicked was getting up in her swirling vision. He shook his head and knocked away Relc’s offered hand. He growled at Ryoka, murder in his eyes. He took one step forwards and then Relc let Ryoka go.

One hand shot out, barring the purple Drake’s path. The Drake stopped, looking confused. Ryoka felt confused. And ready to sit down. But Relc’s eyes were narrowed.

“Wait a second. Who are you? You’re not one of the new guys. I know them all and none of them have purple scales.”

“Damnit.”

The purple Drake took a step back. Relc turned away from Ryoka and she decided to lie down again. The imposter took a desperate swing at Relc. The big Drake leaned back from the blow and then returned it.

“[Relc Punch]!”

He hit the fake guardsmen a lot harder than he’d hit Ryoka. The Drake back-flipped over the table and Ryoka heard a thud as he landed.

“Hah! Take that! That proves you’re not one of our guys—no one picks a fight with me! Don’t you know who I am? I’m Relc! Relc!”

Ryoka managed to sit up and saw Relc posing, one foot on the fallen Drake’s chest. He looked inordinately proud of himself, and then frowned as he saw she was up.

“Hey. You. Miss Human.”

He’d already forgotten her name. Ryoka forgave him that; at the moment she couldn’t remember what the color orange was. Relc helped her up, removing her bindings as she sat on a chair and tried to tell whether the banging was in her mind, or whether her brain was bouncing around.

“Who was that guy? He has a set of our armor and everything.”

“Wall Lord…Ilvriss. His person. Like the bathhouse.”

“Oh. Oh.

Relc slapped his forehead and nodded at the other [Guardsmen] who’d gathered around. They grunted and immediately picked up the fallen Drake and shoved him into a corner. That they didn’t toss him out of the barracks or throw him in a cell was probably due to his master’s fame.

While Ryoka put her head down, she heard Relc speaking with the others. Then his loud voice called out as an angry female Drake demanded to know why one of her people was unconscious on the floor.

“Hey, Captain Z! Turns out this Human and Erin didn’t start anything. It’s that Wall Lord guy’s cronies stirring up trouble again. I’m going to let the Human go, okay? And I’m taking my lunch break! Be back in an hour!”

Relc helped Ryoka up and practically pushed her out the door. Ryoka heard a frustrated roar coming from behind her.

“Damn it, Relc! Get back here!

 

—-

 

Of course, if you focused too much on Ryoka, you neglected other interesting things. A bit of garlic fell from the sky and landed on Brunkr’s fur as he showed Lyonette how to hold her sword. He brushed it off absent-mindedly.

“Good. Hold it here, see? Yes. And swing. Quickly—a cut should be fast. Yes, like so.”

He was teaching her. And Lyonette was learning. They practiced outside in the cleared snow as Mrsha sat and watched. Inside, Apista was tethered to a table with a leash Erin had made while Iskhr cleaned up.

It was an all-Gnoll parade, in short, except for Lyonette. And perhaps that would have been awkward or fatal for her a week or two ago. But things had changed.

Ryoka had changed a lot. All sins were forgiven, and a debt had been written for her actions. More than that, and perhaps more importantly, Brunkr had changed. He was no longer the self-confident Gnoll [Warrior], but a recovering one, grateful for his still-healing arm and quietly guilty. He and Ryoka would have understood each other, in that.

Still, only Erin would have thought it was a good idea to have him near Mrsha, the person who’d bit him and infected his hand, and Lyonette, the girl he’d tried to kill. But as Ryoka had noticed, Erin did have an eye for these things now and then. When Brunkr had first arrived, he and Mrsha had sniffed each other for a bit solemnly, but said nothing. Lyonette and Brunkr on the other hand were different.

She was guilty as he was, in a different way. She had apologized to him first, and then him to her. It had ticked both to realize that Lyonette hadn’t remembered Brunkr specifically trying to kill her, and a friendship had started once Brunkr realized that Lyonette was the one responsible for his honey salve.

That was the boring bit. The special bit for any watching fae nibbling at garlic came at a moment when Brunkr mentioned his aspirations.

“A [Knight]?”

Lyonette put down her sword and massaged her aching arms. She wanted the [Warrior] class too, and felt she might get it by the end of the day. Brunkr nodded, looking embarrassed.

“It is a very Human class. There are some Drakes with similar classes, but no Gnoll has the class, yes? Similar classes, but I found a book when I was young. My tribe had bought it from a [Trader] and my aunt let me read it…there were pictures of Human [Knights] in shining armor. I admired them and wished to be like them. So I trained with sword and shield. However, I am only a [Warrior].”

“Well, that’s because you need a [Lord] to make you one, or some other nobility.”

“Hrr. Yes, that is what I have been told. I came north to help my aunt and also to see whether that would be possible. I think…it may not be. Entering in service to a Human [Lord] requires much trust and perhaps standing I do not have. It matters not. I am still useful to my Tribe and my efforts have made me a strong warrior nevertheless.”

Brunkr shrugged his broad shoulders, hiding his disappointment behind casual words. Lyonette nodded, hesitating. Her eyes lingered on the Gnoll’s back as he stood up to exchange a few words with Ishkr. They were around the same age, although Brunkr was older. He wasn’t much older than Lyonette, really.

Yes, a faerie could see what would happen next. Perhaps a Human could too. Destiny wove together and Lyonette raised her hand. She whispered quietly.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin do solemnly…”

Mrsha had been playing in the snow, quite close to the inn, but poking her head under the snow and rolling around in delight. Suddenly, she raised it and stared at Lyonette, ears flicking with each word Lyonette spoke.

The two Gnolls had finished speaking at the door to the inn. Ishkr was going back into the inn, collecting dishes to be washed and Brunkr was sniffing at the entrance to the inn, his stomach audibly rumbling. But as Lyonette whispered both froze up.

Ishkr slipped and dropped his entire tray of empty dishes. They crashed to the ground inside the inn, scaring Erin half to death as she cooked up some food for dinner.

Brunkr’s eyes opened wide. He half-turned, and then pretended to scratch at one ear. Lyonette finished speaking. Her voice had been inaudible to anyone standing next to her, carried away just as swiftly by the wind. Now she stared at Brunkr’s back and cleared her throat. Trying to sound casual, she raised her voice.

“Brunkr, can you show me how to parry again? I think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Ah?”

He started, and then turned. His smile was about as fake as Lyonette’s. Mrsha was still staring.

“Of course. I will show you. Lyonette.”

He trudged across the snow to Lyonette as Erin rushed out of her kitchen, demanding to know if there was another one of Ilvriss’ spies. Ishkr reassured her nothing was wrong, Brunkr showed Lyonette how to hold her blade correctly, and Mrsha kept staring.

Above them a Frost Faerie cackled with glee and waited for Relc to drag Ryoka up the slope and into the inn. Destiny. Coincidence. Or perhaps just an act of kindness from a girl who happened to be a [Princess]. Who knew?

One thing was sure, though. Despite having lived in Liscor for over a month now, Lyonette still hadn’t learned how sensitive Gnoll ears could be.

 

—-

 

“And then I hit him! Pow! Hey Hawk, I didn’t know you knew Ryoka too! What, do all Runners know each other?”

“We’ve met before. I’m surprised you don’t remember Miss Ryoka, Relc. She once ran through the High Passes on a delivery.”

“Get out, really? I thought I remembered her, but you know Humans. They all look alike, am I right? Ah. Ahem.”

Relc was laughing in the common room. Somehow he’d dragged Ryoka up from the city—Erin was a bit fuzzy on the details, but apparently there had been a quick fight. He’d encountered Hawk the Rabbit-tribe Beastkin on the way and the Courier had stopped by for a drink with Ryoka.

Olesm was due later that evening, and Erin was busy. Ishkr was cleaning up plate fragments—he said he’d tripped, which was uncharacteristically clumsy of the Gnoll, and Lyonette and Brunkr were training outside with Mrsha.

On the whole of things, Erin could claim to be happy. Sure, the morning’s incident with Ryoka had been bad, but they’d made up and she was glad to see Brunkr was really getting along with Lyonette now. And best of all, she’d made another amazing invention!

It was the slime. Erin peered at it as she stared at the tiny hand-sized thing in the center of a saucepan. This slime was bright blue, with shades of yellow running through it. It was a healing potion slime.

“Drop it into a healing potion, wait, and hey presto! I knew it was possible!”

Erin crowed to herself softly as she spooned a bit of the slime up. She’d tested it on a cut and it had healed perfectly. Now she added a bit of water to the slime and saw it absorbed the liquid and grow, replacing the bit she’d taken with water.

“Hmm. Looks like you get diluted if I add just water. But if I feed you all the ingredients of your potion, you’ll probably just get bigger and more potion-y, right?”

She smiled at the slime. It didn’t respond. Erin moved the spoon towards it again. In line with Ryoka’s wishes, she’d kept the slime very small just in case it attacked someone. Her spoon penetrated the slime’s side and it suddenly scooted away from the spoon.

“Huh? Hey! Get back here, I need part of you!”

Erin chased the slime around the saucepan with her spoon. She eventually cornered the slime against one side with another spoon and prepared to take part of it. But Erin hesitated when she noticed something. Or rather, something the slime was doing.

It was shaking. The blob of colored liquid pressed itself against the wall of the saucepan. When Erin moved her spoon towards it, it trembled harder. When she took it away, the slice shook less.

But it did shake. It was like jelly. Only, jelly couldn’t squeeze itself so finely against the metal walls of its cage and quiver. Jelly couldn’t be afraid.

“Oh no. Hey little guy. I’m not going to take all of you. I want to take—just a bit, see? You’ll get it back. I’ll feed you!”

Erin reached out with one hand, putting the spoon down. The slime reacted violently to her fingers, flowing away and around them. It quivered as Erin reached out towards it. The healing slime shook like a leaf.

“What? I’m not scary. It’s just my hand, see?”

The girl reached out and the slime froze. It was such a—a universal reaction that Erin froze too. And she understood something, in that moment as the slime slowly backed away from her fingertips.

“Slimes can think. Oh. Oh no.”

There was no other way to see it. Erin knew fear. She could see it in the blob that ran from her touch. She could see it. The slime had no face to show her, no body parts, no voice. But it could not be anything but afraid.

And then Erin realized that it was the same slime, the same core that she’d taken out of the water slime this morning. She wondered if it remembered. And then she looked at the slime as it tried to hide from her and knew it did.

“Oh no no no…but Typhenous said they don’t feel pain!”

He said that. Erin recalled him saying that. But—but if a slime couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t it still feel loss? What would it be like if someone scooped out part of your body, even if it didn’t hurt? Erin reached out and the slime would have screamed if it had a voice. She felt sure of that.

“Oh.”

And in the end, Ryoka was right. It was Toren all over again. Only this time, Erin could see it. She looked at the slime and wondered what it would be like, to live all your life in a cage and have someone feed you and consume you for…for however long you lived.

“I can’t do that. Can I?”

Erin whispered as her inn began to fill up. The Gold-rank adventurers and her regular guests were returning. She heard Olesm’s eager voice, asking about her.

It took Erin only a moment to decide. She grabbed the saucepan, splashed water in it, tossed a handful of garlic in, some oil—the slime bulged, growing distorted, losing the properties of its healing potion. It was now filling the saucepan.

Erin went over to the window and unlatched it. A cold wind blew in, making her shiver. The slime didn’t shiver. It only shook when Erin reached for it.

“Erin?”

That was Octavia’s voice. She was coming closer, and now Erin could hear Typhenous.

“Wonderful news, Miss Solstice! I have the lodestones I ordered. Have you finished your experiments with the slime from this morning?”

There was no time. Erin hesitated, and then poured it out of the window. The slime dropped into the snow and she saw it vanish into the deep drift outside her window.

“Erin?”

Typhenous and Octavia walked into the kitchen, looking excited. Octavia glanced around.

“Where’s that slime? Did the healing potion work like you thought?”

Erin gave Octavia a blank look. Then her eyes widened.

“Oh yeah! The slime! It didn’t work guys. Sorry.”

“No. Really?”

The [Mage] and [Alchemist] looked crestfallen. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah, it was sucky. The slime grew from the healing potion, you know? But when I tried using a bit of it…no go.”

“Perhaps it’s the magical effect that dissipates. It cannot be part of living creature…of course. I should have predicted that.”

Typhenous groaned, shaking his head. Octavia nodded and looked around.

“Maybe we can try again. Hey Erin, where’s the slime?”

“The slime? It’s right here of c—”

Erin went over to a pot and opened the lid. The [Mage] and [Alchemist] saw her freeze and look up slowly. She gave them a weak smile that fooled neither of them, and in doing so, fooled both of them.

“Oops. Where’d it go?”

Typhenous and Octavia stared askance at Erin. She put on her best bemused look and shrugged her shoulders. And she made sure that everyone heard the story later that night. Healing slimes were impossible to make, as it turned out. Of course.

Only an idiot would try to make one.

 

—-

 

Nearly there. Nearly time. A bit of sausage fell into Typhenous’ beard. He didn’t notice. He was speaking to the other adventurers sitting around him, looking frustrated.

“At least I have my delivery of lodestones. That will allow us to produce something of worth tonight.”

“You can make the door? Really?”

Erin looked excited. Typhenous smiled and nodded.

“It will be a simple matter to attune the stones. I’ve already done one.”

He flicked his fingers at a red stone carved with a glowing symbol. Its twin sat next to it.

“The real challenge will be delivering each stone to its destination and affixing it in a proper place. Merely getting the stone to its intended destination will take some time…I suspect you may have to hire a City Runner to send it, although finding a suitable location will also be important. I would suggest hiring Miss Ryoka in that regard.”

“Ryoka? Sure!”

Erin glanced over at Ryoka. The Runner girl had recovered enough and was now drinking with Relc and Hawk. She frowned.

“But where should the stones go, in that case? You said it’s hard to have a lot of destinations—”

“Exponentially difficult. Too much interference. However, that should not be a great issue if you limit your door to three or four set anchors.”

“Okay, assuming we leave an emergency stone with you guys…and I want Celum, obviously…where should the other ones go?”

The old [Mage] coughed delicately.

“Might I suggest a door to Invrisil first? I should quite like to return there at my leisure, and I am sure many would pay well for such a service.”

Octavia nodded, looking eager.

“Not to mention how lucrative it would be for me—I mean, for everyone to sell their goods in Invrisil. They haven’t seen my matches yet, and I don’t want to miss out on sales before everyone copies my recipe!”

“Hah! Invrisil?”

Someone had heard them. The adventurers looked over and saw Relc waving a half-full mug at him. He scowled at the Humans. Revi scowled at him.

“Something wrong with Invrisil? It’s one of the biggest cities on the continent, you know!”

“Not as big as a Walled City! Why’s Erin got to put her fancy magic door to one of your cities first, huh? She’s already got Celum—give our cities a chance!”

“Yeah!”

Olesm, sitting at a table and playing chess with Pawn, raised his voice. He called out to Erin, waving a sheaf of papers.

“I know several [Tacticians] in Pallass—why not put your door in the Walled City? Drakes would love a chance to bypass the Blood Fields, the Walled Cities are far better than any Human city—not that I mean to offend anyone.”

“Offense taken!”

Revi sat up at her table and scowled at Olesm.

“Invrisil’s obviously the better choice. You Drakes might think your home is all that, but—”

“Hah! Drakes rule, Humans…Humans drool!”

Relc was clearly drunk. However, his comment elicited a roar of approval from every Drake in the room. Olesm gave a thumbs-up to Relc, and the Drake returned the gesture. It was very Human and very, very odd since Drake claws were a lot scarier than Human thumbs.

Before Erin knew it, an argument had erupted in her inn over which city was better. Helplessly, she turned to ask for Ryoka’s opinion and found herself face-to-face with Zel Shivertail.

“I couldn’t help hearing what the argument was about, Miss Erin.”

The [General] leaned over her table, speaking quietly as Relc threw a mug and brained Typhenous. The mage threw a mug back and soon a fight had broken out—in the form of arm wrestling. Somehow it was now about which species was strong and Ulrien was already squaring up against Relc, to the cheers of their audience.

“Oh? You want me to put my door in Pallass, right Zel?”

Erin felt awkward speaking with Zel, mainly because she thought he still disapproved of her. But Zel just nodded. He didn’t smile, rather, he frowned and looked a bit concerned.

“I wouldn’t ask normally—I can live without going home and prefer it that way. But I’ve been speaking with a friend—a fellow [General], actually, and I’ve fallen out of touch these last few days. I’d love a chance for some news, and there’s a bit of a situation among the Drakes…could I sway your opinion a bit?”

The door to Celum burst open. Erin saw Garia rush into the room, waving her arms, as Relc beat Ulrien to a roar of amazement from the crowd.

“Hah! Take…take that! I win!”

The Drake shakily stood back and crowed before Ulrien shook his hand, taking the wind out of Relc’s victory. She caught a bit of what Garia was telling Ryoka excitedly.

“I’m a [Martial Artist]! Can you believe it? I got this Skill—[Basic Footwork].”

Relc had spotted Garia. He eyed the large girl and shouted at her.

“Ooh! Nice muscles! Hey, Human girl! Want to arm wrestle? I bet you can beat Miss Ryoka here, and probably Hawk, too!”

It was all chaos. It always was with Relc. But seeing him here made Erin smile. She looked at Zel and made a spur-of-the-moment decision. It wasn’t hard, and it didn’t matter much, right? There were lodestones to go around.

Ivolethe watched as destiny changed.

“Sure! Why not? I think Ryoka doesn’t want to go down there, but Hawk’s a Courier, right? Maybe I can get a discount if I promise to feed him or something!”

Zel coughed delicately.

“A discount for a Courier is still quite a lot of money. I’m prepared to pay whatever price he asks if he’ll do the delivery?”

“What? You will? In that case, I’ll totally do it! Hey Hawk! Stop arm-wrestling and come over here!”

The Rabbit-man walked over, massaging an arm.

“Those Human girls are strong. This is why [Farmers] make such great [Warriors]…what can I do for you, Erin? And—General Shivertail?

He hadn’t spotted Zel up until now. But when introductions were over, Hawk nodded amiably.

“I can do that. Why not? General Shivertail’s a hero in Liscor, and if I don’t have to run all the way back…yes, I’m quite willing to do that. I can set out tonight and have the delivery done by the end of tomorrow.”

“Really? Tonight?”

“Hey, a job’s a job, and if it means opening up a door to Pallass that everyone can use from now on…you do know how important this could be, right? You could earn a fortune. Plus, do you know how many hot Drake ladies there are in the Walled Cites? I uh—forget you heard that last bit.”

 

—-

 

The Horns of Hammerad were not part of the arm-wrestling competition. They sat in a corner of the inn, arguing over some pieces of paper. Ceria was snapping at Pisces.

“I know you wanted a Gold-rank contract on some lucrative monster, Pisces. It’s not happening! We haven’t gotten certified yet—the decision will take a while, and we need practice.”

“So we lower ourselves to the most common bidder in the meantime? That hardly seems like a productive use of my talents.”

“Shut it. I think we should hunt the wolves. It’s good training and we’ll earn—”

“Pittance?”

“…Yeah. But it’ll be a contract, and we need to practice fighting something. I’m not suggesting we try a Rock Crab first thing, or go into the dungeon. Are you?”

“I made no such intimations. However, I simply think that wolves are below our…”

Yvlon Byres sat at the table next to Ksmvr and watched her teammates argue. She was depressed, a mood which had nothing to do with the day’s events and all to do with her situation in life.

She was—had been—a [Warrior]. A Level 22 [Warrior]; very respectable and a worthy Silver-rank adventurer in her own right. Her team, the Silver Spears, had been relatively well known in the local area and respected as a competent force. But her fortunes had changed. Yvlon had lost everything, gained everything, and she was now…different.

She’s lost her friends, her team, and part of her body. She’s gained a new team, and magical items that would make her a Gold-rank adventurer. And something else. A new class.

“Yvlon? What do you think?”

The woman started. She looked at the others and smiled guiltily.

“How about Esthelm?”

“Esthelm?”

They stared at her. Yvlon shrugged.

“It’s close by, although we might need horses for quicker travel. But I doubt they’ve got too many adventurers and they’re sure to need help.”

“A few contracts around that city? Potentially lucrative. I concur with your thinking, in broad terms, Miss Byres.”

Pisces rubbed at his chin, looking intrigued and Ceria pounced on the idea. Ksmvr sat, nodding occasionally and Yvlon sank back into her seat.

Everyone was getting stronger. Ceria was about to learn her new spell, Pisces was…better, and Ksmvr claimed that he thought his fourth arm was growing again. It was all going well. Except…

Yvlon closed her eyes. She had leveled up. Gained a new class. Only it wasn’t the one she’d always dreamed of. Instead—

She was Yvlon Byres. A Level 26 [Wounded Warrior].

No one knew. Yvlon hadn’t had the courage to tell anyone, yet. How could she? It hurt too much. She was never going to be a [Knight]. She had no idea what she would become. Her brother—she’d never be his equal now. And she was never going home. Never.

The Rabbit-man named Hawk left the inn an hour after the Horns of Hammerad finished deciding to take a few contracts in Esthelm for the time being. Yvlon had seen him, blurring through the snow at lightning speed. She envied his abilities.

Now she and the others were eating some fried eel, and trying to explain to Ksmvr what an eel was. They were laughing, and Yvlon felt that she had to tell them about her class. Now. Perhaps they could help? Even if not, they deserved to know. She opened her mouth, and someone burst through the door. A Human adventurer panted and shouted for everyone’s attention.

“A Named Adventurer just entered the city! You won’t believe who it is!”

Everyone turned. Moore dropped the massive mug he was using and Jelaqua cursed out loud. Halrac sat up, looking at his teammates with grim resignation.

“Who?”

“Regrika Blackpaw, the hero of the Gnoll tribes! She’s formed a two-person team with a Gold-rank adventurer and she’s here! In Liscor!

The adventurer shouted the name and every Gnoll in the inn started howling. Mrsha sat up, looking confused, but Ikshr, Brunkr, and the other Gnolls in the inn immediately surged for the door, running towards the city. Caught up by the moment, everyone else did too.

 

—-

 

Regrika Blackpaw was a giant of a Gnoll, her fur black as coal, her body armored in splendid golden plate mail. She was a [Champion], a hero who’d sprung out of the earth a few years back and slain incredible monsters single-handedly. She was accompanied by a slight young [Drake], a [Mage] who radiated magical power and who had pale white scales. Both female adventurers were being greeted by a fanfare by all the Gnolls in the city despite the late hour.

This is how it ends. Ivolethe narrowed her eyes at Regrika and swooped down lower. Not to interfere, but watch. Regrika was speaking to Krshia Silverfang, and she’d just caught sight of the Gold-rank adventurers who’d come through the gates. She was striding towards them, paw raised in greeting when the last thread snapped into place.

Someone burst through the crowd, shouting. People were knocked aside and Hawk nearly ran over the Named Adventurer. People screamed and backed away, because the Rabbit [Courier] had a body in his arms.

A limp Drake with blood on his armor and the insignia of a Drake emblem on his shoulder guard bled crimson onto the frozen paving stones. He bled, but only a few drops. He had died a while back. Hawk shouted as people stepped back, calling up at the [Guardsmen] on the wall.

Sound the alarm! This is a request from a Courier! Get me the Council and Watch Captain Zevara!”

The members of the Watch did not hesitate. A horn began to blow from the wall, a piercing wail that woke up the city. Hawk turned—he was panting and his fur was damp with sweat. Ivolethe had seen him run south, and then run back. She could grudgingly admit that he had run fast on the way back.

“Hawk!”

Zel Shivertail pushed his way through the crowd, staring at the insignia on the fallen Drake. Hawk turned to him, and the [General] stared down at the dead soldier.

“Where did you find him?”

“Not thirty miles down the road south of here. He was barely alive; my healing potions bought him only a few moments.”

Zel bowed his head over the Drake.

“What did he say?”

“The Goblin Lord. He crushed both armies sent against him. Crushed them—Garusa Weatherfur is dead, and Thrissiam Blackwing ordered both armies to buy time for word to be sent to the other cities! There’s something wrong with the Goblin Lord. He’s a powerful [Necromancer] as well as a leader!”

Hawk’s voice provoked gasps and screams in the crowd. Zel swore.

“To the Council. They need to hear of it at once! Go! I’ll follow!”

Hawk nodded. The Rabbit Beastkin ran through the streets, legs blurring, out of sight in a moment. Zel charged down the street after Hawk.

[Guardsmen] followed him, some shouting for people to keep calm and wait for word, others running to find Wall Lord Ilvriss and everyone of note. A Gnoll stopped and bowed before Regrika.

“Lady Blackpaw, we would deeply appreciate your—”

“Of course. Lead on. This is no time for dawdling, no?”

The Gnoll Named Adventurer strode after the [Guardsman]. After a moment’s deliberation, Ulrien and Jelaqua both followed, and they were quickly escorted in her wake. The shocked voices of the people echoed above and Ivolethe sighed.

Here it ended. She flew down and alighted on Ryoka’s shoulder. The young woman was holding Mrsha as Erin stood next to her. Everyone was afraid. They reeked of it. They could only see one future. Ivolethe could see many. They were right to be afraid, but they didn’t know all of it.

Nor could she tell them. Ryoka glanced at Ivolethe.

“Do you know anything about this, Ivolethe?”

 

“If I did, I would not tell ye.”

 

Ivolethe looked calmly at Ryoka, and saw the girl’s eyes roll impatiently.

“If we die—”

 

“Ye die. I cannot interfere.”

 

Ivolethe sighed. She felt old. Old and tired. In that moment, the wind blew. She felt the world change and realized one thing. Faeries could see the future. They could predict it. But they couldn’t see everything.

Time moved. She felt the call, heard the echo in her very soul. She felt the winter shiver, and then—

 

—-

 

Ryoka saw Ivolethe sigh. The Frost Faerie looked worn down, tired. And then something happened. Her form, her crystalized icy form slowly blurred. Just for a second, Ryoka thought she smelled damp earth, saw greenery and felt sunlight. For a moment. Then Ivolethe was back to normal.

Almost. Something ran down Ivolethe’s face. It gathered, running down her suddenly slick skin, beading, reaching her leg. It fell, a piece of crystal, a frozen bit of ice, onto the ground and shattered. Ivolethe looked around.

Ryoka stared. The Frost Faerie glanced at Ryoka, irritated.

 

“What? What?”

 

“Ivolethe. You’re…melting.”

Ivolethe froze. She looked at herself, and touched at her wet skin. She blinked at Ryoka, surprised, upset, and then—resigned.

 

“Huh. So I am.”

 

“What does it—does that mean—”

The Frost Faerie shrugged. She looked at Ryoka, and then at Erin, and finally Mrsha, smiling slightly.

 

“Winter is ending. And so I suppose we run out of time. Let us make the most of it, Ryoka Griffin.”

 

With that, she flew up, spiraling through the streets of Liscor as word spread of the Goblin Lord’s army and fear once again rode on the breeze. Fear of the future.

 

—-

 

One last thing. The news that struck Liscor and then the rest of the Drake cities like a bomb was almost instantaneous, thanks to the [Message] spells sent out by Zel Shivertail and Ilvriss. However, the Human cities would only hear the news in the morning, mainly thanks to every [Mage] in the Mage’s Guild being monopolized by Drakes.

Only a few individuals got word of what had happened at the same times as the Drakes. People who paid for private information, and paid quite well. Which was why Typhenous’ [Message] spell was immediately relayed to Lord Tyrion Veltras and to Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s presence within moments of casting it.

Magnolia Reinhart sat in a moving carriage and opened the [Message] scroll she’d just been handed by Ressa. The artifact recorded any [Messages] her people deemed important enough to send her directly. And this one was important, oh, yes. Important and very unwelcome indeed.

She stared down at the [Message] as Ressa read it over her shoulder. Her [Maid] uttered several words that made the driver of the carriage swerve erratically, but Magnolia said nothing. What was there to say? She looked out the window at the dark landscape, at the snow, at the night creeping in and said nothing at all.

Instead, she sighed. And fate, like the fading winter, like the wind and indeed, the Goblin Lord himself, took no notice at all.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.25 N

“I’m going to quit.”

Niers Astoragon spoke to himself as he stood on his dressing table, inspecting himself in a foot-high mirror. He adjusted the cuffs of the fancy, somber black-and-silver doublet he’d been supplied and wondered if he could strangle himself on the lace.

“Lace. Who uses lace? The fashions of Terandria are not Balerosian fashions. Following those idiotic trendsetters is pointless, but why listen to me? Let’s all decide to hang ourselves with string. Lace on the frocks, collars, arms…leggings for some reason! In the time it takes to dress up like this I could be playing two games of chess. Three.

He glanced over to a small, wooden board sitting on the table a few feet away from him. It too occupied the dressing room table, which also held Niers’ bed, most of his possessions, and his entire wardrobe. The rest of Niers’ room was given over to a large amount of papers, most stacked with some degree of neatness, but giving the entire place a distinct impression that a tiny person had decided to camp out in the middle of a filing room.

It was, Niers thought to himself, entirely appropriate. Not that the clutter mattered outside of the table; for a Fraerling, the dressing table itself was a gigantic bedroom, complete with treacherous drops several times his height he could throw himself off if he got bored of life.

“Not that I’d die from the fall, even if I landed on my neck. And then I’d have to show up and teach those little leeches wearing a neck brace. Hah! And this week of all weeks? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

He glanced again at the magical chessboard and shook his head. The pieces hadn’t moved. Thus, there was no real reason for him to delay. Niers sighed.

“How many have I taught? A hundred? A thousand? And how many survive to become great [Strategists] and [Generals]? I don’t need to keep doing this. I could keep playing. I could—could find out—”

He trailed off for a second and looked for a third time at the chess board. Then he looked towards the glass windows in his room, saw the sun rising, and cursed.

“Late!”

He finished tying the lace together like a noose and hurried towards the door. Not the main door to the room though; oh no. The door handle was far too high up for Niers to bother climbing and ruin his wonderf—his perfectly serviceable—his mockery of fashion that was a doublet. No, instead, he took a small ramp upwards towards a door set near the ceiling. Niers opened it, and began to march down the small stone tunnels illuminated by tiny mage lights.

He was using the Fraer-ways. And in doing so, he passed through stone crossroads, walkways along the outside of the palace that had been converted into the academy he lived in. These walkways were naturally enclosed on all sides to protect Fraerlings from birds, rodents, and other dangers, but such was the wealth of Niers’ company, the Forgotten Wing, that the [Architects] had installed glass windows to allow Fraerlings an unparalleled view of the city the academy was based in.

Elvallian, one of the foremost trading hubs in Baleros. Once an obscure city marooned in the jungle, now, the headquarter of the Forgotten Wing Company, home to one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros when they were not on campaign. Also, and just as prominently, the place where aspiring [Strategists] might receive the chance to learn from the legendary Titan himself, the [Strategist] claimed by many to be the highest-level in the world, Niers Astoragon.

At the moment, said Titan, [Grandmaster Strategist], feared foe to his enemies and so on and so forth was cursing. He’d just stepped in rat droppings and it had gotten all over his dress boots, which of course, had lace.

 

—-

 

“So that’s why you’re late. Because of rat poo.”

Breakfast. Niers had it every day in an open part of the castle. Not open to the elements; no one wanted to sit in the hot, humid air, rather open in the sense of huge sheets of glass providing the illusion of openness while cooling spells made the room pleasant to sit in.

Niers at on a table with white cloth, eating from a tiny bowl and scowling at his companion sitting across from him. He was having a civilized breakfast of bananas, a filling porridge, and fruits, all seasoned with some fresh cinnamon.

His partner was having muffins. Not muffins with a side of eggs, or muffins and a glass of milk, or muffins with butter. Just muffins. There were three of them. As Niers watched, the eater of muffins picked one up in her furry paws and stared at it.

“Because of poo.”

“Would you stop calling it that? I stepped in rat droppings and needed to change my boots.”

“Why?”

“You know why. We’re supposed to be putting on a show!”

“Hm. So that’s why you have all the string.”

“Lace.”

Niers glared. The person sitting across from him blinked at him. She had odd eyes. Three-Color Stalker was her title. She was a Squirrel Tribe Beastkin. Also, she was the leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, Niers’ boss, oldest friend, and right now, ponderer of muffins.

I didn’t choose to dress up like this. Apparently, this is the current fashion from Terandria and all of Baleros considers this the height of fashion.”

“Drab clothing and lots of lace.”

The tiny Fraerling gritted his teeth as the Squirrel-woman held her muffin up to the light, studying it.

“The point, as I understand it, is to emphasize muted colors. Note the silver lining?”

“Why have lace if it’s not colored?”

“That would be asking too much of fashion, I suppose.”

The Squirrel Beastkin glanced at Niers and smiled for a second. He wasn’t sure if that was because she felt like it, or because she’d gotten the joke. Her name was Foliana and he’d known her for decades, but she was still unpredictable to him. Both of Foliana’s eyes sparkled in the light as they met his.

Three colors made up her eyes. Bright red-pink, deep and dreamy yellow and clear green. They created an orb of three equal parts in the center of her eye. The brown sclera that surrounded the eyes was practically black compared to the brilliance of her pupils.

Her eyes were a wonder. The rest of the Squirrel Beastkin was practically unnoticeable. She faded into her chair, and when sitting seemed to grow transparent and inconspicuous. Niers cleared his throat.

“I note you aren’t wearing any lace.”

“Don’t want to. Lace is hard to sneak around in.”

“You’re not being called on to stab a [Commander] to death in a rainforest. You’re greeting dignitaries, prospective clients, allies. Guests.”

“Mm.”

“That means no stabbing.”

“I know.”

Silence. Niers chewed down his breakfast, hurrying because if he didn’t, he’d be late for class. He made sure not to get a spot on his clothing. Foliana slowly nibbled at her muffin, getting about half of it into her mouth and the rest on the tablecloth.

“I’m thinking about quitting.”

She stopped nibbling and looked at Niers. Not a trace of emotion crossed Foliana’s face.

“Okay.”

Niers stared at her. She stared at him.

“This is where you remind me of the good old days.”

“Mm. Right. What good old days?”

The Fraerling thought. Then he cursed.

“I’m feeling old, Foliana. You have grey in your fur—”

“I’m distinguished. You’re old and wrinkly. I’m not.”

“You have fur. That hides your wrinkles.”

“Mm. I’d like blueberries.”

Niers stared at Foliana. She stared back. Sometimes they did this for minutes over breakfast. She looked at her muffins first.

“Blueberries are called that because they look blue. What do you call orange berries?”

“…Oranges? Tiwali Magma Bloomers?”

“Mm. Nope. If you want to go, we’ll probably be attacked. Mm. Not good. Should probably rethink.”

“Our company is fine. So long as you don’t engage directly with one of the other three Great Companies—I have my reasons.”

“Going to find your mystery chess partner?”

Niers grimaced. Half of Baleros knew by now that he was playing an opponent. Most knew exactly how many games he’d won and lost. (Two wins this week, three losses. Four draws.)

“Don’t talk me out of it. I’m done with this pomp and teaching those idiots.”

“You have a class in five minutes.”

“Really? Damn. Big feet squash it all!”

Niers leapt up. He pointed at Foliana as he ran for the Fraer-ways.

“This isn’t over!”

She waved at him with one furred paw as he left. The tiny door slammed shut behind him. Foliana nibbled at a muffin, and then glanced towards the main door to the dining room.

It opened suddenly. Foliana disappeared. One of her subordinates, Peclir Im, edged into the room. He was a [Chamberlain], since [Stewards] were rare and required royalty to appoint them. But he was experienced, high-level, and knew Foliana and Niers well enough to look closely at the table. He coughed.

“Miss Foliana, if you’re here, I would like to know rather than die of a heart attack like my predecessor.”

Grudgingly, she appeared, still sitting at her table. Peclir nodded and approached her.

“Lord Astoragon?”

“He’s teaching class.”

“Ah. I could have summoned a helper to carry him had I been aware.”

“No. He likes running. He feels old if he’s carried. And there’s rat poo in the Fraer-ways.”

“I do apologize. I shall have someone clean the area immediately and put down poison.”

“Mm.”

Foliana nibbled as Peclir tidied Niers’ tiny dishes and half-eaten breakfast from the table. She stared at him without blinking. Peclir for his part—the man was Human, not that it mattered—was used to the scrutiny and kept working undeterred. Cleaning was a job for a lesser class like [Maid] or [Manservant], but Foliana had a habit of disappearing around anyone she didn’t trust, which was nearly everyone. More than one servant had tried to clean a chair with her on it.

People still talked about the previous [Majordomo].

“When are the fancy people arriving?”

Peclir paused and glanced towards the rising sun.

“In an hour, I believe.”

“I have to greet them. They’ll watch Niers teach the first day.”

“Yes, Miss Foliana. And there will be the banquet in two days as all of the guests will have arrived then. Lord Astoragon has requested me to tell you that attendance is mandatory.”

“Mm.”

Silence. That was natural. Three-Color Stalker was a legend few had ever seen. She was a [Rogue] of the highest order, but her talents made most [Assassins] green with envy, especially when she stabbed them from behind.

“Peclir?”

“Yes, Miss Foliana?”

“You’ve been working for four years now. Almost exact.”

“My anniversary is this month. I’m pleased you recall.”

“Mm. Yes, good. Loyalty is good.”

“Yes, Miss Foliana. Would you like a napkin?”

“No. Orange berries. Can’t remember the names.”

“I shall have an assortment prepared directly. Do you believe Lord Astoragon would like a snack, Miss?”

Foliana paused. She looked out the window and spoke distantly.

“No. He’s teaching. No time for food. Too busy shouting, I think.”

 

—-

 

Incorrect!

Niers bellowed the word. It shouldn’t have been possible for a person of his size to project as loudly as he did, but the word rang through the lecture hall.

The student he was yelling at, a young Human man who looked like he was still growing, turned dead white and might have fainted as Niers pointed at him. The tiny Fraerling shouted loud enough so all his students—and the visitors standing at the back of the hall—could hear him.

“A pike square and archers to fight an Antinium army? You’d be lucky to hold your ground for an hour, much less win the battle!”

He roared at the young [Tactician] who’d voiced his incorrect opinion to one of Niers’ questions. It was class time and in the large lecture hall, the Titan, or the Professor as he was known to his students, was angry. He was always angry, of late. He felt cooped up, especially because he had to show all these visitors how wonderful and important his classes were.

“The Antinium are not a foe to be underestimated! If the last two Antinium Wars have taught the world anything, it is that they are a powerful and unpredictable foe that, yes, uses a stock variety of soldiers with little variation, but makes up for that with unbreakable morale, armored and numberless infantry, and the ability to tunnel! If a third Antinium War breaks out and a Balerosian company is contracted to battle the Antinium, I will see you using better formations against them than that.

He glared around the room, making students shrink down in their seats or stare at their inky notes rather than meet his eyes. No one wanted to catch the Titan’s wrath and be called out for their ill thought-out tactics like the trembling young man in his seat.

Of the lot, a group near the front consisting of eight or so individuals didn’t flinch from Niers’ gaze. They were his advanced students, the ones who he considered able enough to lead his soldiers in an actual battle. Niers studied the group for a moment as his students consulted his notes.

Yes, his best. Some were bright and truly talented, like Umina, a Lizardgirl who was studiously checking her notes despite already knowing the answer. However, she was hesitant and afraid to be bold. Others, like the Dullahan named Cameral were gifted but lacking the creative talent Niers tried to inspire.

Some, like Marian the Centaur and Venaz the Minotaur, were supremely confident in their abilities. Venaz was leaning back in his seat, lounging with a smirk on his face as he watched the others, waiting to be called on. As for Wil and Yeranolla…Niers passed over the Human and Selphid. They would field any question he shot at them.

“Countering the Antinium is no simple matter of lining up a bunch of experienced [Pikemen] and having [Archers] whittle them down. Anyone studying the way the Drakes fought the Antinium during the first war would see that static defenses are aggressively overrun by Antinium. They won’t hesitate for a second to run onto a pike and tear the [Pikemen] to bits while their Workers tunnel right underneath the feet of your archers!”

Niers had a huge board on one side of the room which he would write on with the use of a magic quill. The levitating quill shot across the white parchment tacked to the board and sketched out the rough plan of a battle as he spoke. Later on he’d have the parchment replaced, and students could study the lesson at their leisure in another room.

“No, a far more effective tactic is to destabilize their lines with elite shock units while mages bombard concentrations. Aggression to match the Antinium offensive. That is the lesson General Sserys and General Shivertail taught us in both wars. Now, let’s assume the worst. Assume you, as a [Strategist] are left with only pikes and archers as young Nenor has suggested. What is the best strategy in that case? Anyone?”

He looked around, this time eying Venaz and wondering if the Minotaur had any better suggestions than ‘use Minotaurs’ as his arguments. He was about to call on him when a tap on one of the windows by his head interrupted him.

Heads turned, and Niers saw a radiant bird with brilliant red and gold plumage, glittering in the morning light, perched on a branch outside of the classroom. He recognized the huge beak and glittering wings of the beautiful bird and scowled at it.

The Sparklewing Bird ruffled its feathers in the morning air and cocked its head winsomely at Niers as he spoke. It pecked at the glass. He grunted and waved a hand at one of his students.

“Marian. Get a bow and shoot that damn bird. It’s a hazard if there are any Fraerlings about.”

“At once, professor.”

He resumed speaking as Marian got up and trotted out of the room. A few seconds later he heard a squawk and the birdsong ceased. Some of the students winced. Niers nodded at Marian as the Centaur trotted back into the room.

“Now, an Antinium army has assaulted your very odd army of pikes and archers. You’ve a few high-level individuals among them, but no one noteworthy. Your terrain is a canyon, with ground porous enough that the Antinium can dig through it. How will you survive their assault? Venaz, speak. And so help me, if you claim your entire army is filled with Minotaurs I’ll send to you to Izril so you can see how well your tactics hold up against the Antinium in person!

 

—-

 

As it happened, Venaz had a far more intelligent plan of staggering his lines of pikes and archers, creating a hostile terrain for any burrowing Antinium and pointed out the use of charging pikes as opposed to a static defense. For that, Niers grudgingly awarded him full marks and set the rest of the class to fielding questions about how to handle the Antinium specialist types which the world was aware of.

Then he set them the day’s homework—researching the Antinium Wars and discussing whether a third one would result in the defeat of the Drake cities or northern Human settlements, and what role Baleros might play in the conflict as potential mercenaries for any side. Niers privately planned to award double points to anyone who considered whether a Baleros company might be hired by the Antinium and discussed the ramifications of such a decision.

Classes were usually like that. Niers had been teaching for a long time and in the lecture-hall sections of his classes, he would give students complex questions and test their knowledge of different species and historical conflicts, not to mention political decisions they might be subjected to. A [Strategist] had to decide the fate of their company outside of the battlefield, after all.

However, today was different in that instead of continuing the lesson with more practical examples as usual, Niers was instead called away to greet some of the visitors who’d observed his class. He bowed over a scaled hand and kissed the tip of a fingernail now.

“Lady Messimar, greetings to you. I hope you find the city of Elvallian hospitable in your sojourn here.”

“You are too kind, Lord Astoragon. I was most struck by your lessons—I should hardly like to be the one shouted at by the Titan himself. That poor Human looked like he was about to faint!”

“The students grow used to it with time, Lady Messimar. I assure you, my shouting at them is the least of the challenges any [Strategist] will have to face over their career.”

“So very true. And you should know, of course! On a different and far more pleasant note, may I compliment you on your marvelous attire, Lord Astoragon? You’ve seen the latest designs from Terandria, I take it?”

Niers grimaced as he was reminded of his lace outfit, but he covered it with a courtier’s smile.

“Oh yes. I found them…inspiring to my heart, to say the least. May I compliment you on the pairings of your dress, Lady Messimar? Rose and green become you.”

The Lizardwoman blushed and swept herself back a step, flourishing the gown of lace and muted colors that was for some reason stylish. Niers made a show of looking her up and down—as was polite for Lizardfolk, and the Lady Messimar departed after exchanging a few more pleasantries.

“One down, a few hundred to go.”

Niers sighed as he stood on the pedestal that had been placed for him to speak with his guests at eye-level. He felt a presence by his side and nearly spilled the chilled drink he was holding. Foliana appeared out of thin air, munching on a muffin. It was the same one Niers had seen at breakfast, he was sure.

“Lizardfolk.”

“Don’t point Foliana, it’s rude. And mingle, remember?”

Niers hissed at the Squirrel tribe Beastkin. Foliana nibbled at her muffin. She was not wearing lace and neither was she smiling. She looked around at the parade of lace and stiff, polite expressions with clear distaste.

“We have a [General], two [Mages], our best [Sharpshooter], eight [Captains] and a bunch of other people I don’t remember. Why do I have to be here?”

“Because you’re the leader of one of the Four Great Companies. Ours!”

“Mm.”

Niers sighed. They were holding this greeting session in a ballroom, a place they’d kept from the palace when they converted it into an academy and paid far too much for. They’d paid gold to have sapphires melted and drawn into the marble flooring, and the curtains! Silk and enchanted, just like the damn windows.

But it was all important. The guests, the meeting, even the polite nothings and wearing the latest fashion trends. Niers and Foliana both knew it. They raised funding for their company during this time, made valuable alliances and deals. They could receive thousands, tens of thousands of gold pieces in donations from a single one of these guests. Fundraisers were vital. Every big company had one yearly and the biggest had to show they were willing to spend to earn.

“I’m being polite and waiting for people to seek me out. Why aren’t you saying hello to anyone?”

“I said hello to Morn.”

“She’s our [Captain]!”

Niers and Foliana spoke as their guests waited for an opportunity to swoop in and engage one or the other in conversation. Not both; that was intimidating. And in truth, Niers was the desired person to meet. The infamous Three Color Stalker was hard to recognize for many, and her reputation as both a silent killer and oddball preceded her. How Niers envied Foliana for that.

However, there were some for whom the dual personages only added allure. Niers heard a voice, shouting joyfully.

“Lord Astoragon! Lady Foliana!”

A voice called out to the two as they talked quietly. Niers turned, putting on a forced smile and Foliana turned transparent. She reluctantly faded back into view as a Centaur trotted towards them.

The fact that he was a Centaur didn’t matter at all, and was a superfluous detail that everyone didn’t pay attention to except to watch out for his hooves. Niers greeted him and then the Centaur broke into their conversation. He’d probably been listening in.

“Might I compliment you on your outfit, Lord Astoragon? Quite the latest style.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

By his side, the Fraerling [Strategist] could see Foliana making a face and not bothering to hide it. He smiled so pleasantly his face hurt. Two down, a hundred more to go.

 

—-

 

There was no chess game waiting for him when Niers finally got done with the greeting of guests and socializing. He dragged himself back into his room and brightened the instant he saw a piece had moved. But when he hopefully moved a piece—of course, after a great deal of deliberation and restudying the board, although he’d already done so that morning—his opponent didn’t move a piece in response.

That often happened. He or she was probably asleep. Niers rubbed at his face and blinked in the candlelight.

“Who set that out? Peclir? Good man. Damnit. I should quit.”

He sat in his bed for a second, undoing the lace and growing annoyed at the time it took. Today had been irksome. Tomorrow would be…dead gods, the banquet was the day after tomorrow, wasn’t it? Niers groaned as he lay down and went to sleep.

 

—–

 

Advance!

Umina the Lizardgirl shouted as a wave of her soldiers collided with the enemy. Her cavalry circled around and struck Cameral’s forces from the rear. The Dullahan struggled to keep up with her rapid attacks as the two other spears of cavalry kept circling and hitting his troops in odd places. And while they did, her archers and heavy infantry kept circling, forcing him to keep adjusting his rows of soldiers, stretching, stretching until something broke—

It ended with a shower of arrows hitting Umina’s command. It was a stray shot aimed at her in sheer desperation, but one of the arrows filled with dry paint powders struck Umina squarely on the chest and she was knocked out. Reluctantly, she watched as her leaderless army struggled to repel Cameral as he regained control of the battlefield. In the end her forces routed, although Cameral had lost nearly a half of his army in the process.

“It wasn’t fair!”

Marian was strident in the after-battle review, as ‘dead’ soldiers came off the side of the field and healing potions were passed around for those with bruises or more rarely, broken bones.

“She had him right where she wanted. If it wasn’t for that stray arrow, she would have won! How is that fair?”

The Centaur paced back and forth as Niers stood in the shade, marking the positions of Umina’s strategy with figurines. It wasn’t a game, or rather, these practice sessions were meant to simulate actual battles. The hired [Soldiers] and [Actors] could form any number of armies and do battle as two of Niers’ students attempted to defeat each other.

There were low-level [Mages] who could use ‘spells’ which were designed only to mark which soldiers had been killed. And as for charges and actual melee combat—they used padded weapons, but swung them hard and fast. Soldiers would retreat after being killed, but in the thick of things people could still be hurt, sometimes badly.

But Niers paid well. And it was one of the reasons why his academy was so famous. The strategist glanced to one side and saw a lot of his guests watching from the shade of a canvas tent, talking excitedly about the battle.

Almost as excitedly as Marian. Niers halted her in her tracks.

“Cameral, would you like to answer?”

The sweaty Dullahan had his head under one arm. He raised it now, looking slightly ashamed but defensive.

“I was aware I was losing, so I ordered my archers to target Umina. On purpose. I would have done the same in any real battle.”

“But—”

“Just so. Cameral’s tactics were valid, Marian. However, on that note Cameral, I would have begun aiming for Umina to begin with. If there is a fault in how the battle played out, it was that you entrusted that attack to luck, rather than factored it into your plans.”

The Dullahan nodded, looking thoughtful. Umina, still covered in yellow paint, also nodded, but Marian protested again. She trampled her hooves in a mini Centaur tantrum as she spoke anxiously to Niers.

“It’s—it’s unfair! If we have to duck and cower away from every archer—”

“Hah! Speak for yourself.”

Venaz folded his arms. The Minotaur tossed his head as he gestured at the trampled ground and spoke to Marian.

“If I’m on the battlefield, I expect to be shot at. Give me a shield and I’ll command from the front!”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you dodge a rain of arrows. Give me a bow and—”

“Enough!”

Niers raised his voice before his two most hot-tempered students could get into it. He tapped his foot on the wooden platform he stood on thoughtfully.

“Attacking the enemy [General] or [Strategist] is a valid tactic, Marian. We saw a similar move occur in the recent battle around the King of Destruction. Or don’t you recall how his steward, Orthenon, allegedly targeted the enemy army’s [Strategists] in order to cripple it and bait them into following him into a trap?”

His students fell silent. News about the King of Destruction’s return was hot on everyone’s lips, but news from Chandrar was sparse. Marian bit her lip.

“But professor, how do we protect ourselves from something like that?”

“Well, let me phrase it to you as a question. This is a class. How would you do it, Marian? Anyone?”

The group of [Tacticians] and [Strategist] students fell silent. Then Unima raised her hand. Niers nodded at her.

“I can’t speak for running up against the King of Destruction’s [Steward], professor, but I’d keep my command a lot further back next time even if it meant seeing less of the battlefield. Or wear plate armor.”

There was a bit of tittering at that comment. Niers looked around and shook his head.

“You all think plate armor’s such a bad idea? If Umina had been wearing it, she’d have won that last battle.”

Everyone fell silent. Niers sighed.

“Practicality. I keep telling you—in that case, if you’re all willing to stand the heat, I’ll grant any one of you willing to stand around in plate armor an exemption from the first three arrows that strike you at range in a match. One spell too—so long as it isn’t a directly targeted attack on you specifically.”

That produced some murmurs. Each ‘battle’ was an important event. It attracted a lot of attention from the city people who liked watching people beat each other with swords and seeing the latest talent, and it was also the subject of intense betting by students and other groups. More than that, it was how Niers evaluated his students, so any edge or tactic was immediately put to use.

“Just remember that plate armor’s restrictive. You’ll move slower, see less—and a [Strategist] needs to see the battlefield. Like everything else, it’s a calculated risk. Now, Venaz, Marian, you two seem to disagree on how a [Strategist] should behave when in danger. Show me which one of you is more correct. Form up an army—I want an equal match so calculate accordingly. You have twenty minutes!”

 

—-

 

Baleros was warm in the winter. Not hot, true, but Niers felt like his doublet was trying to strangle him. He gladly accepted a glass of squeezed fruit juice from Peclir, a tiny thimble in his case—and downed it quickly. Peclir had a small teacup’s worth of juice—a huge tank in Niers’ world—ready, and the [Strategist] filled up his cup again with a grunt.

“Thank you, Peclir. Let me know when Venaz wakes up. I imagine being trampled by Marian hurt his pride more than anything, but I’d like to know he’s alright.”

“Of course, Lord Astoragon.”

Peclir departed, circulating among the other guests who were speaking with the students. It was another game, the prospective investors speaking to prospective company leaders. Now that he was alone, Niers waited until he saw the teacup move.

“That’s mine, Foliana. Get your own.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Then get your own.”

Reluctantly, the teacup dipped and Foliana appeared. It wasn’t magic—it was a Skill and her own incredible talent mixing together. A [Mage] would have triggered some of the warning devices Niers carried. Foliana was deadly because she was all-natural.

“Snappy. Why so angry? More rat crap?”

“Peclir sent someone to clean it up and put down traps, but I found some more this morning.”

“Shame.”

“It’s a danger, especially with our guests, some of whom are Fraerlings! Anyone who’s not a [Warrior] is at risk if giant rats attack them.”

Niers grimaced. That would be a disaster. Especially because his company was beloved by the Fraerlings. They had only one hero whose name was known across the world, and it was Niers. Poor repayment to have one of them killed by a rodent.

“They looked good out there.”

“Did they? I thought you didn’t care for these games.”

Foliana shrugged. She had a quarter of a muffin in her paws. Niers stared at it pointedly. It looked stale. Foliana nibbled.

“Mm. Don’t care. Said it to be nice.”

“Hah.”

Niers filled his glass a third time. He sipped. Foliana sprinkled crumbs into his cup. After a while she spoke.

“Still shouldn’t do it.”

“Do what? Quit?”

“Mm. Should stay here. Besides, you’re cursed.”

“I am not cursed. That’s a myth, and the company’s official stance is that it’s just gossip. I am not cursed—”

She interrupted.

“Yes you are. You’re cursed. You think you’re an old man and you act like it. I’m distinguished and young. You’re crotchety.”

He scowled and splashed his glass at her. She dodged the small shower of juice in an instant and reappeared on his other side. Niers frowned and wiped sweat from his forehead. He sighed, pulled at the lace around his neck.

“I’m not old. Or rather, I’m as old as you, Foliana.”

“Yes. But you look older. I’m having fun. You’re not.”

“What makes you say that?”

Foliana poked Niers gently.

“You’re not smiling. Duh. Mm.”

There was nothing he could say to that. Niers stared at the battlefield where the [Actors] were cleaning up and felt like he’d done nothing to warrant the cold drink in his hand. He hated to admit it. But he did feel old.

 

—-

 

That night Niers went drinking just to spite Foliana. He crashed a party at one of the academy’s drinking spots for students. It was filled with the older ones and after a moment where their hearts stopped for fear he was springing an impromptu exercise on them or a pop quiz—he had done it before—he was welcomed to drink by all.

It was rare Niers let his hair down, not that he had any hair to let down. But he was private, and socializing with him was a rare opportunity for his students to ask him questions about current events they might have not dared to in class.

“The King of Destruction?”

Niers snorted. He had a tiny cup of a potent whiskey in his hand as he leaned against Cameral’s mug. The Dullahan nodded his head with his hands.

“We’ve all heard the rumors, professor. He’s taken down three kingdoms in the blink of an eye. Speculation is rife that he’ll repeat himself last time, despite other nations being forewarned and prepared for him. Do you think it’s possible?”

“I’d hardly like to speculate and make a fool out of myself, would I?”

There was a roar of protest from the students at the table. Venaz put his fist down so hard Niers felt his feet leave the table for a second. Everything bounced. He glared at Venaz and the Minotaur subsided a bit. He snorted and glanced at Marian, who was sipping from a drink and smiling coolly.

“You’ve clashed with his men before, professor. Don’t tell us you have no idea how strong the King of Destruction is!”

“He’s clashed with Flos’ women before, Venaz. Females. There’s more females than males in his Seven. In fact, now there’s only four, only one of them is male.”

Venaz grunted as Marian spoke. He kept his eyes on Niers. The Fraerling sighed.

“You want to know if Flos can do it? Honestly, Marian hit on the sole point right there. His Seven. They launched his campaign last time—we studied this in class—and now he has only four. I believe his success in a new campaign will depend on that one factor…”

He drained his mug and his students leaned forwards.

“—On whether the King of Destruction finds a replacement for his Seven, or possibly, an entirely new Seven to command. If he does, then he may truly be unstoppable.”

“Surely he’s more than halfway there already. From everything I’ve heard of him, the king of Destruction could crush a nation by himself, Seven or not.”

That came from the pale Naga holding a wine glass filled with bubbling black liquid. The dead body lifted the cup and drank. Yerranola the Selphid looked concerned.

The Naga was male, but the person within identified herself as female, which was rare for a Selphid. They usually took whichever gender of body they inhabited.

Niers shook his head, sighing. Yerranola was a good student, and she was one of his oldest still at the academy, but she had the same problem they all did. He explained, feeling weary.

“Legends tend to retell themselves until fact and fiction mix together too finely to separate. Relying on hearsay and rumor is a quick way to overestimate your opponents. They call me the Titan, but you’ll note that I don’t crush my enemies underfoot. Nor do I drink from the skulls of my foes or bathe in their blood as the rumors indicate.”

His students chuckled at the dry joke. Niers smiled for a moment.

“Flos is a man. A [King] of a man, and perhaps one of the most dangerous men in the world for that, but a man nonetheless. He can err. He can fall. But I won’t speculate as to what will happen next. If he continues, Baleros will be part of the future, I have no doubt. Where there is war, companies from Baleros follow.”

It was an old saying and it made the students nod as if Niers had said something profound. He sighed. Then Umina did something unexpected.

“Professor, sir. I was wondering. We’ve never seen you drink. Not with us. So while you’re here, would you like to play a game?”

“Chess? I play enough with you lot in lessons.”

It was known that chess helped [Strategists] level. And because Niers had invented the game—a lie only he and Foliana knew to be one—it was part of his classes. But Umina shook her head and pulled something from under the table. It rattled and Niers saw four dies in a cup.

The table went silent. Niers looked around and had to smile. So now his students were setting traps.

“I wonder who put you up to this, Umina. I suspect Wil or Yerranova.”

The Human and Selphid blushed. Umina hesitated.

“No, it was just me, sir. I thought a game—”

“Oh, gambling? Well, I don’t usually.”

“Please? Just a toss?”

“I’ve got a cup! We could bet some gold on it—”

Wil, the Human , brought out another cup and the other students fished in their pouches for coins. Niers smiled crookedly. To do or not? Well, he was in it now. Refusing would just create rumors. While agreeing…

“One toss.”

The students around the table cheered. Niers held up a hand.

“One. Put the other dies together with Umina’s, Wil. Eight dice…you toss and I’ll toss.”

“And the bet?”

Niers smiled mysteriously.

“None.”

The crowd of students fell silent. The older Fraerling could see the looks of speculation. He didn’t care. He remembered, and felt old when he saw the look of anticipation on their faces. It was a legend to them. He had lived it.

“Toss, Wil.”

The toss was a decent one. Wil had three sixes, a five, two threes, and pair of twos. He put the dice into the cup and realized that the cup was taller than Niers was.

“I can find some Fraerling dice, professor—”

“No need. Put it right next to me.”

Niers watched as the cup was set down. He saw the looks on his students’ faces, the stomach-churning anticipation. There was no such feeling in his heart. Niers put down his mug, and stepped up to the dice.

He kicked over the cup holding all eight dice. They clattered out onto the table, bouncing together, stopping. The students looked down and the room went quiet.

“Well?”

Niers looked up at Cameral’s suddenly waxy face. The Dullahan shifted his head in his hands and coughed a few times before speaking.

“All—all one’s, professor.”

All eight dice showed only a single pip. In the silence, Niers laughed. Tiredly.

“Well, I lose. A shame, but a good thing I didn’t bet anything, eh? Now, where were we?”

“What? You can’t just let us—”

“Another game, please professor!”

They begged him. Niers shook his head, and then held up a hand.

“No dice. A coin toss. Heads or tails. Wil?”

Gold coins were usually embossed with whichever city or nation had minted them. Wil fumbled for one and came up with a copper coin. Niers nodded his approval. Wil flipped it, caught it, turned it over.

“Professor?”

“Heads.”

Wil raised his hand. The room exploded.

“Heads!”

Umina laughed as if Niers had pulled a great trick. The Fraerling rolled his eyes, and then raised a hand. Silence.

“Another one, then. Wil?”

The young man flipped the coin. It rotated into the air and landed. He turned it over and looked at Niers. Now the silence was expectant.

“Heads.”

Again the palm rose. Again the cheer. Niers raised a hand.

“Now again.”

Wil looked at him. The other students looked at him. Now they noticed Niers wasn’t smiling. Wil flipped the coin. This time he caught it, hesitated, and didn’t turn it over.

“Prof—”

“Heads.”

Niers stared at Wil. The young man hesitated, opened his hand. The head of some [King] stared up at Niers.

Silence.

“Do it again.”

Niers was the only voice in the room. Wil tossed the coin up, caught it clumsily. He flipped it onto his arm. Then, without speaking, he cupped it with his palm and lifted it up, changing the face again without seeing it. When he opened his palm, it was heads.

Every eye turned to Niers. He shrugged. Then he looked at Wil.

“Again.”

The young man hesitated. Niers stared into his eyes.

“Flip it again, Wil.”

He did. The result was heads. Niers nodded.

“Again.”

“Heads.”

“Again.”

“…Heads.”

“And now, three times in quick succession, if you please.”

Niers heard the coin being flipped. The second time, it slipped out of sweaty fingers and landed on the ground. He heard a curse, and then as Wil bent to pick it up, a sharp, indrawn breath.

No one spoke as the young man shakily put the coin on the table. They certainly didn’t laugh. One person breathed out. Marian, with wide eyes.

“The curse.”

The word went around the table like a breath of air. Niers shook his head and raised his voice.

“You may have heard rumors of a curse. You may have seen evidence tonight—I am telling you that your eyes are mistaken. Your ears as well, for that matter. There is no curse. I simply do not like to gamble.”

“But—”

“That is all. Now, let’s get back to the business at hand. I’m feeling inclined to get drunk. How about the rest of you?”

They certainly did. Niers had them break out a cask of very expensive, very potent liquor that was bordering on poison.

“Firebreath Whiskey. Imported from Izril. Is there anyone who’ll compete with me?”

Niers spoke as the first cup was filled. The table goggled, and then shouted with approval. Venaz raised a brimming cup.

“I’ll drink a cup for every one of yours, professor! One thimble to my glass, how about it?”

There was a challenge in his eyes. Niers grinned, and felt a tiny stirring in his chest.

“That sounds like condescension, Venaz.”

“No, professor—”

“I’ll drink a cup to your cup. Even up.”

The table went silent again. Niers grinned widely and felt a tiny bit alive. Venaz stared down at Niers and then roared.

“Hah! So be it! Clear a space you lot!”

Two tumblers of the whiskey were poured, and Niers could see the liquid, a red mixture that made the eyes water if you smelled it. Venaz took his and tossed it down. He coughed, and then Niers watched the Minotaur’s face flush.

“Even Minotaurs blink at the stuff Drakes come up with. Well done, Venaz. I’ll take mine slower. My mouth isn’t so large.”

There was a laugh, but every eye followed Niers. He had to put his thimble of a mug into the tumbler to fill it. Niers put the mug to his lips and drank down the first mouthful. His students cheered. Then without missing a beat Niers did it to the second, the third—

Venaz’s eyes bulged out of his head. The other students were cheering wildly. They watched as Niers slowly drained the tumbler, sip by sip. Niers finished his tumbler and tossed his mug over his shoulder to wild applause. He cocked an eyebrow at Venaz, who stared at the Fraerling, still steady on his feet, with sudden unease.

Niers grinned.

“Your turn.”

 

—-

 

A little past midnight, Niers looked around and realized he was the last person standing. His students were all passed out on the floor, courtesy of a now-empty keg of Firebreath Whiskey.

He was drunk. He couldn’t help it; the fumes were enough to do that, even if he hadn’t drunk a drop. And the tumblers sitting around him were proof that Niers had drunk a lot.

Or seemed to. His students had actually stopped him after the second tumbler, for fear he might kill himself. Fraerlings could hold more than their body weight in drink and food; they actually got a bit taller as their bodies stretched to support the extra mass, but alcohol could still kill them.

Venaz had gone down after four cups, Marian, three. The others had fallen in short order as well. Leaving only Niers.

In the silence, Niers lost the smile he’d had for a few moments. He fished around in his mouth and pulled something out. He’d hidden it behind a molar. It was a tiny, tiny little cloth bag with a drawstring.

A small bag of holding. Fraerling mages did good work. Niers emptied it over the side of the table and sighed as he listened to it splash on one of his student’s legs.

“It was fun the first time I did it. Years ago. Now? Foliana’s right. I do feel old.”

He sighed as he made his way somewhat unsteadily through the Fraer-ways, back to his room. He looked hopefully at the chessboard the instant he returned for all that he was drunk. No good. Not a piece had moved. Niers sat down and lit a candle, using a wand to flick fire at the wick.

He sat by the burning candle, watching beads of wax drip down next to his head. Niers sighed, and in the silence, he waited for the chess pieces to move. But they never did. And in the morning he woke and found more rat droppings in the Fraer-ways. Peclir still couldn’t find where they were coming from.

 

—-

 

The next day Niers started his class loud, engaged, and without a hint of a hangover. His older students, the ones who hadn’t bought hangover cures from an [Alchemist], groaned and tried to pay attention. Niers delivered a sermon on the virtues of preparation before battle with the example of the bag of holding completely straight-faced. Venaz overturned his table amid the laughter.

It was a lesson he’d taught countless times. Niers smiled a bit at his student’s reactions, but he’d seen the same reactions too many times to count. It was all…so similar.

Lace. Rat crap. Niers was letting his students play chess and wishing he really had quit when one of his students rushed into the room, waving a letter. Wil, looking bleary and not at all apologetic for sleeping through the first portion of class, hurried over to the table where Niers was desultorily playing by himself.

“Sir, professor! You’ll want to see this!”

The excitement in his tone was palpable. Annoying. Niers tried not to snap.

“What?”

The young Human man showed Niers a letter, a very fat one marked with salt flecks and other travel stains.

“I regularly correspond with a [Strategist] I’m acquainted with in Izril. He lives in one of the Walled Cities and apparently he’s recently received some very interesting letters himself. He sent me a copy! Please, professor, read it! It’s about chess!”

“Chess?”

Despite himself, Niers took the letter and with some difficulty, unfolded it on the table. His students gathered around. Niers frowned at the title.

“A ‘newsletter’?”

It was…a chess newsletter. A magazine. A letter to any [Strategists] interested in chess—this one was addressed ‘to the [Strategists] of Zeres’. It was from Liscor.

“‘I, the humble [Tactician] and student of chess have four games to offer you this week, dear readers. In each, I am sure we will uncover a multitude of lessons to be learnt. Most importantly, we see various strategies matching against each other and I am sure my addition to this letter, a new game of which I have been informed, will also please and delight’. Huh, this Drake likes to write, doesn’t he?”

Umina frowned over the letter. Her eye caught the first page of chess notations and she blinked as she read through them.

“Hold on. This is—this is good. Great, even! Professor, have you seen—professor?”

She got no reply. Niers was staring at one of the games. Staring and not saying a word. He could read it. Pawn to D4. Pawn to D5. Knight to F3, Knight to F6. And then…Niers didn’t have to read it to know. Bishop to F4.

“It’s you.”

He whispered it at the parchment. He knew. It was his game. The one he’d played after so long—it was the same game, written down for all to see! His students were exclaiming over it, but Niers was overcome by a different emotion.

“This Olesm. Is he the—the author of these games? Did he play them?”

“No, professor. He says he witnessed a game.”

“Witnessed.”

The word was bittersweet on Niers’ tongue. He knew. Olesm Swifttail. From Liscor. The same place…the same place—

“Professor, have you seen this? Look! There’s instructions for another game here! It’s says it’s called…‘Go’. Go? What an odd name for a game!”

What?

Niers pounced on the second piece of parchment. He tore it away and stared at the drawing of a Go board, the instructions on how to play the game. He turned. His students were staring.

“Well? Don’t just stand there! Get me a quill and ink! And parchment! And stones! Black and white!”

He roared at them and they fled in excitement. In minutes, Niers was drawing out the go board, placing stones, reading the game.

“Capturing stones…I see. Strings, liberties, I see!

Niers played a game against Umina, and his hands shook as he placed Go stones on the board. He won the game, crudely, but he won it. The second game started as Marian shouted for someone to find more stones so they could play the game.

A new game. A new game.

“It’s you.

Niers stared at the piece of parchment. It couldn’t be a coincidence. This Olesm just happened to see a game he’d played with his opponent, and then…found a new game? It couldn’t be coincidence. It was them. They had shown the Drake this game.

They had shown Niers this game.

Something opened up in Niers as he played against Umina, as Cameral took his place, as Niers lost a game and his students tackled the Dullahan in a mad rush. He sat back and felt the world blurring in front of his eyes.

A new game. A new world, opened up at his fingertips. They were out there. They knew of new games. They were in Liscor.

His heart! Niers clutched at his chest, which alarmed his students. But it wasn’t pain or age that was making his chest ache so. It was joy. Pure joy.

This was new. This was brilliant. Niers couldn’t see through this game. It wasn’t simple. It was fresh. He felt like a novice dipping his toes in an ocean of mystery. He felt young again.

“Someone find me the address of that Swifttail. Olesm. I’ll send him gold—and an enchanted ring myself! Anyone with the creativity to come up with this kind of idea deserves a reward. Class is dismissed. Enjoy this new game.”

“Won’t you play with us, professor?”

“No.”

Niers was smiling. He felt like the years were dropping off. In Liscor. They really were. It was confirmed. And they knew of more than chess. More…he felt like he was ten years younger.

He had to know. This instant. Niers walked through the Fraer-ways until he came to Peclir’s working area. He summoned the [Chamberlain] and ordered him to bring him a mage specializing in divination magic.

“I want you to find the cousin of this board. They’re magically linked so it shouldn’t be difficult.”

He gave the [Diviner] his chessboard. The [Mage] bent over it, nodding and carefully touching the small, precious, thing.

“Of course, Lord Astoragon. Do you wish me to set up remote surveillance if possible?”

“No. Just show me where it is right now. It’s probably indoors—give me a view of the entire room.”

The [Diviner] nodded and traced a square in the air. Within the lines of shimmering light, an image appeared, as clear as day. Niers found himself looking down at the chessboard. His heart squeezed in his chest.

It was the other chessboard. Shimmering with ghostly pieces—sitting on…was it a table of some kind? He looked around, frowning. It was in some kind of inn. Was his mysterious opponent travelling? Did they live there?

There was no one in the room at the moment. But the [Diviner] had added sound to the spell. The [Mage]’s eyes were shut with concentration as he tried to maintain focus. Niers heard footsteps, muted voices. Someone was in the inn.

Was it them? Niers’ heart began to beat wildly. He stared at the image. Stared at the board. The footsteps were drawing nearer. In a moment he would know. It might not be them. What if it was? How would he know?

Someone stepped into the picture and Niers’ head jerked. He looked away.

“No. Cancel the spell!”

The [Diviner] did so at once. Niers looked back as the image vanished, panting, sweating, gasping for air as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Lord Astoragon?”

The [Diviner] was clearly worn out from casting the spell, even for a few moments. As he should be, since it had gone around the world. Niers thanked him and went back to his room, holding the chess board in his hands.

“No. No. Not yet.”

He sat on his table, clutching the board, shaking. The Fraerling felt hot and cold, trembling with what he’d almost done. For so long he’d wanted to know. And he’d always known he could find out. In that moment as joy had filled his chest, he’d had to know. Only to realize…just now, the terrible truth.

He was afraid.

And sometime that night, as Niers sat with the chessboard in his hands, trembling, he processed the fact that he was afraid. He stared at his shaking hands, felt the fear churning in his stomach, and shot to his feet.

“I’m afraid? I’m afraid!

He laughed like a madman. Fear! Actual fear! He felt adrenaline running through his veins, and in the next moment, ran over to the mirror. He stared at himself, a greying Fraerling wearing a doublet with—lace? He sneered at the reflection. His hair was one thing. It was just hair. But lace? That was old. And pathetic.

“Damn the lace. Damn insipid Human fashions!”

He tore it off his chest, shredded the clothing, burnt it in a candle. The rest of the mess he kicked off the table. Now half-naked, Niers looked around. His eyes narrowed as he saw the Fraer-ways.

“Rat droppings.”

 

—-

 

It was dark, and all the rats in the academy were in their burrow they’d hollowed out in a wooden part of the structure. There were a lot of them. They were big, fat from a life spent stealing from students and living off of pilfered goods. And they were smart too, smart enough to avoid Peclir’s cleaners and not eat the poisoned bait.

They were a breed of intelligent rats indigenous to any place with magic. Some kinds could talk. This lot were smart enough to have hollowed out a huge den in the woodwork, and had harvested wax candles. One was lit near the entrance, a sure sign of rodent cunning. Not that the lighting of it indicated they were that intelligent; some of the magical breeds of rodents could breathe fire.

A shadow passed by the candle in the dead of night, making it flicker and dance. The rats, feasting on some dried meat they’d stolen from a larder, paid no attention. And then the lone figure moved.

Niers kicked over the candle. The rats all looked up as one. He drew his sword and grinned.

“Hello. They call me the Titan.”

 

—-

 

The next day, Niers’ students sat in class, eagerly expecting their professor. They’d played games of Go all night and were hoping to challenge him. At the very least, they expected him to be in a good mood. And he was.

The visitors to The Forgotten Wing Company were also lined up against one wall, eager to listen to the famous Titan give another lecture. Thus, the hall was packed. They waited for Niers to arrive. And waited. And waited.

He was late. He was never late. A [Servant] went out to find him, and after a few minutes of low conversation, there was a shout. The entire room saw the door to the lecture hall swing open and Niers walked in.

He was naked down to his waist and covered from head to toe in blood. He had a sword in his hands, covered in blood and gore. It dripped onto the ground as Niers walked further into the room.

Someone screamed. Niers had his sword in one hand, and a severed rat’s head in the other. He dragged the head along the ground in the complete silence, walking towards the head of the lecture hall.

Every eye followed the tiny Fraerling as he left a trail of blood behind him on the way to his lectern. His students gaped at Niers. He climbed his lectern and looked around.

“Apologies for the delay. I was attending to a pest problem and was distracted.”

“Sir?”

Marian nervously trotted forwards. Niers grinned at her and she froze in place.

“Marian, good! Take care of this for me, will you?”

He tossed the severed rat’s head at her. She nearly dropped it.

“Have someone remove the flesh, but save the bones. I have a mind to turn it into a drinking cup.”

So saying, Niers turned to his class.

“My lessons have always emphasized the same things. Caution. Prudence. Adaptability. In that third vein, I would like to state the topic for today’s class.”

He rested his bloody sword on the lectern.

“Sometimes a [Strategist] must throw caution to the winds. There are times when you, and only you, can deal with a matter yourself. Exercise judgment in those cases. A [Strategist] is cautious, but caution is not the same as cowardice. Good? Class dismissed!”

He addressed the rows of shocked faces at the back of his lecture hall.

“Esteemed guests, I will meet you in the banquet hall shortly. Allow me a few minutes to freshen myself up.”

He hopped off of the lectern and found Peclir and Foliana waiting for him. Peclir looked horrified. Foliana grinned. So did Niers.

“Get me our tailor.”

 

—-

 

The Forgotten Wing Company employed all kinds of specialists. A [Tailor] was a must, especially given how many high-profile events Niers had to attend. In this case, the tailor in question was actually of a higher class, and she hurried into Niers’ rooms after he’d finished washing all the rat blood off his clothing.

She was a [Stitchmistress], and predictably, one of the String People. Niers knew she was high-level and usually delighted in dressing people up. Today she looked crushed by the weight of the tyrannical lace, which she’d incorporated into her own dress. The effect made her look like she was half-sewn, which worked for her. Nevertheless, the Stitch-woman looked miserable as she laid out a selection of replacement fabrics for Niers to peruse.

“I can have you in a replacement lace suit in time for the mock battles and banquet—”

“No. No lace.”

The [Stitchmistress] brightened up at those words. Niers stood with a towel in front of the mirror, looking at the drab fabrics and shaking his head.

“I want something flashy. Get me bright colors. Red. And trim it with whatever colors you want, but make it bold and bright and eye-catching.”

“Eye-searing?”

“Even better. I’ll have a hat as well. Something reminiscent of a pirate. With a—an ornament of some kind.”

“What would you like?”

Niers cast around and he grinned as he saw a bird flit past the window.

“The feather of a Sparklewing bird.”

“I can get you a fledgeling’s—”

“No. I want a full feather.”

The [Stitchmistress] sucked in her cheeks.

“A feather that long would be as tall as you are.”

Niers grinned wildly.

“So? Counterbalance it with the hat. Use weights if you have to!”

The [Stitchmistress] looked positively giddy, but then she frowned.

“I have to warn you, this does fly in the face of the current trend.”

Niers laughed.

“Fashion? I’m a former Named Adventurer and the second-in-command to one of the Great Companies of Baleros. They can have their fashion. I’ll have my dignity.”

She grinned as he winked at her and got to work.

 

—-

 

When Niers entered the ballroom of the academy, carried by Peclir on a silver pedestal, every eye turned. Most of the jaws dropped. The [Grandmaster Strategist] was wearing an eye-catching, eye-searing red overcoat lined with silver thread, over a comfortable, decidedly lace-less shirt and pants which he could move around in without tripping.

His shirt under the coat was brilliant white, and his pants were a dark black, making the coat stand out more. His shoes could have been used as a mirror, but pride of place was the hat on Niers’ head, a sweeping grandiose affair that somehow supported a huge yellow feather that shimmered and somehow stayed stuck in the hat and didn’t drag Niers over backwards as he stood there.

“Nice clothes. Mine are more comfy.”

Foliana appeared as Peclir put the pedestal down in the center of the room. Niers grinned as he felt every eye lock onto his. Suddenly, the rows of lace-covered dresses in their subtle colors seemed downright silly. He looked at Foliana and noticed that she hadn’t changed out of her clothing. Her work clothing.

“The feather’s not practical.”

“I’ll take it off if we have to kill someone. But this? I rather like the coat, don’t you?”

“Professor!”

Umina approached, wearing a concoction of laces and trying not to laugh at his feather. Niers smiled at her.

“Yes, Umina?”

The Lizardgirl hesitated. She looked like she wanted to laugh, but contained it to ask her question.

“Didn’t you tell us that caution and prudence were important, sir? A red coat and a feather—isn’t that—that sort of obvious?”

He exchanged a look with Foliana. Niers adjusted the hat on his head and spoke for everyone to hear.

“Practicality and caution have their importance, Umina. However, speaking for myself, if I can’t win a battle in fashion, I’d rather be dead!”

He looked out one window and saw his students facing off with both armies. It was Venaz against Wil this time, and both were wearing plate armor in the heat. He saw Umina depart and rush out to speak with Venaz. The Minotaur turned, looked back towards Niers, and then took off his helmet and hurled it to the ground.

Niers laughed. As the wary guests circulated around him, he saw Foliana moving towards a dais near the front of the room. Niers shook hands and then pulled a piece of parchment from his coat that he’d prepared as Foliana appeared at the dais.

It was hard to notice her at first. Peclir had to clear his throat and ring a small bell a few times before people noticed Foliana. When they did, there was silence.

The Squirrel Beastkin stood at the dais, and when she spoke, her quiet voice was magnified by a spell so it was projected into everyone’s ears.

“Mm. A decade ago, the King of Destruction launched an invasion from Chandrar. He sent his armies sailing to each continent in the world, conquering, claiming lands and overthrowing kingdoms. He sought to conquer the world.”

Everyone stared at her. Foliana stared ahead, not at anyone or anything, speaking to the air. To herself. To Niers.

“His Seven were legendary. Each one could defeat an army, and his great [Strategist], the Gambler of Fates, Queravia, he sent to Baleros. Here. He sent his other vassals across the seas, to Izril, establishing footholds, battling his foes. But the world was turned against him and the seas themselves sought to stop his advance.”

Niers could remember the sound of drums. He closed his eyes as Foliana continued.

“Only one of his fleets reached Baleros. The others were stranded at sea. But it was Queravia who first set foot here. She crushed the port city of Zaland in a day, and established a foothold, though her King’s armies had yet to reach here. But she would not retreat. There she planted the King of Destruction’s banner and challenged all the companies of Baleros. By herself! With only a single army, an advance force! And she held that ground.”

Foliana’s eyes grew brighter, or maybe the world grew dimmer. Niers could still see the smoke, rising in the distance. It seemed like the skies themselves were black during those days.

“No one could defeat her. No one could kill her or rout her army. Not assassins nor legions of her foes. She defeated Three-Color Stalker, flushed them out of hiding and sent them fleeing, nearly dead of their wounds. She slew the leader of the Armored Legion Company, Grandmarshal Sorolat, and broke both his company and the Flowing Wind Company with her forces.”

The people started as Foliana spoke and they stared at her. She went on.

“The King of Destruction’s fleets neared and it seemed as though Queravia would receive aid. Baleros prepared itself for a war like it had never seen. However, one last force gathered to defeat her.”

Standing, shouting at the [Captains] and commanders gathered before him. The rain fell and Niers raised a banner. They followed him.

“A Fraerling, the second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing, brought together every company from the marshy cities to the eastern ports and launched an assault on her position. On that day the two greatest [Strategists] in the world clashed.”

A woman’s laughter. She lay on the ground and laughed at him, laughed as the dice fell one last time. Niers remembered what she’d said. Every word.

Foliana’s gaze focused on him in the silence. Her words were a whisper.

“One survived.”

No one in the room spoke. Not one of the richly dressed guests, not the students who’d come in from the mock battle fields, not Niers. Foliana waited for three beats of the heart, and then went on.

“The result changed history, broke the spine of the King of Destruction’s invasion. His advance faltered. An army from Rhir broke the Lord of the Skies and his tribes. His people fell like flies against the monster slayers. A Minotaur fleet humbled his forces at sea, and Amerys, his champion [Mage], finally found a city whose walls she could not break in Izril. But it was one Fraerling who stopped him, one hero of Baleros.”

She raised a hand and pointed. Niers stood tall, the weight of memories on his shoulders. Foliana nodded as every head turned to Niers.

“Guests and friends, I present to you: Niers Astoragon.”

She waited a second more, and then she was gone.

 

—-

 

After the applause and having shaken every hand in the room—twice, Niers found Foliana. She was making the hors d’oeuvres disappear at once of the banquet tables. He coughed as Peclir put him down and checked his notes. Foliana looked at him expectantly.

“Word for word the exact same speech you gave last year. And the year before that.”

Unashamed, the Squirrel woman scratched at her ears.

“The same people keep coming back. I think they like the story. And he’s back this year. Mm. He probably eats muffins too. Don’t you think?”

“On campaign? I doubt he would. From what I know of the man, he doesn’t feast himself and eats like his soldiers.”

Niers had a hard time imagining Flos eating muffins in any circumstance. Foliana shrugged.

“Mm. But when does the King of Destruction eat muffins, then? In bed? It’s important to know these things.”

“Why? Are you planning on killing him?”

“Very hard. But I could do it if he ate muffins. No one’s on their guard when eating muffins.”

“Professor! Sir!”

One of his students was trying to get Niers’ attention. He nodded at Marian as she trotted around a visiting dignitary.

“Marian. Can I help you?”

She smiled nervously.

“We were wondering, professor, whether you’d care to have a mock battle with us yourself on this day. You’ve never had a match, and today…well, we were wondering—”

For a second Niers thought about refusing. But then he grinned.

“Why not? Form an army, Marian. I’ll take you on—”

“Me?”

“You and every one of my students who wants to participate. Go on, get things ready. I’ll be out shortly.”

He saw Marian’s eyes widen, and then she galloped from the room. People who’d casually been eavesdropping instantly headed for the doors and the rumors began to fly. The Titan was about to have a match! He wondered what the odds were.

Foliana looked at him.

“The old you would have said no.”

“Good thing I don’t feel old.”

Niers grinned and swept the hat off his head. He plucked the feather and offered it to Foliana. She took it, looking at it with bemusement.

“For luck?”

“It’ll get in the way of a real battle. You can eat it if you want.”

He left her with that. On the mock battlefield both armies were forming up. All of the [Strategists] and [Tacticians], his students, were lined up in front of their command unit. Over half had armor on. The other half were shouting orders as their army formed up around them.

“Sir?”

One of the [Soldiers] in charge of a battalion of pikemen armed with padded spears jogged up to Niers. He nodded at the man.

“You’ve never had a Fraerling command, have you, young man?”

The young man, who was probably in his forties, grinned at Niers.

“No, sir. But we’ve never had the Titan commanding! I reckon we’ll get on. Where did you want us deployed?”

“Oh, I have a simple strategy in mind. I’ll need two people to carry my pedestal—I don’t fancy being trampled. As for the rest, my orders are simple. Here’s the formation you’ll take at the start of the battle…”

 

—-

 

In her nice, cool banquet hall which was now mostly empty, Foliana stood at one of the class windows and stared out at the mock battlefield. It was swollen with people, over half of whom were onlookers fighting for room.

Someone coughed behind her. Peclir came forward and Foliana turned. She had a muffin in her hands. It was several days old and stale as a rock. The [Chamberlain] eyed it but made no comment.

“Do you believe Lord Astoragon will be victorious, Miss Foliana? I imagine quite a lot of potential investors will be interested in the outcome of this little event. It could prove unfortunate if he were to lose.”

“Mm. Yes.”

Foliana nodded. She watched with her curious eyes as someone blew a horn and both sides moved into action. Niers’ students immediately sent cavalry charging at Niers’ flanks, rains of arrows and spells flying at his army, all boosted by their assorted Skills. She watched as Niers’ army spread out, ignoring the attacks and ‘dead’ soldiers began to depart the field.

“What’s he doing?”

Peclir was stunned by the display. Niers was advancing, heedless of being overwhelmed. He was being encircled, and still he hadn’t made any moves.

The enemy heavy infantry was about to smash into his own when Foliana saw a tiny red figure in the center of the mass of his army raise a tinier sword. But his voice was not tiny. He shouted.

“[Vanguard of Terror]! [Covering Fire]! [Rapid Advance]! [Formation: Dodge]!”

He waved his sword and his army shot across the field, taking the first wave of soldiers by surprise. His army moved as one mass, as his designated archers, mages, and so on joined with the common infantry. They hit the group of armored soldiers like a wall. Peclir winced as he saw the group of soldiers that had been sent against Niers’ army go flying. Foliana put her paws over her ears.

Form up! Form up and charge!

Niers’ voice was a howl above the shouting. His empowered army pushed back the soldiers trying to encircle them. Peclir stared.

“He’s using his Skills?”

Foliana shrugged.

“Why not? It’s a battle.”

“One hardly thinks that would be fair.”

“Mm. Nope. That’s the point.”

The students were scrambling to withdraw and form a wall between them and Niers. Foliana saw Niers’ army running across the ground. She waited.

“Big skill. Mm. Come on. Can’t win with [Vanguard of Terror]. Which one?”

She peered at Niers. He was being carried by his command, rushing towards the enemy, fearless. Like always. It didn’t matter that he was in a mock battle. She heard his voice.

[Charge of the Strategist]!

There it was. Behind Niers, his army accelerated. Foliana heard a roar, and this time covered her ears and eyes. When she opened them, after the tremendous clash, she saw the other army running for their lives. [Actors] weren’t paid enough to fight that. She watched as Niers’ army joyfully beat the [Strategist] and [Tactician] students with their padded weapons.

After a while, Foliana found the muffin she’d kept from breakfast a while back. She carefully chewed the very, very stale muffin.

“Showoff.”

Niers was standing on his pedestal, red coat ablaze in the sun. Peclir stared at him.

“When I see him so, I can see him there, Miss Foliana. Right there in your story. And before that. He has been a legend.”

“Mm. He’ll quit when he’s old.”

Foliana nodded. Niers was laughing, she could tell. She couldn’t see him or hear his voice, but she knew he was laughing. Peclir turned and stared at her.

“Do you mean he plans on retiring, Miss?”

“Mm. He forgets sometimes. I have to remind him.”

“Remind him of what?”

She smiled. Niers laughed, and Foliana turned. Her eyes shone as she looked at Peclir and grinned.

“We’re not old yet.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.26 M

The group of riders raced after the magical carriage on horseback. They’d had to chase hard from their position after it; the pink carriage was known not to slow. However, this group of riders was determined to catch it. One of the Humans on horseback pulled ahead, riding through the freezing wind and urging his stallion to catch the fleeing vehicle.

The lead rider was a middle-aged man whose gravitas came more from his rounded belly than his physique. However, he was a skilled [Rider] and urged his horse onwards, trying to catch the carriage as it shot across the frozen ground ahead of him.

So close! His horse was galloping faster than was possible for any normal, non-magical horse to go. But still the carriage moved faster. It was pulled by spectral horses, which raced through snow and across the winter landscape like the wind.

The man on the horse could sense he had only seconds left of this mad sprint before his horse would tire, or risk injuring itself. He dug his heels into the horse’s side and it obliged its master, giving up one final burst of speed—

“Oh, do stop making a scene and get in. Quickly if you please; I’m in a hurry.”

The man on the horse blinked. The carriage suddenly decelerated, putting the now-open door at a level with the horse. And from the dark opening, two gloved hands reached out and yanked the man off the horse and into the carriage.

The stallion, suddenly divested of its rider, slowed and looked around in stupid confusion. The other riders shouted, but the carriage sped up again, instantly losing them in a flurry of snow.

Inside the carriage, the middle-aged man, the [Mayor] of the small city known as Leadenfurt, found himself face-to-face with a stern, steely-eyed woman. Her name was Ressa, and she politely let go of him and steered him into one of the padded seats. The man gulped as he saw a woman sitting across from him.

“Mayor Wullst of Leadenfurt. A pleasure.”

Lady Magnolia sat across from the surprised Wullst, smiling and munching on a cookie. It was one of many on a tray sitting on her side of the carriage.

“Lady Reinhart.”

Wullst remembered himself and tried to bow. Magnolia scowled.

“Do stop. I haven’t the time to make this long; I’m bound for First Landing and I doubt you’d like to be dropped off there. It’s a cold, long ride home, especially without a horse.”

“Yes, milady.”

The [Mayor] sat up, conscious of Ressa, sitting quietly next to him. Staring at him. Not that he was intimidated by the look or the proximity—Wullst had been a veteran [Rider], a soldier for many years and he was an excellent fighter. It was just that you heard stories about Magnolia’s maids.

He cleared his throat.

“Lady Magnolia, I deeply regret taking up your time. It is just that this message you sent to all the cities in the area—”

“What of it?”

“You—you requested soldiers from our garrison. A sizeable force of six hundred assorted horse, infantry and—I understand the wording is ‘puffed-up idiots who can cast at least Tier 3 magic’—”

“Mages. Yes. Was that so unclear you felt the need to catch me?”

Wullst spread his hands helplessly.

“Not at all, Lady Reinhart. It’s just that—is it war? We contribute the annual levy to fight with the Drakes, but this is unusual.”

Magnolia sighed. She bit into the gooey insides of the cookie, which was filled with some kind of jam, and chewed for a moment before answering.

“It’s for the Goblins, Wullst. I intend to raise an army and crush them. I trust you’ve heard by now the Goblin Lord destroyed two Drake armies near Liscor?”

Of course he had. And if he hadn’t, Wullst wouldn’t have admitted to it. He nodded carefully.

“A dire situation. Yet the Goblin Lord has a ways to go before reaching any major city, if you’ll beg my pardon. He needs to get past Liscor first, and the Drakes are certain to send—”

“Wullst, I am the [Lady] of this carriage, not you. If you would like to cross your legs, shave your beard, wear a pink dress and some rather uncomfortable undergarments, then you may sit in my place and dictate to me all the things I already know. I’ll even let you eat my cookies if you go that far. Until you are that committed, please do not presume to state the obvious.”

Magnolia snapped at Wullst. The man paled and shut up. Magnolia eyed him, picked up another cookie, and bit into it savagely. She frowned as she chewed.

“Plum. Ressa, were you behind this? Never mind. Wullst, I am not asking for your opinion. I am telling you that I intend to raise an army and march it south, to destroy this Goblin Lord. I have requested soldiers from you, and your oaths dictate that you raise the required force or provide me an explanation as to why you will not. Have you one?”

“I do, Lady Reinhart. I beg your forgiveness. I received a request from Lord Veltras not two minutes before yours. He required me send him twice the number of men you had levied—”

“Veltras? Damn him.”

Magnolia scowled, opened the carriage door, and tossed the plum cookie out. She slammed the door as Wullst stirred uneasily.

“I do beg your pardon. But it is simply that we lack the manpower to count ourselves safe if we send nearly two thousand of our own to—”

“Yes, yes, shut up. Very well.”

Magnolia sighed. She flicked her fingers, and then stared at Wullst with narrowed eyes.

“Two hundred. Make them cavalry and the best you can spare. Put any mages you have free on horseback, and have them travel to the place I indicated in my letter. If that is too much, you must petition Veltras because I will have some aid from you. Will that do?”

“Yes, Lady Reinhart!”

Wullst bowed, his heart beating in relief.

“Good. Then get out.”

The carriage slowed. Wullst found himself ejected from the carriage before it had stopped rolling. He nearly fell in a drift of snow, and found himself staring around an empty road. He looked back and saw the pink carriage already accelerating.

He was alone. Wullst shivered as a gust of the winter’s winds buffeted him. He would be glad when the snow began to melt, which should be soon, according to his weather mages. He began slowly trudging back in the direction of his escort and mount. He almost wished he’d had the courage to ask Magnolia for one of her cookies. A plum one sounded very appetizing right now.

 

—-

 

The magical carriage sped on, flying over hills, across bridges, northwards, ever further. It seldom slowed, never really stopped. When there was traffic on the roads, it swerved off the road, sometimes crossing frozen lakes rather than deal with traffic. And it never ran into trouble. Sometimes it ran over trouble, but that was trouble’s problem, not Magnolia’s.

And now it reached a massive city, a sprawling metropolis that had walls, and had built over said walls to accommodate the vastness of its architecture. First Landing, first and grandest of the Human cities ever built on Izril appeared on the horizon. Its watchful towers kept a vigil to the north sea, built countless ages ago by the Human nobility who had fled from Terandria fearing others might follow.

And so they had. More Humans, who had overrun half of the continent. Now their cities reached all the way to the High Passes, but it was always the north where their treasures lay. The ancient seats of power had been established here, and it was here Magnolia Reinhart’s blood-spattered carriage rolled to a stop.

In front of a pair of massive gates, and a mansion that was taller than some palaces, Magnolia Reinhart stepped out of her carriage and stretched. Ressa stepped out beside her, quiet as a shadow.

“Oh, look at the blood. Reynold, have that cleaned later, will you? Was it from that young Wyvern we spotted? I believe I actually felt that one.”

The carriage rolled away through the snow, and Magnolia paused in front of the gates. They were three times the size of the carriage and made of neither wood nor iron. The stone bars looked down at Magnolia as she strode towards them.

No one entered the home of the Reinharts without presenting themselves at the gates in person. Not even Magnolia Reinhart, scion of the house. She walked up to the gates and pressed her hand against a dull gem set into the stone.

“I am Magnolia Reinhart. Open.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then the doors slowly began to swing inwards. Magnolia walked through them, and Ressa followed.

The flurrying snow had built up around the Reinhart estate. Inside, it was a memory. Magnolia’s cold skin warmed the instant she entered her ancestral home, and she saw grass, a detailed walkway, the sloping massive layers of mansion built ever upwards by generations of her family, and of course, her family.

They awaited her down a pathway of bowing servants. Magnolia strode past the uniformed men and women and occasional nonhumans, ignoring their greetings.

“They must have gotten this ready for me.”

She spoke curtly to Ressa. The maid nodded as she walked at Magnolia’s side.

“They know how much you hate it.”

Magnolia snorted and stared at a curtsying girl who might not have been ten. Then she narrowed her eyes at the older woman, young man, and girl waiting for her.

“Ah, Magnolia! Wonderful to see you at last.”

The woman was the first to speak as Magnolia strode towards her. She looked down at Magnolia from the flight of steps, smiling unpleasantly. She was dressed in an expensive gown of silk, and her fingers glittered with magical rings.

Unlike Magnolia, who had a kind of genteel, relaxed aristocratic air about her, this woman seemed to embrace her own importance. She had commanding eyes, piercing blue and not diminished by her age. For that matter, her face and hair reflected little of her years as well, both being the products of expensive [Alchemist] potions and creams. Her hair was a dark brown, accented by—

Magnolia reached the top of the stairs and shoved the older woman out of the way as she was about to speak. The woman stumbled, caught herself, and turned, white with fury. She opened her mouth and realized that Magnolia was striding into the mansion already.

Magnolia!

Confusion, panic, and fear dominated the two younger Reinharts. One of them stumbled and the other shrieked in outrage.

“She pushed me! That maid—”

“Good job, Ressa. Keep up! Aunt Cecille, wonderful to see you. Get out of my way. Young Wernel, I notice you have a sword. Keep it sheathed or Ressa will do something about it. Is that Damia I hear screaming back there, Ressa?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Excellent. Wonderful lungs. She screams like a banshee, which puts me in mind of my sisters. All four of them. Let’s leave her behind, shall we?”

The two accelerated their pace, forcing Lady Cecille Reinhart to chase after Magnolia while venting her fury.

“How dare you, Magnolia! Is this the way you treat—slow down! Where are you running to? You haven’t returned to your estates for years and—slow down, I said!

Magnolia did not slow down. She rounded a corner of the mansion, brushing past surprised servants, navigating from memory. Cecille hitched up her skirt and ran to catch up.

“The rest of your family awaits you in the parlor. They are demanding—”

“When aren’t they? I haven’t the time to deal with them, Cecille. Make my excuses if you want, but I’ll only be here long enough to grab what I came for and leave.”

Magnolia glanced sideways at her aunt. The woman’s face was red with fury.

“You think you can do as you please because you’re the head of the family?”

“Yes.”

Once again, Cecille was left standing gaping in outrage. She had to hurry to catch up again.

“And what is so—”

“I’m going to meet Grandfather. I need an army, and I intend for him to give me one. You may come if you wish. We’re nearly there.”

Magnolia threw open a pair of double doors and began descending. The wonderful, expensive and exotic carpeting which she’d gone past too quickly to appreciate turned into a sloping hallway of stone leading downwards. Cecille, whose hair was now far too frazzled to comment on, paused as she realized where she was, and where Magnolia was going. She turned pale.

“Grandf—you can’t mean to—how bad is the situation outside?”

“Wonderful. Just lovely, really.”

“Truly?”

No. Why do you think I’m here?”

Magnolia tapped her foot impatiently as Ressa began walking down the corridor. She scowled up at the woman wavering at the entrance to the passageway.

“Well, Aunt Cecille? Coming?”

The older [Lady] of the Reinharts stared at Magnolia. She looked down at the stone passageway—still lovely craftsmanship, it had been constructed by Dwarves after all—but far older and abandoned compared to the modem mansion above. She hesitated.

And then fled.

Magnolia slammed the doors shut without a word and continued downwards, her shoes clicking as they touched the cold stone flooring. Ressa was waiting for her at the bottom of the ramp and they proceeded past ancient murals on the walls, vistas of past triumphs and defeats—the history of the Reinharts.

It was a very, very long passage because of that. The two women talked quietly as they walked quickly down the hallway, slowly descending further and further below the mansion. A ring on Magnolia’s finger began to vibrate as they walked and she took it off with a grimace.

“I forgot it does that. What an unpleasant time I’m having, Ressa. First I have to see Aunt Cecille, and that spoiled brat of a son she has. Did you see the magic sword he was trying to show us?”

“Just as well I kicked him as we passed. Otherwise I’m sure he would have followed. Your Aunt Cecille’s smart enough not to come down here, but he might actually try to accompany us.”

“Did you? Ah, you’re too thoughtful, Ressa. And you got to shove young Damia. I envy you.”

The [Maid] quietly smiled as she and Magnolia walked. She glanced over her shoulder, back towards the rest of the mansion.

“The rest of your family won’t be happy about this. I’d expect the entire lot to be waiting for you when you’re done.”

“They’re never happy, Ressa. And they probably never will be. So what? So long as I get what I come for, I’ll be happy enough to kick whomever I please afterwards. Now, let’s be ready. I hate meeting the old man and today I’m going to ask a lot from him. This will be tough enough without worrying about my lovely relatives.”

They had arrived. Magnolia strode into a different room than all the others she’d stormed through in the last few minutes. Here she stopped. For in this place, at the bottom of the Reinhart mansion, sudden movements might see you very dead.

A brief description of the Reinhart estate proper would be helpful in describing this room, for it was everything the mansion was not. If richness in every variety and excess was the theme that had been used to decorate the mansion by rich, if not particularly tasteful individuals, the theme of this underground room was magic.

And danger. A double line of runes formed a circle around the entrance to the grand room, and a slight shimmer in the air marked off a field that Magnolia did not approach. Beyond the magical boundaries lay—well, one word for it would be an armory.

Or a hoard. If Ryoka Griffin had been in this room, she would have felt a similarity between this room and the hoard of Teriarch the dragon. True, the rows of floating magical weapons, bookcases full of sealed magical scrolls and other lists of rare and valuable artifacts spoke of a greater deal of organization and attention to detail than Teriarch’s amiable splendor, but it was nevertheless a collection of wealth beyond most people’s wildest dreams.

Magnolia, who dreamed of confectionaries, was not impressed. She tapped her foot and then raised her hand and rapped on the invisible force field blocking her from the rest of the armory. Ressa, standing at her side and looking wary, winced. The unflappable maid was tenser here than she had been at any time during their long journey.

Her mistress was not. She raised her voice and cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted.

Hello? Anyone there? Grandfather, I know you’re listening! Come out already! I haven’t got all day!”

Ressa shifted uncomfortably.

“Magnolia. Maybe it would be best to wait—”

“Give the old man a second to insist on ceremony and make an entrance and we’ll be here all day, Ressa. Old man, I know you’re out there! Come here, you pretentious letch!”

For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of Ressa swallowing. Then—footsteps. They came from a part deeper in the armory, where eyesight began to blur. Someone began walking towards Magnolia and Ressa. Had he been standing there all along? Or had he been called by Magnolia’s voice?

An old man walked into the center of the armory and stopped in front of the barrier that separated Magnolia from the rest of the room. He was old, yes, but hardly old enough to be called ‘grandfather’; he was in his mid-sixties and looked spry although it was true that his head of hair was almost completely grey.

He was dressed in a fashion that had gone out of style centuries ago, and was so old that it would have been trendy by today’s standards. That was because fashion was cyclical, not linear. But age was not, and so the man’s eyes contained a depth to them that few other beings possessed. An agelessness similar, but not akin to the look in Ivolethe’s eyes, or Teriarch’s.

Four attendants, all young women, seemed to materialize from the back and came closer, spreading out the room around the old man. They were clearly [Maids] as well from the way they dressed, but they too were garbed in a style far older than the plain black and white Ressa was wearing. They nodded to Magnolia’s maid and she nodded back, as one did to fellow workers in the same trade.

The old man and Magnolia faced each other across the magical divide, locking gazes and then looking each other up and down. He peered at her with a frown, and then spoke.

“Young Magnolia. I should have known it would be you, girl. Only you would have the audacity to address me so casually.”

Magnolia snorted.

“As if your detection spells didn’t warn you I was coming the instant I set foot in the manor. Let’s dispense with the meaningless pleasantries, Grandfather. You know why I’m here.”

“Manners, brat. Or have you forgotten who it is you’re speaking to?”

The old man stared down at Magnolia imperiously. She sighed, and gave him a very fake, very unconvincing smile.

“Oh, forgive me great uncle Regis. Or is it great, great, great, great, great, great, great uncle Regis? A few hundred more greats? Would you like me to say that every time we meet?”

There was a snigger. It did not come from Regis. One of the attendants covered her mouth. Regis turned red and half turned to look at her before rounding on Magnolia.

“I am your honored ancestor, girl!”

“And I don’t care, you puffed up ghost.”

Ressa watched the interplay between Magnolia and Regis, whom she called Grandfather because Great Uncle was equally as incorrect. Ressa would never have dared to be so impolite to him on the other hand. She could sense the enchantments on this room, and they were making her sweat.

Detection spells, truth spells, and so many protection spells that Ressa felt like she were standing in front of a wall made of magic, for all it looked like a few glowing runes on the floor. But that was intentional. The real proof behind the magic contained in this vault lay in the old man himself.

He was dead. He had died over three thousand and eight hundred years ago in this very room. But his memory lived on, as perfect a reflection of the soul as there was in this world. Regis Reinhart stared at his grandniece of countless generations with a frown of annoyance on his face.

“You are impertinent, unruly, rude—which is still better than your cowardly relatives, I must admit. Do you know that they haven’t dared set foot down here since you left?”

Magnolia smiled.

“I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. They don’t like being reminded that you’re here. The dead should stay dead in their eyes, especially if the dead know all of their mortal foibles and failings.”

Regis laughed shortly. Yes, he was dead, but he was alive in this room. A miracle of magic, or rather, one specific kind of it.

“You children. When did necromancy become such a horrific thing? When I was young, [Necromancers] were as valuable as diamonds! And if your family had a lick of sense between them, they’d realize that someone who’s lived for thousands of years might have some decent advice in his head to share with them!”

“Especially one who delights on spying on them and everyone he can.”

The old man bridled at the implication.

“What I do is to safeguard—”

“Yes, yes. Your time honored duty and all that. It doesn’t excuse what you do, old man. How many scrying spells do you have built into this place anyways?”

He grimaced.

“Not enough. The outside world is a complex place to keep track of, as you well know, girl. And my descendants within the estate are hardly valuable sources of information. They spend their time lazing about, bickering, and not doing anything of worth. That inbred lot is useless to pay attention to unless I wish to keep up with ballroom gossip.”

Magnolia smiled, although it was so bitter it couldn’t really be called a proper smile.

“Useless, yes. Inbred—no. I’m pleased that we’ve saved ourselves from that issue quite handily by entertaining prostitution, scandalous affairs, and if my wonderful family can rise up to the challenge, harassing the hired help. The Reinhart legacy is free from that issue for a few generations, at least.”

It was Regis’ turn to smile sourly.

“Tell that to Wernel and his half-sister, Damia. They quite enjoy each other’s company. Unbeknownst to their aunt, I might add.”

There was a pause. Ressa saw Magnolia’s face twist.

“Ew. I shall have a word with Cecille about that. Please do not inform me of the other indiscretions of my family, Grandfather Regis, or I believe I won’t sleep tonight.”

“As you wish. Tell me why you have come then, and I shall decide whether it was in vain, or not.”

Regis crossed his arms and his attendants came forward. Magnolia nodded. Now she was completely serious. She stepped closer to the barrier that kept Regis’ memory in the world and spoke.

“I, Magnolia Reinhart, do return to my ancestral home to claim the right of my blood. I ask for relics of the past for war and protection, to protect the lands our family has claimed, to destroy our enemies, and safeguard our legacy.”

Regis’ eyes glittered as he stared down at her.

“You have proven yourself a worthy scion over the decades you have ruled the family, girl. You have protected our name and returned more riches to this vault than you have taken. More than the other unworthy descendants of our house. So you may take what is needed. What is needed—and no more.”

His voice echoed through the room, and there was an acknowledgement. The barrier surrounding Magnolia and Ressa faded. Magnolia stepped forwards, and then she was standing in front of Regis. He reached out and grasped her by the arms, smiling down at her. She kicked him.

“Enough, old man.”

Regis’ face contorted and he grasped at his shin as Magnolia strode past him. His attendants hurried to his side as Ressa stood where she was. She knew better than to try and enter the armory.

“Ungrateful wretch!”

“We do this every time. Take what’s needed? Hah! The motto is ‘give more than you take’, you greedy fool. By rights I should walk out of here with a quarter of the contents of this armory in a bag of holding, rather than let you keep it.”

Magnolia strode past him and the attendants who’d been preserved along with Regis. To her, they were as real to the touch as they had been in life, and clearly felt the same, too. Only in this place, though. Ressa looked at Regis as one of the women helped him up and then she looked away. When Regis Reinhart had made the sacrifice to keep his soul here to safeguard the Reinhart treasures, he’d insisted on four [Maids] being preserved with him. The reason was obvious, and both Ressa and Magnolia detested the old man for it.

But he was the guardian. And though Magnolia picked up swords and looked through scrolls on shelves as Regis swore and limped after her, she could take nothing out of the armory without his consent. Which is why they began arguing again in the center of the room.

“I should ban you from this place for a decade for your disrespect—”

“Save it. You know as well as I that I’m owed whatever I need.”

Regis growled.

“In times of need! You can’t simply remove artifacts whenever you feel like it, as I’ve explained to your sister and brothers time and time again! If there’s a war, I’ll let you have what you need. But to my knowledge, there’s no war going on. Just more infighting, assassinations, a Goblin Lord—”

“That doesn’t count as a war anymore? My, how the times have changed.”

“On the contrary.”

The specter scowled as one of his attendants faded from view and came back with a drink in one hand and a map of the continent which she hung in the air. More ‘features’ of the enchantment that held him. Ressa was of the opinion that Regis had turned his sacrifice into a very enjoyable form of immortality as well as a way to safeguard the Reinhart legacy from greedy future generations.

Now Regis sipped at his drink, not deigning to offer Magnolia one. She could have drunk it too, for what passed into the armory became part of it. One of Regis’ requirements was for several barrels of the finest vintages to be rolled into this place every year.

Regis sighed as he wiped a bit of liquid from around his mouth with a napkin and then indicated the map.

“A Goblin Lord has and ever will be a threat. Not one necessarily worthy of a Reinhart, but I have heard of these assassinations too, child. They trouble me. The Circle of Thorns haunted your grandmother, and though I gave her aid, she died with their curse still yet lingering over the family. For that hint of danger alone I would give you something.”

“Good to know you’re keeping track of things.”

Magnolia nodded as she sat down in a seat one of the attendant ghost maids brought for her. She tapped a foot on the ground, not disturbed at all by where she was. Regis sat too.

“So you come for what? Detection spells to find the master of the assassins? Guardians to protect you?”

“I have Ressa for that. Don’t scowl, you know she’s capable. No, I need an army and arms against the Goblin Lord, Grandfather. You know he’s a threat. He crushed two Drake armies recently. Had you heard of that?”

Regis grimaced.

“No. I’ve been working to establish new informants, but it is passing difficult when I lack a body and must conceal my nature! I would have heard in time doubtless, but—how many in each army. Did they work together? What was their leadership?”

“Two Drake armies, one led by a Gnoll and the other a Drake from a Walled City. Both high-level [Generals]—”

“Hah! High level by your standards perhaps.”

High level, and commanding strong, experienced warriors. They worked together, old man. Both armies were ten thousand strong. Not a huge force, I will admit, but they went into the mountains hunting the Goblin Lord and were completely defeated. A single [Scout] made it out of the massacre and said they were wiped out to the last Drake.”

Silence. Ressa saw Regis swallow a mouthful of his drink, no longer looking content.

“That changes things. A Goblin Lord that just won a victory is dangerous. His army will grow stronger and replenish itself in days whatever the losses he took. And with that, he grows one step closer to becoming a Goblin King. You were right to come here.”

He got up and studied the map of the continent. It was old, but most of the geographical locations were unchanged.

“The Goblin Lord was south of Liscor the last I heard. I assume that’s where he fought? He’ll come north, I agree with that, but perhaps he’ll get bogged down around Liscor. It’s winter, isn’t it? If you wait, come spring the valley will be impassible—”

“He’ll come north before that, I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know?”

Regis frowned at Magnolia as she stood up. She calmly traced a line past Liscor north. There were no cities listed on the map around there; when Regis had been young, the Gnolls had occupied the north as wandering tribes.

“They won’t attack Liscor. Goblin Lords aren’t idiots. He’ll march right past and start sacking cities, and then spring will roll around and he’ll be trapped on the north side as our problem.”

“An intriguing conclusion. May I ask—”

Magnolia tapped the city of Liscor on the map, one of two gateways between north and south. In the days when Regis’ map had been made, a Dwarf city had stood in the High Passes. Now it was lost to time.

“The Necromancer couldn’t bring down Liscor’s wall in a month. The Antinium couldn’t do it either, and every time we send our armies down to battle the Drakes in the blood fields in the time honored tradition of wasting lives for no gain, we ignore the city. Because it is too difficult to take without a truly powerful siege weapon, a massive army, a magical artifact, or a being of immense power.”

“Like a Dragon.”

Regis folded his arms, and suddenly, with the obsession of an old man who enjoyed harping on the complaints of the young, glared at Magnolia.

“Why don’t you have that scaled disgrace of a lover you trysted with do your dirty work for you, girl? I’m sure he’d make quick work of a Goblin Lord—if he ever bestirred himself from his caverns, that is!”

Magnolia turned and scowled at him. Regis retreated out of kicking range.

“You know as well as I that if I asked Teriarch for help he’d refuse. And I don’t expect to be lectured on my private affairs from you. Insult me or Teriarch again and I’ll dispel your damn enchantments and break this armory open to rest your departed soul, dear Grandfather.

“Hah! You wouldn’t dare try, brat! Reinharts of the past have broken themselves against the enchantments that keep me here!”

The old man smiled smugly and folded his arms, supremely confident. Magnolia, who breathed the stuff, smiled nastily.

“My ‘scaled disgrace of a lover’ as you put it, has informed me that he would certainly be able to dispel or destroy the enchantments protecting you, oh loving grandfather of mine.”

Regis Reinhart paled.

“You wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t dare! The risk—”

“Oh, he’d risk it. For half the treasury. I told him no, as I don’t plan on giving away half of the Reinhart legacy to sit in his caves for him to gloat over. But tempt me, and I’ll see how fast he can teleport over here.”

The threat seemed to stun Regis for a moment. He made an inarticulate noise.

“Enough of this. The Dragon may rest and sleep himself into oblivion. I’d rather he stayed there in case the Necromancer returns. You haven’t told me what you’re planning on doing with him. The rest of the continent may sleep at ease believing him gone, but you and I know he’s a threat.”

“Why, I plan on dealing with him just as soon as I deal with the Antinium. Which, I may remind you, you failed to anticipate being a threat. ‘Leave them alone and the Drakes will handle it’, I believe you said.”

“Don’t quote my errors, girl—”

“And don’t lecture me on Az’kerash, you fool. I know he’s a danger, but I also know that a [Necromancer] may only raise a single army, however strong he is. He can split that army, but it’s hardly as dangerous as six Hives which can overrun countless cities.”

Magnolia tapped the map where six points had been marked around the south eastern part of the continent.

“Kill one Queen and the rest will lead her Hive. Kill the [Necromancer] and his undead lose their master. I’ll kill him when I’m ready or when he makes a mistake. I have more than enough to deal with now.”

“True. So this Goblin Lord. I’m prepared to give you a good deal child. You have contributed to the Reinhart family, I will admit, so what you need is yours. Name it.”

Regis waved a hand regally and his attendants stepped forwards with swords, rings, magic scrolls and other objects of power in their hands. Magnolia looked around dismissively and then pointed.

“I’ll have that. The Crown of Flowers.”

On a pedestal across from her sat a laurel wreath made of glowing flowers. When Magnolia spoke one of the attendants dropped the sword she was carrying. Regis nearly choked on his drink.

“What? No! What would possess you to—out of the question!”

“You said what I wanted.”

Within reason! That is one of the three great treasures of this armory! If I let you have it again—anyways, its power is weak in the winter.”

“Its power is sufficient to end any Goblin threat old man, winter or not. Give it to me and I’ll not ask for anything more.”

Regis scowled at Magnolia.

“If you were going to conquer the continent, I’d let you have it. Or if there were a genuine Goblin King. A Lord doesn’t warrant that artifact, not by far.”

“What about a Great Goblin Chieftain? Ever heard of one of those, Grandfather? One appeared in the Dwarfhalls Rest. Apparently it’s been living there since the last Goblin King fell and it fought for the Goblin King.”

“A Great Chieftain? I’ve never heard…no, perhaps there were some…I do recall one or two over the years.”

Regis floated away from Magnolia, forgetting to walk for a moment. His form grew misty and transparent as he thought.

“I do recall such Goblins, though rarely. They are akin to Goblin Lords, but lack the drive to be Kings. Thus, they are dangerous. You say one has been here without your knowledge?”

“And it seeks to join the Goblin Lord. The Goblin Lord, great uncle, who may well be a King if left unchecked.”

“More and more reason why you should finish him quickly. But not with the Crown of Flowers.”

Magnolia sighed, but Ressa knew that the Crown of Flowers had been a long shot anyways. Magnolia turned back to the map.

“Very well. I’m currently levying soldiers from every city from here to Invrisil. I intend to form an army and attack this Great Chieftain first, and then the Goblin Lord.”

“A sound plan. How many soldiers…?”

“Forty thousand give or take. Hardly as large as the armies we send to fight with the Drakes each year, but enough for a Goblin Lord.”

“Assuming he hasn’t grown too large. Have you a [General] for this army, or do you plan to lead it yourself like you did as a child?”

Magnolia folded her arms and stared icily at Regis.

“I have a [General] in mind that is more than competant. But I require arms for him, soldiers from my estate, and more artifacts besides. Give them to me.”

Regis gritted his teeth, seeming to calculate unseen odds and numbers before nodding.

“What do you want?”

“I will have forty thousand soldiers and a [General], grandfather. Give me two companies of our own warriors and some battle golems. Armor fit for a [General]—he won’t need a weapon. And a magical artifact to deal with this ‘Great Goblin Chieftain’. Oh, and give Ressa a dagger.”

The guardian of the armory pursed his lips, looking put out by Magnolia’s demands. He glanced at Ressa, who stood straight and returned his gaze as it probed her. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded.

“It will be done. I will give orders. You may take two companies of [Knights], armed with minor magical artifacts. I will give you the armor of your forebears for this [General], and three battle golems. Your maid—”

“Gets a dagger. Or a shortsword. She can use both. But it has to be concealable.”

“Assassins. Bah. Very well, I will grant her the Keing Dagger—”

“That’s a poor artifact. Give her the Yawning Blade, you cheapskate.”

“For her? No. She may have the Vision of Grasses and I will expect it returned when this business is done.”

Regis pulled a dagger out of the air and handed it to Ressa. The blade was curved and tinted green, and tapered off into a cutting edge that eyes alone could not see. Ressa bowed as she accepted it and took exquisite care not to let the edges touch any part of her body.

“There. As for this artifact you require—I will give you one that can dispose of the Great Chieftain personally. One moment.”

Magnolia waited and found herself being handed a tube with countless symbols etched into it after a moment. It looked like a very cylindrical vase, or an over tall cup of some kind. She dubiously stared into it and the attendant who’d given it to her snatched it back.

Please treat it carefully, Lady Reinhart. This device will activate if you will it, and it is capable of felling a Giant.”

“A shame that they were all wiped out, then.”

Magnolia took the tube back and tossed it up in the air. Then she caught it and pointed it around, aiming casually.

“How do I—? Oh, yes, I see. I just have to think and it’ll trigger, correct? How very handy. I can’t wait to see what it does.”

She swung the tube carelessly, aiming it around the armory. Everyone ducked, including Regis. He roared at her as Ressa picked herself up from the floor.

Careful with that, brat! Do you know how many of your ancestors have died from magical artifacts they’ve used improperly?”

“Not many if they had to get them from you, great uncle. Now, I’d love to be going soon, but I felt I should mention one last thing. While I was requesting soldiers, it came to my attention that Tyrion Veltras is doing the same. It seems he intends to raise an army to deal with the Goblin Lord, although he was quite content to leave them alone earlier.”

Regis’ face purpled as he got to his feet. He roared, making his attendants clap their hands to their ears.

“The Veltras? Those lowborn dogs want to steal glory and a march on our family? Why didn’t you tell me before? If you had, I’d have given you all that you asked without arguing!”

Magnolia smiled sweetly.

“Because now you’ll give me everything I asked for and more, grandfather. Or would you like Tyrion Veltras to be the one responsible for defeating both the Goblin Lord and this Great Chieftain?”

Regis stared at Magnolia, eye twitching. Ressa saw one of the attendants—two of them, actually—giggling, and wondered if their long years of imprisonment here were bearable after all. She hoped so, for their sakes.

As for her, Ressa looked at her mistress as she stared down her immortal ancestor. He glared at her, swore, cursed her mother and her mother’s mother, all of whom had dealt with him before, and then, surprisingly, smiled.

“You’re an impertinent brat. You always were. I suppose this is why you make for such a good head of the family, though. It’s children like you who make me think we’ll take this continent yet.”

He smiled fondly at Magnolia, who rolled her eyes. Ressa sighed too, as Regis began to speak about Magnolia’s great, great, great, great grandmother.

Visiting the family was always a tiresome affair.

 

—-

 

They left the estate in good time after they parted with Regis. He had Magnolia’s soldiers and arms ready when they left. The family wasn’t trouble either. When they saw Magnolia coming out of the stairwell with the magical artifact of devastation pointed right at them, they fled.

“Aunt Cecille? A word as we leave.”

Magnolia called out to one of the women fleeing the range of the tube she was holding. She handed it to Ressa, who cradled the deadly artifact with a great deal more care than Magnolia. The two women strode on.

“Before I deal with Cecille, have word sent to Lady Bethal, Ressa. I know her Knights of the Petal are quite good. I’d like them to hunt down that other Goblin Chieftain—you know, the one that’s been waylaying travelers on the road?”

“By herself?”

“She has Thomast. He could probably outduel any Chieftain living, and if worse comes to worst, Bethal’s intelligent enough to retreat. However, I think that her knights will make short work of the problem. She’s to join me at Dwarfhalls Rest later. We will bring down the Goblin Chieftain as soon as I can march the army all the way there. Argh, but it’ll take forever. A shame I couldn’t borrow the Banner of Terland but—he’d never let me have it.”

“First the Goblin Chieftain and then the Goblin Lord. In quick succession. You aren’t waiting for them I see.”

Magnolia smiled coldly. Regis had the eyes of a being who’d lived for thousands of years, but Magnolia’s eyes were more distant still.

“I don’t play games, Ressa. I have assassins to deal with, the Antinium, Az’kerash—and now this issue of otherworlders that Regis doesn’t know about. I can’t waste time on a Goblin Lord.”

She paused and then kicked at one of the walls, speaking loudly at the ceiling.

“You hear that, old man? Time to broaden your scrying! There’s more at stake here than the continent and you had no idea until I told you about it! Guardian of the Reinhart legacy my foot!

A loud curse echoed through the mansion, making Lady Cecille cower as she scuttled up to Magnolia. The head of the Reinhart family sighed and walked on. Ressa followed, smiling slightly.

 

—-

 

The mighty planned and made preparations for war. That was how it was. That was how it always was in Izril. Unlike Baleros, where war was more like endless conflicts between mercenaries and seldom engulfed the entire continent, or Chandrar where it happened between kingdoms more rarely in the deserts, Izril had only one war. That of the Drakes and the Humans.

Oh, and the Gnolls of course. The tribes were always an issue. And the Antinium, damn them! And if it came to that, the Goblins were a threat. But to Drakes, the threat had always been Humans. Always. They had landed on their shores millennia ago, and Drakes never forgave the land they had ceded to the Humans. Never.

Terandria had politics. Rhir struggled for survival. But Drakes had a foe. Those damn Humans. It was more of a bad rivalry now, true, as neither side did more than send armies to the Blood Fields each year to kill each other. But give them half a chance and the Drakes would happily invade the north, while the Humans would do the same.

That was why Drakes were ready for battle. And in Liscor, the council—a group of individuals who represented different facets of the city from the Captain of the Watch to the [Strategist] that was required by law to be present in case of emergencies—knew what to do. Or rather, they knew what they were supposed to do.

Olesm Swifttail sat around the table, feeling very nervous and very, very unsure of himself. Drake law was clear and it outlined the steps a city should take in cases like now. But unlike a Human invasion which would mandate instant support from every Drake city on the continent, the situation with the Goblin Lord was different.

He had crushed two armies sent against him. Two. Armies. Both had been led by famous generals. Thrissiam Blackwing and Garusa Weatherfur were legends to Olesm. The thought that they’d both fallen in battle made him fear for his city.

He was just a [Tactician]. Hardly qualified to make decisions about the city. And the Council—well, Olesm didn’t like to badmouth fellow Drakes, but they were only a nominal ruling body that took care of bureaucratic measures. They weren’t leaders.

And they were all Drakes. Olesm would have loved to have Krshia in the Council rather than the appointed Head Merchant, a Drake with less experience than the Gnoll. But politics were politics. Of the group, the few people who seemed in control and knew what to do were Watch Captain Zevara, Wall Lord Ilvriss, General Zel Shivertail, and the Named Adventurer, Regrika Blackpaw.

It was reassuring to have them all here. Very reassuring. Olesm thought the other Council members would have panicked if it weren’t for such legends being in the room, reassuring them. They might have panicked anyways, but there was another factor keeping the room somewhat calm.

The Humans. The Human, in point of fact. Jelaqua Ivrith and Ulrien Sparson were both here, but Olesm knew for a fact that Jelaqua was a Selphid. But to the other Council members it probably didn’t matter. Jelaqua looked like a Human, so she counted.

Thus, the prevailing mood was nervousness, but hidden by bravado. Yes, the situation was grim. However, you couldn’t let the Humans see that, could you? Had to put on a brave face. Yes, stiff upper tails and all that. It seemed the other Drakes were reminding each other they had to stay calm in front of the Humans.

“I think we’re agreed, then.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss spoke as he leaned over the table, and Olesm sat upright guiltily. He’d been dozing off—the meeting had gone on for hours. Ignoring the guilty starts of the others in the room, Lord Ilvriss summarized the main points they’d discussed.

“Word has already been sent to the other cities. I expect my city will send another army—a larger one—to destroy this Goblin Lord in due time. No doubt it will be a confederation army after all. However, in the meantime Liscor must stand. To that end, a message spell has been sent to Liscor’s army.”

“Which isn’t here because…I don’t get that bit.”

Ilvriss turned and glared, only half-acknowledging Jelaqua’s bright smile. Zel cleared his throat and nodded at the Gold-rank adventurers. They were awarded a place at the meeting due to their experience, although neither Ulrien nor Jelaqua had spoken much up till now.

“Liscor’s army is a mercenary one. They spend months, sometimes years in the field, earning money. They’re exceptionally good at their job—with them here the Goblin Lord could assault the walls and would definitely fail to seize the city.”

“However, they’re too far away to return and preoccupied with fighting. They have agreed to send a unit to defend the city. They should arrive…in time.”

Zevara gritted her teeth and lashed her tail. Olesm winced. The reply from Liscor’s army had been short, concise, and unhelpful. But that was the relationship between city and army. It was always strained.

Ilvriss cleared his throat, looking annoyed at the interruptions.

“In the meantime, we shall prepare the city for attack. If it comes to it, we can hold the walls long enough for reinforcements. However, I doubt the Goblin Lord is foolish enough to besiege us. If he is…”

If he was, it was war. Olesm swallowed hard and looked around the room. The plan was good and simple and it had mostly been politics argued over so far. However, no one had brought up the white Dragon in the room and Olesm was afraid that if he didn’t speak now, he’d lose the nerve. Cautiously he coughed and raised a hand.

Instantly, every eye was on him. Olesm felt himself pale as Zel Shivertail himself looked at him, but he stood and spoke hoarsely.

“Begging your pardon Wall Lord—”

Ilvriss nodded graciously at Olesm, smiling a bit. He had been very nice to the Drake, which was at odds with all the things Erin and Ryoka said about him. Olesm continued, speaking to him and Zel.

“—But what about the Antinium? I understand that if it comes to a siege, the Antinium are called upon to defend the city. However…”

Ilvriss’ smile vanished and Zel shifted. The two Drakes looked at each other as the council room fell silent. Yes, the treaty clearly spoke about Antinium aiding the city. But they had only done it once, when Skinner attacked. And the feelings the two Drakes had about the Antinium were abundantly clear.

“If it comes to that young Swifttail, we shall…appraise the Antinium situation as need be.”

Ilvriss spoke to Olesm, but, the Drake sensed, to Zel as well. The [General] nodded.

“They may be helpful. If not…”

Another silence. If not, it might mean another war, far worse than any war with a Goblin Lord. Olesm looked around and sank into his seat. Now he was wishing he hadn’t brought up the issue, because he was really worried.

“If it is the Antinium that concerns you, perhaps it would be best to focus on the Goblin Lord as a threat first, yes? A known enemy in the trees and one underfoot is better than a shadow on both sides.”

Someone else spoke up. Regrika Blackpaw leaned over the table, larger than life, a giant of a Gnoll. She smiled reassuringly at Olesm and he found himself smiling in return. Ilvriss nodded.

“True. I would like to know how our warnings about the Goblin Lord were ignored so badly both armies were surrounded.”

“They knew about the undead, but the exploding ones we saw must not have been mentioned to either general. Or whoever briefed them thought it wasn’t a concern. Neither one expected them to be underground.”

Zel muttered. Ilvriss pounded the table with a fist.

“Ridiculous! If I find the Drake who thought the undead weren’t a concern—”

“The [Scout] that Hawk found fled the battle before the end, but he saw the undead rising. His conclusion was that the Goblin Lord was far more powerful a [Necromancer] than anyone suspected. Hiding the undead beneath the snow—that’s a tactic Az’kerash used to use in the Second Antinium War.”

Ilvriss and Zel shared a concerned glance. Olesm’s heart beat wildly. The [Scout] that Hawk had found had been on the edges of the battlefield near the end. He’d seen the last charge of Garusa Weatherfur, and heard the horns signaling a full retreat. No one close to the place where Thrissiam Blackwing had made his last stand had survived.

“Hrm. It is not good, no. But we must know how much of the Goblin Lord’s army lives, yes? I know Goblins rebuild their forces quickly. It is essential to find out. Hrr. Are there any who might scout the army?”

Regrika looked around the table at the Council. A few heads shook—the leader of the Adventurer’s Guild, a very old Drake lady that Olesm recognized, spoke up. She was Selys’ grandmother.

“There’s not a Drake or Gnoll adventurer worthy of the name in the city who could do it to my knowledge. Not a City Runner either; Hawk might be able to do it, but he would refuse to go near the Goblin Lord’s army. Quite sensibly, too.”

“There’s a [Scout] in my party, Halrac Everam. He might be able to do it, but I’d hate to risk him as well.”

Ulrien volunteered the information quietly, and the Council members looked at him. The huge Human man was like a reassuring rock, for all he was…Human. Zel shook his head.

“I would hate to have any of our best die trying to scout the Goblin Lord’s army, Regrika.”

“Hrm. True. But are you sure there are no City Runners of renown? I would love to see a list—if the Courier Hawk will not do it, a City Runner might. Courage is needed in dire times, and I would speak to any who might volunteer for such a mission.”

The Gnoll [Champion] seemed insistent, so after a moment one of the Council members fetched a list with names of City Runners in Liscor. Regrika pawed through the list, staring at sketches of faces, names, levels, and then looked up.

“I see the issue. Few with high levels. Are you sure there are no others?”

The Council hesitated. Olesm realized they had overlooked someone and spoke up excitedly.

“What about the door to Celum? There are more adventurers and Runners through there.”

Regrika blinked at him.

“A door? What is this?”

Olesm explained briefly about Erin’s magical door, and the Named Adventurer Gnoll shook her head in amazement. That she was impressed made Olesm proud for Erin. Zel nodded slowly.

“True. I’d overlooked the door, but if it came to a siege, I would hope that Erin would allow us to bring her inside the city. Her door could sustain us in a siege and bring reinforcements if needed—”

“Humans!”

Ilvriss uttered it as a curse and folded his arms. But Olesm had remembered something else about the inn and edged over to Regrika Blackpaw tentatively.

“There is another Runner who might be willing to take the risk, Miss Blackpaw.”

“Oh? Why is she not on the list? Is she Human?”

The Named Adventurer looked intrigued. Olesm nodded eagerly.

“Her name is Ryoka Griffin. She’s quite good—she ran through the High Passes by herself, once! I could introduce you to her perhaps.”

“A Human female? A City Runner? Or…a Courier?”

“Not a Courier, Miss Blackpaw, but she’s probably the closest to it in Liscor or Celum!”

Regrika bared her teeth in a smile.

“I would like to meet such a Human. Yes, thank you Olesm Swifttail.”

Olesm flushed with pride. Jelaqua spoke up as well, coming over while Zel and Ilvriss and Zevara argued about Humans.

“We all stay at the inn. We’d be happy to show you around after this.”

“I would be most honored, yes. And I shall introduce you to my companion too. She is a powerful [Mage], a Gold-rank adventurer. We must drink together, yes?”

“Of course! I’m sure Erin and Ryoka would be honored to meet you!”

Olesm practically fell over himself with pleasure. Another famous guest for Erin’s inn! Wouldn’t she be pleased when Olesm brought a Named Adventurer to her inn?

After a moment Ilvriss called everyone to order. He pointedly tapped on the map with the Goblin Lord’s probable location on it.

“Our business is not concluded. We have more to do. Regardless of whether or not the Goblin Lord attacks, I suspect him to head north. If he does, we must ensure the nearby villages are cleared long before his arrival and track his movements heading north. Hopefully he becomes the Humans’ problem. Either way, we must prepare ourselves.”

Ilvriss’ eyes glinted as he looked around the room, meeting everyone’s gaze but Ulrien and Jelaqua’s.

“The Goblin Lord must die.”

 

—-

 

“The Goblin Lord must die. However, I regret to say that we will most likely be gone before he falls.”

Xrn stood in the chamber of the Queen of the Free Antinium and spoke calmly as she held her staff. Three other Antinium stood with her. Tersk of the Armored Antinium, Pivr of the Flying Antinium, still covered in wounds, and Klbkch. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked down at Xrn.

“I see. You will return to the Hives?”

The blue Antinium lowered her head and Klbkch felt an ache in his chest.

“I must. The Grand Queen wishes me to return and fears I may be wounded if the Goblin Lord attacks.”

“I see.”

Klbkch’s Queen shifted her weight. He saw her looking from Prognugator to Prognugator, and then at Pivr’s wounded form with some satisfaction. Her only comment was to Xrn, though.

“I trust you have seen what my Hive has produced and seen the worth of it.”

“I have.”

Tersk stepped forwards and bowed. He was still not wearing his armor. He seemed greatly changed as he addressed both Klbkch and the Queen.

“I have seen much my Queen will see the value of. Much. I will petition her to recognize your Hive formally.”

“I too. The Antinium should not face such a threat below. Not alone.”

Pivr spoke up, sounding subdued. Klbkch glanced at him, surprised. Xrn nodded at both and then spoke up, voice clear as she clicked her mandibles together respectfully.

“We have agreed that your Hive is worthy, Queen of the Free Antinium. To that end, we shall request that a link be set up between Hives. We have magical artifacts that may do so—for now, we must communicate between Listeners.”

Ah, yes. The Antinium created specifically to listen. It was a crude way of communicating at distance and the other Hives all used magical artifacts to speak, rather than Listeners. But the Free Antinium had been cut off for years thanks to their ‘unproven’ status. Klbkch tasted acid. His Queen surely felt the same, but she only inclined her head to Xrn.

“In ages past we linked minds. Now…we cannot. However, I will confer with the other Queens as to what is to be done about this Goblin Lord, gladly.”

“I am pleased, oh Queen of the Free Antinium. I thank you for your hospitality, though we shall linger for a few days more. I wish to…take in this city, and I understand both Tersk and Pivr have their own needs.”

Xrn nodded at Klbkch. He nodded back. They had a few more moments. Time…oh, it was so fleeting. But perhaps this door—Erin’s door—they had talked, Xrn and he. They had made plans for the future. So had his Queen. The Antinium would live. They would restore themselves and return to Rhir. This Goblin Lord wasn’t worth mentioning.

 

—-

 

Osthia Blackwing was now convinced that there was no greater threat on the continent than the Goblin Lord. None. Not even the Antinium were so dangerous. Not because the Goblin Lord himself was that terrifying—he would have lost the battle against her uncle and Garusa normally. No, it was his master that scared Osthia to her core.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, hovered in the air before the kneeling Goblin Lord in his tent. Osthia, bound and helpless, could only stare up at the projection of the dreaded enemy of the Drakes as his deathless gaze swept the tent.

Black eyes and white pupils. One look from the [Necromancer] sent chills down Osthia’s tail. But the man’s voice was refined, scholarly.

“I do not see why you need the Drake. Oldblood she may be, but a useful corpse she is not. Unless you intend to keep her for other…diversions?”

There was disapproval in his tone. Osthia shivered in cold fury. She would rather die. But the Goblin Lord hadn’t touched her except to interrogate her about his master. The kneeling Goblin shook his head.

“She is spy. Tells me information.”

“Information I already have.”

Az’kerash’s voice was filled with scorn. He gestured at Osthia, and then made a gesture. A map floated in the air in front of Osthia.

“I need no spies, only magic. And I have given you your orders. Go past Liscor. Reclaim the Goblins in the mountain. Tame their leader, build your forces. Wreak havoc among the Human lands and become the Goblin King if you are able. If not, die cursing your weakness.”

He stared down at his apprentice, the Goblin Lord. But it seemed to Osthia that Az’kerash was speaking not as a master to a pupil, but a disinterested owner giving instructions to a dog. The Goblin Lord’s fate only mildly concerned Az’kerash. It was chaos he craved.

“I have my trusted servants in Liscor. Their tasks must not be compromised. They have been occupied there for a long time, it seems. Gathering information.”

Servants? Osthia started. The [Necromancer] had servants? Az’kerash seemed preoccupied, but suddenly the Goblin Lord laughed. Both the Drake and man stared at him.

“What do you find funny?”

“Servants? Not in Liscor long time.”

“Really? I was assured by Ijvani that they had reached the city long past when I inquired.”

The [Necromancer]’s eyes narrowed. The Goblin Lord laughed again, clearly delighting in informing his master of the lie.

“Not true. I met them. A week ago. They were lost. Could not find Liscor.”

“Indeed?”

Az’kerash’s brows snapped together. He frowned.

“In that case, it seems I must reprimand my servants. Thank you for telling me.”

Both Osthia and the Goblin Lord took some small pleasure in seeing the irritation on the Necromancer’s face. He waved a hand, about to dismiss the spell and then spoke curtly.

“Go north as I have told you, my apprentice. Burn the cities as you pass. Leave strong ones undefended. And kill the Drake. I do not like loose ends.”

His image vanished. Osthia saw the Goblin Lord stand up, brushing dirt from his knees. He looked at her. And she knew that she would live.

Because if there was anything the Goblin Lord could do to spite the Necromancer, he would. He was Az’kerash’s enemy as much as anyone. But Osthia feared…she feared they were all just pawns in some larger game the Necromancer was playing. She just wished she could tell someone what was happening.

 

—-

 

Plots and treachery. Intrigue, planning—the minds of the leaders of many sides plotted and thought away across the continent. Each had their own agenda. Each was a fool. For however strong they may be, whatever powers they possessed, what were they?

Merely mortal. Well, Az’kerash might be an exception, but he was still young. Especially by Dragon standards.

In a game of armies and kings, of death and battle, a lone Dragon sat in his cave, aloof from it all. He was mighty. He had lived through the rise and fall of greater empires than any that now existed on the earth. He was a ruler of fire, one of the last and mightiest of his kind. He was a Dragon.

And now he had reached perfection. On the ground of his cavern, the Dragon gently and with exquisite care, extended a claw. With the finest of control he gently lowered the talon a fraction and tapped a glowing screen.

The iPhone beneath the Dragon blinked for a second, its screen glowing brightly in the dim light. It was surrounded by ice and cooled by powerful freezing spells; it seemed that it had a tendency to overheat and Teriarch couldn’t be bothered to keep repairing it with magic.

And the iPhone was especially strained as of now. Teriarch’s eyes flicked as he analyzed the small screen and he breathed out. At last. He had done it. He had struggled—so hard! And he had persevered. He had accomplished what no other being in this world had done, he was sure of it.

“Let me see. As of now, I am producing…”

His eyes flickered over the screen. Teriarch counted for a moment, and then took a breath.

“Five hundred thirty-eight quintillion, two hundred fifty-five quadrillion, eight hundred two trillion, nine hundred seventy-one billion, six hundred twenty-one million, three hundred sixty-two thousand, four hundred and eight…excuse me, four hundred and nine cookies per second, given of course a lack of any manual input on my part.”

Teriarch proudly stared down at the screen of the iPhone, which was showing a game and a lot of numbers. Cookie Clicker, the app, ran on as Teriarch gently tapped the screen a few times, watching cookies soar across the screen.

He’d done it. He’d clicked the screen, bought many, many upgrades, and finally, become a lord of cookies. Teriarch had no idea what the strange confectionaries actually tasted like, but he was sure they were some sort of granulated sugar treat. He’d had similar substances over the years, even if he’d never had ‘chocolate chip’ cookies.

And now he was producing so many! Teriarch was at the head of a virtual cookie empire that could literally bury his opponents live in cookies. He had enough cookies to fill the sea, to build himself a castle and army! He could do anything! He was a cookie god!

The Dragon blinked at the tiny screen and then slowly rolled—or perhaps collapsed—onto his side. He stared at the screen.

“I feel so empty.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.27 H

[Warrior Level 1!]

[Skill – Basic Footwork obtained!]

 

[Princess Level 6!]

[Skill – Royal Tax obtained!]

 

Lyonette woke up. The bright sunlight of dawn was the first thing she saw through the open curtains of her window. She looked around in a sudden panic, remembered that Erin had told her to sleep in today, and relaxed. Then her eyes widened.

“Oh. Oh!

There was a ball of fur sleeping next to her, hogging the blanket. Lyonette gathered up Mrsha in her arms and hugged the Gnoll gently, ignoring Mrsha’s sleepy protests.

“I did it! I did it! Mrsha! I leveled!”

A paw slapped Lyonette in the mouth. Mrsha sagged in Lyonette’s arms, completely limp. Gently, Lyonette put the Gnoll back in her bed and then got up and paced around the room frantically.

“I—it happened at last! At last! How? It has to be—Brunkr? But I just did that because—I thought—I never expected—no wonder Mavia leveled up then, if that’s what knighting people does! Why didn’t Mother or Father ever say…? But I leveled! And I got a Skill! [Royal Tax]. I’m sure I saw it listed in the secret book of kings father showed me…”

She paused, gulping for air and feeling dizzy. Lyonette turned around and hesitated. She saw a pile of blankets and a pillow on the other side of the room. Ryoka slept with Lyonette and Mrsha, but she’d already woken up and gone out it seemed.

“I can’t talk to her about it anyways. I could but, it’s dangerous…”

Suddenly, Lyonette drooped. The excitement in her veins faded slightly. She’d done it. She’d finally leveled as a [Princess]. But she couldn’t tell anyone that news. She had no one to talk to.

Glumly, Lyonette went downstairs and found the inn was full of visitors already. Erin greeted her as Lyonette mechanically served tables and brought drinks and food out.

“Thanks, Miss Human.”

A group of Drakes had just finished their meal. They counted up coins and tossed them onto the table. Lyonette blinked down at the silver and copper coins and called out.

“Wait! You overpaid.”

“Did we?”

The Drakes turned. One, with dusky orange scales counted up the coins with a claw.

“Nope, looks good to us.”

He and the others left. Lyonette blinked down at the coins. They had overpaid, by about three copper coins!

“Ooh, what’s this about pay?”

Erin materialized out of the kitchen, bits of fish scales on her hands. She cocked her head as Lyonette showed her the coins.

“There are three extra. I feel bad, because they paid too much—”

“Oh, that’s not overpaying, that’s a tip!”

“A tip?”

Lyonette bit her lip. Was the extra tip…? Surely not! But she owned nothing on this continent. Why wouldn’t her Skill affect her job?

“Here’s the extra—”

She tried to give it to Erin, but the [Innkeeper] pushed the coins back into her hand.

“No, it’s a tip, Lyonette, a tip! I can’t take that! You keep it and add it to your salary—which I am paying you, now.”

“Okay.”

The [Princess] went back to busing tables, noting that Ishkr got nothing like a tip. However, the next three tables all gave her tips, usually one or two copper coins at most. They didn’t blink at giving her the tip, although Lyonette pointed out the extra money. Nor did anyone comment on the extra money either. It was unconscious, the way they added up coins and gave her a tiny bit extra. A royal tax indeed.

Lyonette wished she could tell Erin. But that would put the girl in danger, wouldn’t it? All she could do was helplessly feed Apista, and then take a short break to rest her head in her hands in her room upstairs.

Mrsha was up by now, but she was busy having breakfast at a table downstairs. Lyonette sat in her room and heard a thump. She looked up and saw an Antinium Worker pause in her doorway. He was holding a very long length of wood in one hand. Above, she could hear hammering and many bodies shuffling about.

The Antinium were still working on a third floor and a new wing to the inn. Lyonette sighed and stood up as more Workers filed past her with wood, roof tiles, and buckets of copper nails.

No one knew she was a [Princess]. That secret she had kept, out of fear for what might happen and more recently, shame. No one on this continent knew Lyonette’s true identity, save for Magnolia Reinhart herself. No one knew Lyonette was royalty.

That was how it had to be. Lyonette told herself that as she went downstairs with a smile, to play with Mrsha and help Ishkr with the crowds. It was safer this way. Her identity was a danger to the people she had grown to love. So she had to keep the secret. Lyonette had told no one who she was, and no one would ever know a [Princess] worked in the Wandering Inn.

Okay, Pawn knew. And Ryoka. And…yes, Magnolia Reinhart and whomever she’d told. But that was hardly anyone! Besides that, no one knew.

No one at all.

 

—-

 

“Yeah, she’s definitely a princess. I’m one hundred percent sure. Two hundred percent.”

Ryoka picked at the sliced raw meat Krshia had offered her in a bowl and wondered if it was full of E.coli or some other native bacteria to this world. She wondered if there were some tactful way to refuse eating it. She sighed, pushed the bowl back, and sat back on her side of the couch.

Krshia blinked at her. She and Brunkr were sitting in the Gnoll [Shopkeeper]’s apartment. Their ears were twitching, a sure sign of agitation. Ryoka scowled at them.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t figure it out? It was obvious! I’d expect Erin not to pick up on the clues, but you two? Lyonette talks and acts like she’s been raised in a rich household! She thinks you need a separate fork for salad!”

The Gnolls shifted. Brunkr looked at Krshia, and his aunt shrugged helplessly.

“We did not speak to Lyonette so much as witness her actions, Ryoka Griffin. They were that of a thief, and her speech and etiquette were not displayed to us. However, what Brunkr heard and his new class—”

“A [Knight]. I am a [Knight].”

Brunkr stared in shock at his paws. Ryoka sighed.

“You woke up and got the class. But you knew you’d get it, because you heard Lyonette knighting you, right?”

The male Gnoll nodded.

“Ishkr did too. But I could not believe—a [Princess]? Truly?”

Maybe it was part of the culture in this world. Ryoka watched as the Gnolls exchanged wide-eyed looks. In her world, on earth, meeting royalty was still a big deal for a lot of people, but it wasn’t unheard of. People with royal blood were people too; a lot of the mystique around them had vanished over the years. Whereas in this world princesses were, well, [Princesses].

“It doesn’t change much.”

Krshia frowned.

“But it does. Her actions change when viewed as that of a [Princess]. Harming her would be a grave mistake, yes? As for her importance…”

“She can make people into [Knights]. And she can serve beer. I don’t see what else makes her special.”

Ryoka sighed. She could tell this might lead to something in the future and she was already not enjoying the thought of it. She shifted in her seat.

“Okay, Lyonette’s royalty. It’s big. Don’t tell anyone, although I bet all the Gnolls know about it already. But isn’t there a more important person in Liscor right now? Who’s this Regrika Blackpaw?”

The name made both Krshia and Brunkr sit up proudly. The female Gnoll smiled at Ryoka.

“She is a hero. A legend. I know not why she has come to Liscor if that is what you are asking. She is not of our tribe and we have not had the opportunity to speak with her. But it is enough that she is here, and her motives are her own, yes?”

“You seem excited to meet her. She’s a big deal?”

“A Named Adventurer is famous. A legend. How can we not look up to someone who has accomplished so much? We Gnolls crave such figures as all people do. It is an honor to meet her.”

Ryoka nodded. She could understand that. Regrika Blackpaw was like a sports star, a celebrity, a national hero. She saw Brunkr stand up and flex his arms and then pace around both couches, unable to sit still. He no longer wore a bandage on his right arm; it had completely healed. Now the Gnoll seemed to vibrate with energy and excitement.

“It is times like this that makes me glad I was born, yes? My dream is in me. I have my arm, and debts to pay. I will be a [Knight] worthy of my class! And strong. It is good honored Blackpaw came here. It tells me to look up to the sky and dream of what I could be.”

He turned to Ryoka, eyes shining. She saw a smile on his face—a somewhat scary sight given the sharp canine teeth Gnolls had. But she had to smile back. Ryoka glanced around, eyed the bowl of raw meat, and then nodded to the door.

“Yeah. What we can be. I’d love to stay Krshia, Brunkr, but I have a date with the wind and snow. I’ll uh, see you around.”

She had intended to make this a quick visit, but Krshia’s paw shot out and pushed Ryoka back into her seat. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked shocked as she shook her head.

“You have not touched your food yet. We could not let you go without hospitality, especially not to one who is a friend to our clan.”

“What? Aw, no. I’m really—”

“I insist. Eat. And then we must celebrate Brunkr’s new class, yes? We shall feast, and invite Erin. Or perhaps have our celebration at her inn! You will come as an honored guest.”

There was no getting out of it. Ryoka found the bowl of chopped meat pressed into her hands. She grinned weakly and cursed herself for not jumping out the window when she had a chance. Oh well.

At least Ivolethe would like the food.

 

—-

 

“Gnolls.”

Someone said the word. The four members of the Horns of Hammerad looked up to see who said it, and then down. No one in their party had said it—it was a group of Humans sitting a few tables away.

Other adventurers. They looked as dispirited as the Horns of Hammerad. As any other adventurer in the room, really. They were sitting in the Adventurer’s Guild. And today, no one was feeling too energetic. No one except the Gnolls, that was.

They were out in force today, taking requests, chatting, tails wagging, standing tall. The other adventurers, Drakes, Humans, and the other races like half-Elves, sat and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The reason was simple: they’d gotten a glimpse of Regrika Blackpaw and been crushed.

Not physically. The Gnoll wasn’t walking around smacking people with her paws or her greatsword, although if she was, who could stop her? No, it was a mental attack. The Named Adventurer probably hadn’t even realized she was doing it. But she’d effectively crushed the spirits of all the adventurers in the city just by walking down the street.

Ceria Springwalker sat at a table and felt like one of the little beetles coming out from a rotting floorboard at the table. She felt like one of them, especially when Ksmvr surreptitiously bent down and crunched one between his mandibles. She felt like a little beetle after seeing a Named Adventurer in the flesh.

Again.

The half-Elf could remember when she’d met Gazi the Omniscient. The feeling was similar. It wasn’t just the presence such people exuded, it was knowing all the things they’d accomplished and then measuring yourself against them.

It made you feel small.

As she sat, Ceria fingered the wand that Ryoka had brought back from Invrisil for her. A wand, some magic robes, and a burned spellbook…what else did she have? Nothing. Her magic was a tiny snowflake in the wind compared to real adventurers.

“They look happy.”

This time someone at their table spoke. Ceria didn’t look up; she could hear Pisces’ voice. She nodded, staring at another beetle.

“The Gnolls? Why shouldn’t they be? She’s their hero. A Named Adventurer from your species walks in, and of course you’re happy.”

“Right.”

Someone else spoke. Yvlon.

“What’s her title? I mean, her nickname. Don’t all Named Adventurers get one?”

“Regrika the Fortress. I think.”

A pause.

“Not very original.”

“Try saying that to her face. I—oh, wait, that’s not it. I got it mixed up. She’s nicknamed ‘Fortress Blackpaw’. Because no one can lay a scratch on her.”

Ceria sighed and looked up as a pair of Antinium fingers picked up another beetle. She saw Ksmvr freeze as he lifted the squirming insect up. Of all the adventurers, he looked the least concerned.

“Pardon me Captain Ceria. Is eating bugs off the floor not permitted? Should I pay for my consumption?”

“I think they’ll pay you if you eat enough, Ksmvr. Aren’t you…bothered by seeing a Named Adventurer?”

The Antinium considered the question.

“I am not sure. What emotions should her visage produce in me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Hopelessness, despair. A sensation that you’ll never reach that level no matter how hard you try and that your entire life has been wasted because you can’t imagine yourself ever becoming that famous or successful?”

Ceria slumped over the table and saw Pisces and Yvlon wince. Ksmvr paused.

“No, I do not believe so. I will inform you if such emotions cross my mind. Are they to be desired?”

Hollow laughter was his response. The Horns of Hammerad sat. They did feel small. Small and unworthy. They only looked up when someone called their name.

“Hey! You lot! Come over and stop moping about!”

A female Drake with light green scales was waving at them from the receptionist’s desk. The Horns got up and slowly trudged over to Selys. She regarded them critically.

“You look terrible. What, is just seeing a Named Adventurer enough to make you all act like invalids?”

Pisces raised a hand.

“I am, in fact, nursing a hangover as well, Miss Selys. So if you could lower your voice?”

He rubbed at his haggard face as both Yvlon and Ceria glared at him. Selys sighed.

“I don’t know why Erin puts up with you, I really don’t. Okay, time to do my job. I’ve talked with my grandm—the Guildmaster. I’m sorry, but you’re not certified Gold-rank adventurers yet. You’ll have to take on a few requests and prove you can handle yourselves before you get the new rank.”

She looked sympathetic as all the Horns of Hammerad groaned. Ceria felt a weight settle on her back. She knew it was unlikely, but she’d hoped they could become Gold-rank adventurers. But new armor and weapons did not a Gold-rank adventurer make.

“Told you we should have tried it at the guild in Celum.”

Pisces grumbled. Yvlon shook her head.

“That would be…awkward. At least we know where we stand. Is that all, Selys?”

“No. Actually, I’ve got more bad news for you. Or rather, Pisces.”

Selys sighed as she leaned over the counter. Pisces frowned.

“What about? Ah. Don’t tell me. My class has once again stigmatized me in the eyes of your Guild.”

“Don’t be so dramatic! It’s not like that—”

Pisces crossed his arms, frowning. Selys hesitated.

“Okay, maybe it’s because you’re a [Necromancer]. Word’s spread and people like my grandmother, the Guildmaster, are a bit…unhappy.”

That was surprising and unwelcome news. Pisces scowled. Suddenly concerned, Ceria put her hands on the desk.

“Hold on, I thought no one had an issue with Pisces being a [Necromancer]. He wasn’t when we reformed the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t an adventurer until recently. And with all this news about the Goblin Lord and his undead army…”

“I should have known. It seems my magic is unwelcome wherever I go.”

Already Pisces was withdrawing, growing more hostile by the moment. Ceria turned to him and held up a hand. He subsided briefly, looking angry. She remembered that look from Wistram and turned desperately to Selys.

“I know Pisces’ magic is a touchy subject around here, what with the Necromancer, but he hasn’t done anything wr—okay, he hasn’t done much wrong.”

“I know, I know!”

Selys looked frustrated. She tapped a claw on the counter.

“Look, we’re not kicking him out. And we’re not saying he can’t practice necromancy. He just can’t animate, uh, people.”

“What? But that’s—”

“It’s the rules. I’m sorry. If we see him raising dead bodies—no matter what the reason—he’ll be arrested. Or worse.”

“So I am prevented from my craft. How wonderfully tolerant.”

Pisces sneered. Selys gave him a look.

“I’m just relaying orders, Mister Necromancer. While you’re in Liscor or around the city, you can’t use the corpses of people.”

“Of any species?”

“Funny you should mention that. I have a list. Let’s see…no using Drake corpses, Drake bones, Gnoll corpses or bones, the remains of Humans, Minotaurs, Centaurs, half-Elves, Dwarves, Drowned Women—or Men—the parts of Stitch People, any aspect of a Dullahan…not sure if they have bones, so that’s why the wording’s so…anyways, no Gazer bodies either…”

Selys ran down a very long list of what was probably every major known species in the world. She had to take a few deep breaths when she’d finished. Pisces was looking even more irate now, but Ceria had noticed an omission in the Drake’s list of undeadables.

“You didn’t have Lizardfolk on that list. Is that a mistake?”

“Oh, no. The city’s fine with using their bodies, if you find them.”

“How lenient.

Pisces was clearly agitated. Ceria traded glances with Yvlon. On one hand she understood the city’s desire for undead to be kept off the streets. On the other hand, a blanket ban against all undead was…reasonable. But Pisces was part of their group. She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Other adventurers were staring at their group, and most were eying Pisces with no small deal of hostility. The [Necromancer]’s shoulders were hunched. He was clearly aware of the staring and he seemed ready to snap. Ceria opened her mouth, unsure if she could defend him, when someone else leaned on the table.

Ksmvr. He cleared his throat and gently snapped his mandibles together.

“Miss Shivertail, may I state my objections to your restrictions on my fellow teammate?”

Selys blinked at the Antinium and eyed him for a moment.

“Uh, okay. What’s the problem?”

Ksmvr nodded. Oblivious to the stares, he raised his voice and spoke calmly.

“I feel that this restriction on the summoning of undead is unjust. You are restricting our tactical diversity with such actions. The raising of the dead is a key facet to the [Necromancer] class, and I for one object to the crippling of one of my fellow adventurer’s abilities. I am sure my colleagues feel the same.”

He nodded around the room at the shocked Drakes, Humans and Gnolls. There was a pause and one of the Drakes, a short fellow with black scales stood up.

“Not I! I’m glad I don’t have to deal with a [Necromancer], let alone journey with one! Who knows if he’d turn me into a zombie after I died! Would you like that, Antinium?”

There was a great deal of hostility in his voice, which Ksmvr seemed to completely ignore. The Antinium nodded calmly.

“I would be insulted if he did not use my body.”

The black-scaled Drake paused.

“What? Are you insane? Why would you want that?”

Ksmvr clicked his mandibles together.

“Animating a fallen teammate’s corpse is the only sound tactical decision to be made in a combat situation. Or would you prefer to let your comrades lie where they fall?”

Ceria found herself edging away from the Antinium a bit as he turned and spoke. She and Yvlon were biting their lips. Pisces was staring.

Selys coughed gingerly.

“That’s uh—not what we want, Ksmvr. In fact, that’s sort of why Pisces isn’t allowed to animate the dead in the first place. No one wants to end up as a zombie or ghoul.”

The Antinium turned, looking somewhat irate.

“But that makes no sense. I object most strongly to this rule. Are you implying that my corpse has no tactical value in combat?”

He leaned over the counter, addressing Selys directly.

“I can assure you that my deceased form is quite operable in many situations so long as it has not been dissected, disintegrated, incinerated, consumed, possessed, liquefied, or—”

“Alright, thank you Selys! We’ll be going now. Come on, Ksmvr.”

Ceria dragged Ksmvr back. She desperately signaled to Yvlon, and the female warrior helped Ceria pull the Antinium to the door. Ksmvr was still trying to lecture everyone on the benefits of his corpse as a tool of utility. Pisces was trying not to laugh, and everyone was staring.

They made it out the door and it slammed shut behind them. In the snowy street, Ceria looked around. Yvlon met her eyes, and then both heard a grunting sound. They looked and saw Pisces, trying not to guffaw. Ksmvr looked at him, and then at Ceria.

“Is comrade Pisces alright, Captain?”

“Fine.”

Ceria sighed. She wanted to cover her face with her hands and get drunk. But she couldn’t. Instead, she pointed.

“Let’s go back to the inn.”

This was her team. Her terrible, mismatched, insane…team. She saw Yvlon smiling for a second as Pisces nearly choked on his robes and then how she caught herself and frowned at the [Necromancer].

Her team. Some days Ceria wondered if they were really a team, or if they would break apart. They were so fragile. Like glass. And they were so, so…weak.

 

—-

 

Later that day, around lunch, Ceria was sitting at a table eating and reading from her burnt spellbook when she looked up suddenly and shouted.

I did it!

Heads turned. The Horns of Hammerad were in the inn along with Ryoka and the Gold-rank adventuring teams. They were having a day off, and Ryoka had come by to tell Erin the Gnolls were having a huge party in her inn later that day.

“You did what?”

Pisces raised his head up. He had been drinking again. It seemed like he was determined to enjoy Erin’s hospitality as much as he could, and he was having a second plate of pasta. Ksmvr, determined to copy Pisces, was doing the same, happily scarfing down gluten thanks to his enchanted ring.

“I did it, Pisces. I learned the spell.”

Ceria sat back, her mind buzzing, staring in shock at the slightly burnt pages of the spellbook in front of her. And in her head was something else as well.

Knowledge. A…certainty. A revelation, the sense of a puzzle finally clicking into place. Certainty, in an uncertain world.

Magic.

“[Ice Wall].”

Ceria breathed the words. A sheet of ice rose in front of her table, cutting off Pisces’ robes and freezing then in place. It was a thin wall, but it was a wall, and as Pisces yelped and tried to free himself, Ceria felt the magic surging in her. She looked around and saw people staring.

“Ice magic!”

Jelaqua sat up, chortling and pointing. Erin rushed out of the kitchen and exclaimed when she saw the six foot high barrier of ice. It was cold enough that it wasn’t melting yet, despite the warm room.

“Oh! Wow! It’s that spell you told me about! The one your old master knew how to use! Did you learn how to do it just now Ceria? That’s amazing!

“Amazing and cold! Free my leg, Springwalker!”

Pisces howled at Ceria and blew hot flames onto the barrier of ice before she could dispel the magic. The ice melted onto Pisces’ robes, drenching the young man. Ceria watched as Ksmvr helped kick the ice wall apart, grinning stupidly.

“It’s not as strong as some examples of the spell I’ve seen, but for a first time attempt it’s quite reasonable. Yes indeed, I am quite impressed.”

Typhenous smiled as he leaned forwards, hands on his staff. Jelaqua pounded the table.

“Hah! A [Mage] learning a spell’s another reason for a party!”

“Wait, so you just learned it?”

Erin looked at Ceria. The half-Elf smiled.

“I just did. Remember that spell I was working on? The one that that mage—Teriarch—showed me? It was [Ice Wall]. I knew how the spell worked and Illphres was beginning to teach me it but—”

There were tears around the edges of her eyes. The half-Elf wiped at them, feeling mystified and relieved at once. Pisces stopped brushing at the water on his robes and glanced up at Ceria. She looked at him and felt the past drawing at her.

“Ah.”

That was all he said. He eyed the wall of ice, half melted and broken in place and tapped it.

“Half a foot thick. As Typhenous has said, a quite passable first attempt. Useful in a myriad of situations I would imagine.”

“Yeah.”

Ceria grinned, still brushing at her eyes. She felt Erin hovering around her back.

“It’s—it’s great. I’ve wondered if I could master it, but I figured it out so quickly—”

“A Tier 4 spell. Worthy of any Gold-rank mage, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes. Not my forte, but I know similar spells and have made use of them on many occasions.”

Typhenous came over. He nodded to Ceria, a smile on his face. Ceria was accepting his compliments, and Moore’s, when the door opened.

“Yvlon!”

The armored women came in, brushing snow off of her new armor. She had the enchanted sword and buckler at her side. When she saw the wall of ice she halted.

“What’s this?”

“A wall of ice. I just learned how to cast it.”

Yvlon stared as Ceria explained in brief. The human woman nodded brusquely.

“Good. Just in time. I’ve got a request for us at last. It’s just past Esthelm.”

“What?”

Ceria sat up as Ksmvr and Pisces both looked up from their position around the fireplace. The half-Elf frowned at Yvlon and opened her mouth. Yvlon looked grim, and a bit upset, although Ceria couldn’t have said exactly why.

Erin looked from Ceria to Yvlon with a slight frown on her face.

“You’re going on a request? Fighting? I mean, you’re going to hunt monsters and stuff?”

“So it seems. We talked, but I didn’t—”

Ceria realized the other adventurers were looking and coughed.

“Good job, Yvlon. What’s the request?”

“Bears. There’s three of them that have been bothering the people of Esthelm. Scaring [Hunters], going after people in their home—it’s not worth much, but someone needs to get rid of them before they kill someone.”

The other people in the inn clustered around Yvlon as she explained. Apparently the cave had already been found and it wasn’t far. The request was a simple extermination one. The only catch was that the bears were all adult. And male.

Ryoka frowned. She was sitting at a table as Ceria, Pisces, and Yvlon sat around the table. Ksmvr had gone into Liscor to find them a transport.

“I was under the impression that bears—especially male bears—hunted alone. Wouldn’t they kill each other rather than work together?”

Ceria shook her head. She was pondering over a map of the region and trying to eye Yvlon while she spoke. The other woman was ignoring her looks.

“When times get tough, even bears will work together to bring down big monsters. It’s a tough world.”

“Sounds like a simple mission. Better watch out, though.”

Halrac came over. The [Scout] didn’t speak much, but apparently he was familiar with this sort of request. He nodded at Ceria.

“Make sure they’re not Mothbears. It’s hard to imagine a [Hunter] mistaking one for the other, but it can happen. Also check to make sure they’re not rabid.”

Jelaqua nodded.

“Or infected with Brainshrooms! We had to fight through half a forest’s worth of animals controlled by fungi one time. Not fun! I got one on my head and I had to get rid of my body before the mushrooms got me!”

“We’ll do that. I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Ceria mumbled as she looked from Pisces to Yvlon. He was frowning and Yvlon wasn’t staring at either of her teammates. Both adventurers looked concerned, for different reasons. Ceria was too. But she forced a smile for the sake of the others.

“I guess we’ll see. It’s just bears. How hard—”

She paused as Erin and Ryoka winced. Ceria gulped and sighed.

“We’d better get moving.”

 

—-

 

“So, why did you decide to take the request, Yvlon? Without asking us?”

Ceria tried to keep her voice neutral as she covered herself with a cloak. She was sitting in a wagon as it bumped along the frozen ground. Pisces and Ksmvr both looked up from their seats at Yvlon. The armored woman glanced up at Ceria and shrugged.

“I got tired of sitting around. I’m as healed as—well, I’m better now, and we’ve got all these new artifacts. We want to be Gold-rank adventurers, right? We might as well start taking requests.”

“To hunt bears. Hardly an illustrious task, or so I feel.”

Pisces frowned. Yvlon glanced at him, and then away. Her regard for Pisces’ opinion couldn’t have been more plain. Ceria saw Pisces’ face harden and spoke up.

“That’s not what I mind. It’s just that we normally talk things over first.”

“We agreed Esthelm was a good place to look for contracts, especially since there’s not much work around Liscor or Celum.”

“Yeah, but—you know what? Never mind.”

Ceria sat back in the wagon. She wondered if this was how Calruz had felt when he was leading the Horns of Hammerad. He’d had to deal with annoying members of his group she recalled. People with strong opinions who made their own decisions. She’d caused him to lose his temper several times while they’d journeyed together.

“Still, I guess I was hoping our first contract would be bigger.”

Yvlon looked up and at Ceria. She shrugged.

“A Silver-rank team would have to prepare for a request like that. You think bears are easy to kill? I bet even someone like Halrac’d set a few traps before trying to bother them in their den.”

“True. I guess I’m too used to hanging around him and the other Gold-rank adventurers to think clearly.”

Ceria sighed.

“After seeing Regrika Blackpaw as well…I bet she’ll enter Liscor’s dungeon tomorrow, or maybe today. I can’t imagine she’d fear many traps and she has that Gold-rank mage with her. Did you see him? I could tell he was a powerful [Mage] across the street. The quests they normally take on…it’s humbling to think about.”

Yvlon grunted, which could have been an acknowledgement.

“Makes you wonder if we’ll ever hit Level 30, let alone Level 40 or higher. You just learned…[Ice Wall]? Is that a really high level spell?”

“No. Yes. It’s one that grows with the [Mage]. My master could make walls of ice several feet thick. I can barely manage a foot if I concentrate.”

Ceria sighed. She’d learned one spell. And while the rush of exhilaration still hadn’t left her, she knew that was one spell compared to the many Illphres had known. And her former master had still died. Put like that, she felt just as bad as she had that morning.

“We’re still Silver-rank. Even with all these artifacts. I thought we should remember that, and chose a request for us to learn our limits.”

The armored woman tapped her sword and the enchanted buckler which could create a force shield. Ceria nodded, but Pisces sat up, suddenly frowning.

“Silver-rank? I would tend to disagree with that assessment, Miss Byres. I consider our collective skillset to be equivalent to a new Gold-rank team. I certainly rate my own prowess at such a level.”

There was a snap in Pisces’ voice that made Ceria wince. He’d been angry all day and it was coming out now, possibly at the worst of times. They were all sitting on a wagon in the cold, and without space, it meant that he was too close to Yvlon to separate.

And Yvlon wasn’t being diplomatic today at all. She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Oh? You think you’re on the level of Halrac, or Typhenous?”

“Of course not.”

Pisces raised his nose and sniffed archly at her.

“Your flawed comparison refers to two veteran Gold-rank adventurers, who occupy a position at the higher end of the simplistic ranking system adventurers employ. However, I know my strengths. I am the highest-level individual in this association, whether in my main class or collectively. My Skills and spells have both been of invaluable service to the party, yet I am crippled by these restrictions placed upon my class.”

“Sensible ones, I’d imagine. No one wants their friend or family to become undead.”

“I hardly go around animating corpses of the recently deceased.”

“No, but some people remember Az’kerash and the havoc he caused. Or are you saying [Necromancers] are all different and that they don’t let their creations prey on the innocent?”

Yvlon sat up, eyes flashing. Ceria opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to interject in time. Pisces drew himself together and spoke gravely.

“I know what Az’kerash did. I do not endorse his beliefs or defend his crimes against the continents of Izril or Terandria. However, as a fellow [Necromancer], I admire what he has achieved. Is that so hard to grasp?”

“It is to me. Admiring anything about the undead. About zombies—

The party was breaking down in front of her eyes. Ceria opened her mouth and saw Ksmvr sitting up, looking from Yvlon to Pisces with apparent concern. Pisces spoke, hunching in on himself, defensive, the same look in his eyes as when he’d been exiled by Wistram’s Council of Mages.

“Ah, so we come to it at last. I have noted your disdain for my profession and my school of magic, Yvlon Byres. Let us not bandy words. You hate me and what I do. Why conceal the truth? You would hardly be the first or last to feel this way.”

He glared at Yvlon, daring her to say it. And when she did, Ceria was sure, Pisces would disappear. Yvlon’s gaze burned. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and—paused. She stared at Pisces and then to the surprise of everyone, shook her head.

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?”

Pisces’ eyes widened. Yvlon sighed.

“I don’t hate you, Pisces. I think you’re annoying, obnoxious at times, and certainly rude. But I don’t hate you.”

That was the last thing Ceria had expected to hear. Yvlon went on.

“I hate necromancy. I hate the undead. You—you wouldn’t be my first dining partner or choice for a teammate, but you I can live with.”

“But necromancy is both my class and specialization as a [Mage]. How do you reconcile that knowledge?”

Pisces studied Yvlon intently, but without the guarded hostility he’d had a moment ago. Yvlon hesitated. She looked at him and then at Ceria. The half-Elf held her breath.

“I—”

“Hey you lot! We’re here!”

All the adventurers jumped. They looked up and saw the man driving the wagon they were sitting on looking back at them. Termin the [Wagon Driver] waved his hand and they saw Esthelm’s walls staring at them. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation that none of the Horns of Hammerad had noticed the city.

“Having a fine argument, were you?”

Termin grinned as they all dismounted the wagon. He was bundled up and stroking the back of one of his horses. He nodded to the city.

“There y’are. You’re looking for a cave, right?”

“That’s right. We’re only a few miles away. I don’t think there’s a road headed that way, so we’ll have to march through the snow to get there.”

Pisces grumbled under this breath, but quietly. He was wearing only his robes despite the freezing cold. He, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Ceria had all had Erin’s special Corusdeer soup and were feeling warm despite the cold wind.

Termin sighed as he looked at him.

“You lot make me feel cold looking at you. I’d offer to stay around to give you a ride back, but…”

“We wouldn’t ask you to do that. Unless you’re planning on making a delivery from Esthelm to Liscor?”

Ceria looked at Termin. He shook his head and pointed down the road past Esthelm.

“I’m headin’ north as fast as I can. If there’s a Goblin Lord coming, I’d rather be closer to Invrisil than not. You adventurers take care of yourselves now. If fortune smiles, we’ll meet again one day.”

They bade him farewell and turned past the city. Ceria got a map out and conferred with the other before beginning to march through the deep snow. They moved in silence for a while. Everyone was wondering what Yvlon had meant to say. No one brought it up. After an hour or two of walking, they reached the cave.

 

—-

 

“Look. Bear tracks.”

“That’s just snow fallen from the cave’s roof.”

“Oh. Are those bear tracks?”

“Nah, that’s…well, it might be. How should I know?”

You’re the half-Elf.”

“So? That’s speciesism right there, Yvlon. You Humans think we half-Elves know everything about the wilderness just because we live closer to it. It’s all just snow to me.”

“I see fur by the entrance, Comrade Yvlon, Captain Ceria.”

“…That’s probably a good sign, Ksmvr. Does the fur tell you how many bears are inside?”

“The report said three.”

“The report was made by a [Hunter] who didn’t get within a hundred meters of the cave. We could be looking at only one very active bear. Or three.”

“Or six.”

Six? Dead gods, Pisces, don’t joke!”

“It is a legitimate concern, Yvlon. If we are uncertain of our chances, we should take precautions. What do you think, Springwalker?”

“Well…I was thinking we could…”

“Yes? Develop a defensive wall of ice perhaps while Ksmvr takes up his bow and a superior vantage point? With my invisibility spell I could attack from the flanks while Yvlon engages them with her enchanted equipment. If I calculate the odds, I would assume—”

“Calculate? Odds? No, I was just thinking we’d charge in there and sort things out.”

“…”

“…Ceria?”

“What? That’s how Calruz did things. Okay, maybe he had a bit of a plan—”

“I will volunteer to be the first to charge in, Captain Ceria. You may assume from my cries for help or of encouragement whether the danger is—”

“Shush, Ksmvr. Okay, let’s just…go in. I don’t think using an invisibility spell would help in scouting, Pisces. Bears have a good sense of smell.”

“Agreed. I would not risk myself. Very well, but what about scaring the bears out with one of the devices we’ve received? That screaming monster lure?”

“Eh. I thought close quarters would be better, actually. Hear me out. I can freeze part of the cave and make it so only one person gets through. Yvlon uses her shield and pokes the bear with her sword—”

“Pokes?”

“You know. Do your warrior thing. I’m not an expert! She pokes, Pisces and I throw spells and keep the ice barriers up, and Ksmvr shoots at the bear and takes over if Yvlon needs to fall back.”

“One at a time. I like it. We box them in. I also have the enchanted ring with the [Shatterbolt] spell embedded in it—”

“Is that what it’s called? Just don’t hit us. Use it only if you have a clear shot. Okay, let’s do this. Yvlon in front, then Ksmvr and me, and Pisces at the rear.”

“Agreed.”

“Got it.”

“Please use my corpse as a tool if I should fall in battle, Comrade Pisces—”

Perhaps there were better ways to enter the cave, but at least the Horns of Hammerad moved in formation and no one was screaming. The cave system was fairly high overhead and wide enough for them to move all shoulder to shoulder if they chose. It was dark, and uncomfortably silent. The Horns of Hammerad moved as quietly as possible, hearing Yvlon’s armor shift quietly, Pisces’ robes brush against the floor, but nothing else.

They found the first bear halfway in. Yvlon knelt by the yellowed skull while Ksmvr kept a lookout with his bow.

“Looks fresh. And whatever ate the bear has sharp teeth. See the bite marks?”

“Cannibalism? The others bears turned on it?”

Ceria whispered. Pisces grunted as he knelt by the skull and shook his head.

“Too small for a bear. These aren’t teeth marks either. It looks like the flesh was…clawed from the bone.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am a [Necromancer].”

“What the hell are we looking at, then?”

They got their answer when they found the second bear’s skeleton. This one was only half-eaten. Ceria blanched as she saw the lower half, still partly intact.

“Dead gods.”

“Something’s feasting on it. This bear’s huge!”

Yvlon eyed the dark cavern ahead of them. Their only source of light were the [Light] spells both Ceria and Pisces had cast. Pisces wrinkled his nose at the smell of the dead bear’s flesh, but he still bent and even touched the half-frozen meat.

“Uh oh.”

Ceria could count the number of times Pisces had said that on one hand. She gripped the new wand in her hand tightly.

“What?”

Pisces looked up and around. He conjured another sphere of light into his hands and threw it deeper into the cave. The light illuminated a dark shape. The third bear. It was dead. And crawling on it, slowly carving away at the bear’s body were gelatinous shapes. Their innards glowed as the light passed by them and they slowly turned.

It was Ksmvr who said the word as he dropped his bow and drew both his shortswords.

“Crelers.”

“Back, back!”

Ceria hissed at Pisces. The [Necromancer] cancelled the light spell and the Horns of Hammerad tried to back up. Too late. The Crelers had noticed the light and movement and their fleshy larval forms were turning themselves inside-out, revealing sharp claws, too many sets of teeth—the first leapt towards Ceria as she shouted.

“Get back! [Ice Wall]!”

The Creler crashed into the sheet of ice, biting and tearing at it with pinchers and claws sharp enough to cut through steel. Pisces threw a ball of fire and drew his rapier as Yvlon raised her shield.

“Get behind me! Ceria! Seal off the tunnel!”

“I’m trying, but there are too many gaps!”

Ceria pointed and another wall of ice rose, covering part of the cave. But her mastery of the spell was only good enough to raise a wall eight feet high. Tall enough to block a bear, but not Crelers. They swarmed around the wall.

“[Ice Spike]!”

“[Lightning Jolt], [Flame Rapier]! Springwalker, get back!”

Pisces thrust Ceria back and disappeared in a blur. He stabbed through one of the Crelers as it leapt, catching it in a fleshy portion of its body. The skewered Creler screeched as Pisces’ flaming rapier impaled it, but it kept moving, trying to climb up the length of the blade and reach Pisces.

“Come. Die.”

Ksmvr was slashing at the Crelers as they swarmed around him, biting at his legs and three arms. Yvlon was cursing. The helmet she was wearing and her plate armor were keeping the Crelers at bay, but they were covering her. She tossed them to one side and split one of the jointed creatures with a slash of her blade. The enchanted sword cut through the Creler’s body with ease.

She was the only one having an easy time of it. Ceria aimed her [Ice Spike] spell and skewered a Creler, and missed another.

“I hate these things so much!”

“Get back! Retreat! Let Yvlon cut them down! Ksmvr!”

Pisces was shouting as a Creler buried itself onto Ksmvr’s shoulder and began to bite into the Antinium. Ksmvr tore the Creler off and tried to stomp it to death; it began trying to eat his foot.

“We took out a nest once! We can do it again! Get back! [Ice Wall]!”

This time the wall was low and wide, more of four foot-high barricade than anything else. It covered the cavern and Ceria saw Pisces leap over it, followed by Ksmvr. The Crelers followed, but they had to jump to get over, making them easy targets.

“Yvlon!”

The woman was slashing, cutting the baby Crelers to bits. Her force shield was shimmering in the air as it repelled Crelers leaping at her. She turned, froze.

Adult!

“What?”

Ceria’s blood ran cold. She saw something shoot out of the darkness of the cave, a huge, scuttling form four feet high and twice as long. It barreled into Yvlon and sent the armored woman crashing to the ground.

It looked like some kind of monstrous pill bug with too many legs, tearing claws, and a glowing, fleshy, transparent underbelly where its organs hung, glowing slightly. The rest of the Creler was biting jaws, claws, all of which lashed Yvlon as she tried to fight it off. But it must have weighed almost as much as a bear, and it was hammering at her breastplate.

And leaving marks. The enchanted metal could withstand the hammer blows, but the Creler’s main jaws opened—horizontally, two smaller maws opening and revealing spitting, gaping mouths, and bit onto Yvlon’s sword arm.

She cried out and Ceria saw her enchanted gauntlets begin to bend under the crushing strength. She raised her hand.

“[Ice Spike]!”

Three spikes of ice shot from her fingers, each one a pointed javelin. They all broke on the Creler’s back, doing no damage.

Yvlon! Someone help her!”

“I will—”

Ksmvr leapt up, impossibly high thanks to his Ring of Jumping and then kicked himself off a wall. He smashed onto the Creler’s back and began hammering at it with his shortswords. The Creler reared up and fell backwards. It crushed Ksmvr and then rolled on top of him. Now the Antinium was the one being savaged.

No!

Yvlon got up and swung her sword. The enchanted weapon bit into the Creler’s armored back as Pisces and Ceria desperately blasted away the baby Crelers. The adult turned, not harmed so much as wary, and charged Yvlon again. This time it smashed into her force shield.

The impact made Yvlon brace herself, but the shield repelled the weight of the Creler flawlessly. Ksmvr got to his feet and slashed at the adult’s back as one of the Crelers landed on Ceria. It had crawled onto the ceiling and got onto her neck. She cried out, reached for it—

Two spikes of pain tore themselves out of her neck. She screamed, fell, convulsing, as agony shot through her entire body. Something was digging at her flesh, and there was burning.

“Ceria!”

A hand tore the burrowing Creler away. Pisces threw the Creler aside and stabbed two as they crawled towards him with his rapier. He picked up Ceria and blasted the ground with fire, keeping the Crelers away.

The half-Elf was shaking, throwing up and burning at the same time.

“You’re poisoned. Can you stand? We have to retreat.”

“Ice—Ice—”

A sheet of ice rose and melted. Ceria couldn’t concentrate. Pisces cursed as he pulled her back. The adult Creler was smashing into Yvlon’s shield, driving her back. The woman swung her sword and this time the Creler charged onto it. The blade was deflected by one of it’s claws and it ran onto Yvlon’s arm, pushing her forearm at a bad angle. Yvlon’s gauntlet resisted the weight and pressure, then bent—

Yvlon stumbled back, one of her arms clearly broken as Ksmvr swung his swords, knocking Crelers away. Pisces was towing Ceria towards the entrance.

“We must run.”

“No. They’ll catch—”

Crelers never gave up. Ceria struggled to her feet, trying to think past the pain and poison. She raised her hands. Pisces looked at the ground. The first bear was right there.

“Give me a moment.”

They both said it at the same time. Ceria raised her hands. Pisces pulled out his wand.

Rise, rise, oh fallen bear. To rend and bite, to rend and tear!

“[Ice Wall]! Yvlon, Ksmvr, move!

This time two walls of ice rose up, one on each side of Ceria. She took a breath and pushed them forwards as baby Crelers surged at her. Ceria ran forwards as the small Crelers were shoved by the moving walls of the ice, forced towards the adult. Ksmvr leapt over the walls of ice, clinging to the ceiling and Yvlon raised her shield as Ceria maneuvered the ice wall around her.

“I’ve got them in a corner! Back up! I’m casting a fireball!”

Ceria felt sick. She threw up as she was casting the spell, as the Crelers were swarming around the barrier of ice. She raised the wand, tried to focus.

“F—[Fireball]!”

There was heat. Light. The explosion kicked Ceria off her feet and blasted Crelers apart. The ones who survived the blast were set alight. They moved, still trying to kill but overheating. Ksmvr slashed at them, leaping down from the ceiling and crushing the ones that moved.

The adult had caught the fireball’s blast too, but it just hunkered down and let the armor of its body shield its organs. It rose as Yvlon circled it and charged her, biting, tearing. Yvlon tried to hack at it with her sword, but her arm—

“Now. Charge!”

The adult turned and a huge paw of bone smashed into what might have been its head. It didn’t flinch and lashed out. Futilely, for once. The skeleton of the bear took no notice of the tearing claws and rammed into the Creler, forcing it back.

“From the other side!”

And a second undead bear stood. Both bears began to smash the Creler from each side, battering it, smashing it into the ground. The monstrosity weathered the blows, tearing bones from each undead, biting—

“It’s too tough! The bears aren’t hurting it!”

Someone was shouting. Ceria was lying on the ground. She felt Pisces picking her up, and saw Ksmvr trying to maneuver around the fighting undead bears and adult Creler. Yvlon had her sword. She was casting aside her shield.

“Pisces! Move the bears! I have to do it!”

“Half-sword. Use the half-sword technique!”

Pisces roared at Yvlon as the two bears backed away. Both were gripping parts of the Creler with their jaws, forcing its attention away from Yvlon. Ceria saw the woman curse and change her grip on the sword. Clumsily, using her broken right arm and left arm together, she gripped the sword by the blade, raising the pommel.

“Now!”

One of the bears was being destroyed as the Creler smashed it into the ground with its superior strength. Yvlon shouted as she ran forwards. The pommel of her blade descended. It was enchanted with the weight spell. It crashed into the adult’s back and went through. It tore open the black armor, deforming the shell under the weight of the blow.

Orange liquid gushed from the opening. The Creler reared up, turned. Pisces flicked his wrist and a bolt of magic shot from the ring on his finger. It pierced the Creler’s exposed underbelly and then fragmented, becoming a splinter of magical needles which tore the thing open.

More orange and red liquid gushed forth. The Creler’s insides burst and the insides deflated as its fluids broke. It kept moving, keening, crawling towards Yvlon. She bashed it several more times, and then backed up. Ksmvr helped pull Ceria away as the adult kept crawling towards them.

It took twenty minutes to die, even without any of its innards. When it was done, Ceria lay on the ground, shaking, the poison running through her.

“It wasn’t too much. You should be fine, but we have to get you to Octavia or a [Healer].”

Yvlon was kneeling by Ceria, watching out for stray Crelers. Ksmvr had her blade and was dicing up the remaining Crelers with Pisces and the undead bears. Ceria blinked at her.

“Your—arm.”

The woman blinked and Ceria looked at her bent right arm. It looked horrible, and blood was leaking around one of the gauntlets, but Yvlon only shrugged.

“Can’t feel it.”

“Why? What?”

Ceria stared at her friend. Yvlon smiled crookedly. She raised her arm broken and waggled it horribly. It shifted and Ceria saw Yvlon’s face change not one bit.

“I can’t feel a thing.”

 

—-

 

“I think we’re done.”

Pisces spoke after a while. He staggered back to the cave entrance where Ceria was sitting up with Yvlon. The half-Elf was feeling better. She’d washed the spot where the Creler had dug into her neck with lots of water and some healing potion. The poison kept the wound from closing and it was horribly deep, but Ceria could think.

“You sure? We can’t leave a single egg behind.”

“Ksmvr was rather thorough. We have diced up every Creler we could find, save for the adult, and begun cremating the remains.”

“Did you get a count? We’ll need to testify under truth spell—”

Yvlon sat next to Ceria, wiping her gore-covered blade with snow.

“I counted eighteen small ones and one adult.”

Eighteen? They felt like hundreds!”

“Only eighteen. Sorry. But you know what the bounty of Crelers is. We’ll earn a lot for each one. As for the adult, I hear it’s a two thousand gold coin prize for killing one!”

“Too bad that’s not an adult.”

What?

Pisces coughed.

“Ksmvr explained it to me. Ksmvr?”

He called and the Antinium walked over. Ksmvr was wounded in several places and there were pieces of chitin missing from his legs, one of his arms, and his shoulder. For all that, he appeared as unconcerned as Yvlon with his injuries.

“Yes, Comrade Pisces? I am attempting to destroy the junior Creler.”

Junior? Oh come on. It’s got to be an adult! I’ve never seen one, but—junior?”

The Antinium nodded at Yvlon and Ceria’s shocked expressions.

“It is decidedly a juvenile example of the species. The ones we encountered en masse were hatchlings of course. But an adult is considerably larger. And it can fly. If we had encountered one such Creler, I doubt we would be alive. It takes many Soldiers to bring down a single adult.”

“Dead gods. No wonder the bounty on them is so high!”

“Indeed. On that note Captain, I am about to dismember and then destroy the juvenile Creler. I would ask that Comrade Pisces help me in incinerating the remains. I also caution you all to avoid eating any part of the Creler. Its eggs may incubate in your body and hatch if you eat it.”

The Antinium looked around in the sudden silence. He shrugged.

“The Antinium have learned this to our detriment. Crelers are not a valid food source for this reason.”

He went back to hacking at the Creler’s corpse. After a moment Yvlon tried to get up and go to him. She tried, because she attempted to use her broken arm to lever herself up until she realized what she was doing. Ceria put a hand over her mouth and Pisces frowned.

“Yvlon, your arm—”

“Can’t feel it.”

“It’s still broken!

Ceria looked in horror at Yvlon. The other woman gave her a pale smile.

“I’m fine, Ceria. Once we get back—”

“I can correct the bones for you and use a healing potion now, if you like.”

Pisces squatted down by Yvlon’s arm and indicated the gauntlet.

“We must only remove the gauntlet first. I fear that will be troublesome—”

“No problem. We can do it. Don’t worry about me; I can’t feel it. Like I said.”

Yvlon gritted her teeth as Pisces tried to remove the bent armor. Ceria had to turn away when she saw the broken skin and protruding bone that was Yvlon’s arm. There was bent steel mixed in with the bone. Pisces hissed under his breath. Yvlon looked down at her arm with disgust, but again, without pain.

“Please hold still. I shall—correct the bones and refit them properly. You may wish to look away.”

Pisces put his hands on Yvlon’s arms and concentrated. The bones began to reshape themselves under her flesh. Both Yvlon and Ceria looked up and away as Pisces spoke.

“You are fortunate that I am present. Using healing potions to mend broken bones is often a futile or dangerous effort. However, in my case—please bear with the sensations for a moment.”

“Like I said—”

“You really can’t feel a thing, can you?”

Ceria stared at Yvlon. The woman’s face was sweaty, but there was no hint of agony in her eyes. Just…a disturbed look. Yvlon nodded.

“I can’t feel a thing. I, aha, have a Skill. [Ignore Pain].”

She twisted her arm as Pisces finished and lifted it. The bones were straight now, whole, despite the metal grafted to them, but the skin—Ceria felt the urge to throw up. Yvlon poured a healing potion on her arm and watched the skin run together like water.

“I’ve heard of older warriors earning Skills like [Lesser Pain Tolerance] which lets them fight on when wounded…”

When she felt she could look, Ceria stared at Yvlon and saw the other woman’s twisted smile. Yvlon swung her arm about, testing it, and then shrugged.

“I didn’t feel my arm break. I only noticed when I couldn’t grip the sword properly.”

“How?”

“It’s a Skill I got. It’s nothing to worry about, Ceria. I’m grateful for it, believe me.”

“Tree shit.”

“Bullshit, if you will excuse my language.”

Pisces and Ceria spoke at the same time. They looked at each other, and then at Yvlon.

“Pig shit. Bird poo. Squirrel feces. Lizard poo. Drake poo. Excuse me. I thought we were listing excrement.”

Ksmvr came over, covered in Creler goo. He cocked his head at the others as they laughed. Ceria shook her head and then glared at Yvlon.

“No one gets—[Ignore Pain] just like that. You’re hiding something, Yvlon. Why didn’t you tell us you couldn’t feel your arms?”

The woman smiled crookedly.

“Because I was grateful. Do you know how much it hurt the day before I slept…? Right after the dungeon, I mean. I was going to scream, but then I leveled up, gained my Skill…and a new class.”

“A new class?”

“[Wounded Warrior].”

Yvlon grinned at Ceria’s shocked expression. Pisces put a finger to his lips thoughtfully.

“Intriguing. I had not heard of such a class…I assume that Skill was one of the, ah, rewards for your transition?”

“The only one I have so far. It’s…I don’t know what to call it. But I could fight. Badly, but I could fight despite my arm breaking.”

“It’s not right. Yvlon, I’m so—”

“What do you want me to say, Ceria? I’m a cripple without that Skill. I wouldn’t be able to move my arms—I’d have to cut them off or scream myself to death. And without Pisces, I’d lose them anyways.”

Yvlon nodded at Pisces. He looked somber.

“I can repair your arms, but I regret that I cannot do anything about the iron fused with your, ah, flesh, Yvlon. It may be removed, but there is not enough bone to reconstruct your arms with afterward.”

“And you can’t…add more bone? I’ve never asked before, but…”

Yvlon nodded subtly at the two undead bears that were standing watch over the burning junior Creler. Ceria’s mouth dropped open. Pisces eyes widened before he shook his head.

“Alas, no. Bones aren’t that easy to use interchangeably, Yvlon. A bear’s bones would be rejected by a human body. So too would any other bones, should you be curious. It is a…a function of your body that it would only accept your bone as part of ‘you’.”

“I see. I guess bones are more complex than I thought.”

The woman laughed shortly. Ceria stared at her. Yvlon quieted after a moment and looked at Pisces.

“I hate [Necromancers]. I hate the undead.”

Ceria opened her mouth, and then closed it. Pisces looked surprised, but not insulted. Yvlon sat up, flexing her formerly broken arm. She sat in the cave, the horrible smell of burning Creler in everyone’s nostrils as she spoke, continuing their conversation from the wagon.

“My family is devoted to championing justice. We have a history of serving as [Knights], defending others. I’ve been raised to hate necromancy since I was a child and I still do. I think it’s unnatural. Any [Necromancer] I meet I will cut down. I would never journey with any kind of spellcaster like that if I had a choice.”

Pisces bowed his head silently. Yvlon eyed him, looked into Ceria’s disappointed eyes and smiled.

“That’s why I’ll tolerate what you do. For you and only you.”

A breath caught in Ceria’s throat and she coughed as smoke made her eyes water. Yvlon pushed herself to her feet. She raised her sword, now clean, and indicated her arms. Metal ran into flesh, twisted, melded with her skin. It was an ugly sight, and haunting. She smiled unhappily.

“I’ll be watching you, to make sure you’re not misusing your magic. I, Yvlon Byres, a Level 26 [Wounded Warrior].”

Ceria took a breath. Telling someone your exact level was…it wasn’t the most familiar thing you could do, but it was a show of trust. Among adventurers, it was a sign they were more than acquaintances. Pisces looked into Yvlon’s eyes and then got up too. When he spoke, it was hesitantly.

“You may not know this, Yvlon, but when a [Mage] transcends into a unique class such as [Necromancer], [Cryomancer], and so on, they become…focused in that specific class. If they pursue other types of magic, they must begin with the [Mage] class again. From Level 1.”

He stared at her, and then Ceria. He gestured to the rapier at his side.

“Necromancers lack many direct spells to attack their foes. High level necromancers are different of course, but the strength of death magic lies in minions, spells which sap energy. It is said that necromancy, above other schools of magic, is the mastery of preparation. Yet armies of the undead and servants of this nature are feared. Hated. Despised. Despite what you may think, I wish to live among people without their disdain.”

Silence. Yvlon looked at him, waiting. Pisces closed his eyes.

“I have dreamed of being a [Necromancer]. It is my calling. My passion. Yet I love magic of all kinds. I wish to see what it can bring me. I wish to know…I hover on the cusp of power. I am a Level 29 [Necromancer], and a Level 18 [Mage].”

Level 29. Ceria’s breath caught. She hadn’t known. Pisces stood at the limit agreed by most to be one of the thresholds. At Level 30 he could call himself a Gold-rank adventurer regardless of his gear.

Pisces nodded to Yvlon. She nodded back. Both looked at Ceria. She realized what she had to do and scrambled to her feet. She nearly fell—she felt sick the moment her head moved. Yvlon and Pisces caught her. She grinned at them weakly.

“Ceria Springwalker. Level 25 [Cryomancer].”

They both blinked. Ceria smiled, surpressed the urge to throw up, and spoke.

“What? I got the class change yesterday. I guess it was a sign I was about to learn [Ice Wall]. I’ve been meaning to tell you all, but what with the Goblin Lord and the Named Adventurers popping up left and right, there was never a good time.”

“I’m glad.”

Pisces spoke to Ceria. He squeezed her arm, and she squeezed his with her skeletal hand. The last to rise was Ksmvr.

“I am Ksmvr, formerly of the Free Antinium. I am a Level 16 [Warrior].”

He looked at the others. They gaped at him. Ceria burst out first.

Level 16? You’re so…weak! How are you only Level 16 when you can fight like…”

The Antinium looked guilty.

“I was Level 12 when we first met. The Antinium do not level, except in the case of Individuals. And I did not level much after my creation in the Hive, merely studied my predecessor’s history and assisted my Queen…”

He looked at the others and seemed to grow smaller. More hesitant. Ceria couldn’t believe it. She’d assumed Ksmvr was Level 20, at least! He fought like he was a veteran similar to any of the [Warriors] she’d met. Yvlon’s face showed the same amazement Ceria felt.

The Antinium seemed to sense the other’s disbelief. He spoke quietly, suddenly, afraid.

“Please do not eject me from your group. This is the only place where I have meaning.”

The other Horns of Hammerad looked at him, shocked. Ksmvr, who hadn’t trembled when being bitten by Crelers, shook like a leaf in front of them. Pisces let go of Ceria to rest a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder.

“I doubt either Yvlon or Ceria would eject you from the group, good Ksmvr. I certainly would not, especially since you are the only one who listens to my advice. You are a valued member, and more so perhaps, given your potential to grow in strength.”

“Yeah, what he said without the fancy words. You’re one of us, Ksmvr.”

Ceria smiled at Ksmvr, and then fell over. The other Horns of Hammerad stared at Ceria as she lay on the ground and moaned weakly.

“I think the poison’s getting to her. Damn Crelers are nightmares. We need to get back to Esthelm, or better yet, Liscor at speed. Termin’s gone though. And it’s miles…”

Yvlon groaned as she stared out into the snow. The Corusdeer soup they’d all eaten was wearing off and it was cold. Pisces muttered to himself.

“It seems we must carry Springwalker. On a sledge, perhaps? Is it worth the effort of fashioning one?”

“I could attempt to carry her—”

As Ksmvr and Pisces debated, Yvlon looked around. She jumped as she saw the two undead bears staring at her. She frowned, looked at Pisces, and then hesitated. She looked back at the bears, and her eyes widened.

Slowly, she turned to the necromancer and cleared her throat. He looked at her, and Yvlon spoke very cautiously.

“I might regret saying this, but…Pisces, the Adventurer’s Guild banned you from using any corpses made from people, right? They never said anything about bears.”

For a moment Pisces stared at Yvlon. Then he grinned. Yvlon smiled and Ceria raised her head.

“I’m okay! What’s…what’s…?”

She looked up as Pisces and Ksmvr lashed her to a piece of wood. Yvlon had sliced down a tree with her sword and they were tying it together with some rope from Ksmvr’s pack.

“What’s…? Huh, Yvlon?”

The woman smiled down at Ceria. It was Ksmvr who explained.

“Bears.”

 

—-

 

Later that day, the guards on the walls of Liscor would see a crude sled being pulled by two skeletal bears approaching through the snow. There would be much deliberation, but as Yvlon pointed out, bears were not people, and thus the city had no reason to object. That they did anyways was perfectly natural, but it marked the start of bear-based transportation for the Horns of Hammerad.

However, that event was not witnessed by Regrika Blackpaw, who was further in the city proper and did not pay attention to the commotion at the gates. She was walking down one of the streets, nodding to Gnolls and speaking with the ones who approached, the center of attention.

At her side walked a Drake with dark purple scales, male, holding a staff. He was a Gold-rank adventurer, a [Mage]. The duo had already been invited to the party at Erin’s inn that night and were heading there at their leisure.

Perhaps it was happenstance that they spotted the young Human woman as she jogged down the street. Perhaps not; Ryoka had just put in an order for a cured ham and other assorted meats to Krshia, and the Gnoll had assured her they would be brought in time for the party. She was on her way back to the Wandering Inn with Ivolethe, chatting, when the Named Adventurer spotted her.

Regrika recognized Ryoka. Of course she did. And thanks to Olesm, she had a name to put to the face. She reached out and touched the shoulder of the Drake [Mage] who walked beside her.

“Ikriss.”

She pointed and the Drake blinked his eyes.

“That’s the Runner?”

“Yes. Let’s intercept her.”

Ryoka Griffin could hardly have missed Regrika Blackpaw heading her way. She was still surprised when the Gnoll called to her in the street and obligingly slowed down. Confused and a bit surprised, she waited for the Gnoll to speak.

“Hrr. You are Ryoka Griffin, yes? I am Regrika Blackpaw. May I have a moment of your time? I have been wishing to speak with you.”

The huge Gnoll with black fur was a giant, and she smiled down at Ryoka. The young woman took the Gnoll’s paw and shook it gingerly, catching the Named Adventurer’s smell as she did.

“With me? Uh, how can I help you?”

“I am looking for a competent Runner, and I have been directed to you by one Olesm Swifttail as the best runner in the city. That is so, yes?”

She smelled of slightly damp Gnoll fur and that intrinsically animal smell of Dog and something else. There was a hint of metal in that scent as well. Ryoka blinked up at Regrika Blackpaw.

“Are you sure you haven’t gotten the wrong person? I’m—a City Runner, not a Courier. And there’s one here. His name is Hawk and he’s way faster than me.”

“Hrr. That is what I have been told, yes. But the Courier known as Hawk has refused to go near the Goblin Lord’s army, and I am seeking anyone else with the bravery to venture close to it. Please, come and have a drink with me so that we might at least discuss it, yes?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I’m honored, really. But I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for. I—I’ve had enough of insane runs and risking my life for a while.”

“Ah, I see. But I hope you would listen to my offer first, then decide. Would you have a drink with me at the very least? I hope you are not too busy to do so.”

Again, Ryoka hesitated, but turning down an offer from a Named Adventurer struck her as a very rude thing to do. Especially one that Krshia and Brunkr loved so much. She looked around and didn’t see Ivolethe, so she shrugged.

“Okay. Uh, I know an inn—”

“There is a bar not far from here. It is closest. I would not want to waste any of your time, yes? Follow me.”

The Gnoll woman and the Drake set off, taking a rather quick pace. Ryoka was able to walk behind them and they soon went down an alley, presumably a shortcut to the rest of the city, Ryoka supposed. She tried to make conversation as she walked down the deserted path behind the Gnoll [Champion].

“I don’t want to disappoint you. I really don’t think I’d be willing to risk my life. There’s a party tonight with the Gnolls in Liscor. We could speak then—but I just can’t see myself doing anything as dangerous as scouting the Goblin Lord’s army. I have a…history with him.”

The Gnoll stopped in the dark alley. She half turned her head and smiled again at Ryoka. Her voice deepened and she cocked her head to one side.

“Oh? But you were quite happy to deliver a letter to the Necromancer himself a month ago. You ran through a battlefield and through his castle to do it. You trespassed and evaded his creations. You did this, Ryoka Griffin. Or had you forgotten?”

For a second Ryoka just blinked. Then she froze.

“The Nec—how do you know that?

The Gnoll made no reply. She reached for her paw, and twisted something. A ring on her furry fingers. Ryoka felt something shift.

The smell in the alleyway changed. Gone was the smell of Regrika Blackpaw. And gone was the shape of her. Another being stepped into place as the form of the Gnoll adventurer vanished. A woman made of bone, a knight of ivory, turned. A perfect, carved face of white bone stared down at Ryoka, and two burning green eyes gazed down at her. An undead’s eyes.

Venitra reached out as Ryoka turned to run. She caught the Human girl by the throat and lifted her up.

“Hello, Ryoka Griffin. I have been searching long for you.”

Her lips of bone curved upwards in a smile. She tightened her grip.

“I trust that this will hurt greatly. And then you will die. You should never have trespassed. Now you will pay the price. You and everyone you love. I promise you that.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.28

Death. Ryoka felt its hand on her throat. She rose, suspended from the ground by the thick arm made of bone. She looked into two burning yellow flames embedded in the sockets of the undead woman made of bone.

Venitra.

She was as perfect as a sculpture, as tall and armored as any knight. And she was smiling.

No time for thought. No time to wonder how or why Venitra was able to pretend to be the Named Adventurer known as Regrika Blackpaw. Ryoka kicked at Venitra’s face as hard as she could.

Her foot connected. It felt as though Ryoka had kicked a rock. Venitra didn’t budge an inch. Nor did her grip waver.

“You will not escape me this time, Ryoka Griffin.”

She could barely breathe. Ryoka’s hands scrabbled at her belt pouch. She had to use—where was Ivolethe? Had to—

Venitra’s hand shot out and tore away Ryoka’s belt pouch. She tossed it to the ground. Her grip tightened on Ryoka’s throat, cutting off air. There were black spots.

Not so quickly, Venitra. Didn’t you wish to torture her first? And we must ask her our Master’s question.

Another voice. The crushing grip loosened just a fraction. Ryoka choked, and saw the Drake [Mage] was gone as well. The being that had called itself Ikriss shed the illusion disguising it.

A black skeleton, bones polished and gleaming like metal stood beside Venitra, holding the magical staff. Her eyes were blue, flickering lights and she was grinning. It wasn’t just her skeletal head. There was true malevolent joy in the way she looked at Ryoka.

Let’s ask her first. And then hurt her.

Venitra dropped Ryoka. The girl fell, twisted to get up and run, and sat down. A cold, boney hand was on her shoulder and the black metal bones shone a bit in the light filtering down into the alleyway.

“She is paralyzed, Venitra. I have already put up an eavesdropping barrier; let me deter attention away from this place before continuing.”

“Do it, Ijvani.”

Venitra waited a moment as the black skeleton twisted her staff and spoke silently. Ryoka tried to move. She tried to shout, but she was a little ragdoll lying on the ground. Helpless, until Ijvani nodded. Only then did Venitra lean down and Ryoka could speak.

“Look, I—”

“Quiet.”

Venitra’s voice was deep, beautiful. She was manufactured to be perfect both as a weapon and as a piece of art, of that Ryoka was certain. She was Az’kerash’s servant. How was she here? Ryoka stared up at Venitra. There was emotion in the undead woman’s eyes. Hatred. Or—no, hatred was too strong somehow. It was more like disdain, the same look Ryoka had given the insect that crawled on her toothbrush that very morning.

“You have taken us a long time to track down. A very long time, Ryoka Griffin. For that you will pay.”

Not too long. We’d have found her far sooner if you didn’t keep getting us lost.

The echoing, hollow voice that was somehow feminine came from the black skeleton. Ijvani. Ryoka saw Venitra’s eyes narrow and she glanced at her companion with irritation.

“That was not my fault.’”

Was too.

“We found her. That is all that matters.”

Is that why you lied to our master yesterday?

“Be silent, Ijvani.”

The dialogue between the two undead would have been hilarious if Ryoka weren’t so terrified. They spoke like—like bickering kids, or like two comedians doing a bad routine. She held her breath as Venitra turned back to her. The lips carved of bone moved like they were real.

Venitra’s face was expressive, lifelike. Ah, but the eyes. Her pupils were filled with the dancing flames, and they stared at Ryoka with nothing but malice.

“Ryoka Griffin. Who have you told about our master?”

Ryoka worked her mouth, and found she could talk. She spoke shakily, grateful that she could tell the truth.

“I haven’t told anyone anything about your master. I swear it. No one knows I met Az’kerash or where he l—”

“Do not say his name. You are not worthy of saying his name.”

Venitra’s hand shot out. She grabbed one of Ryoka’s fingers. Her pinkie, on her good left hand. Ryoka stared at Venitra.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Suffer.”

The undead woman smiled. Then Venitra snapped Ryoka’s pinkie finger. Ryoka doubled over. She screamed—silently. Ijvani twisted her fingers and Ryoka’s mouth clamped shut. Her throat moved, but no sound came out.

She’s telling the truth. I have cast a truth spell and she doesn’t appear to have any artifacts on her that would allow her to lie.

“Good. Then our job is nearly done.”

Nearly, but not enough. You aren’t precise enough, Venitra. This is why our master sent me with you.

Ryoka was doubled over. Pain was filling every part of her, but she could see, dimly, Venitra turning to Ijvani, gritting her teeth.

“He told me to pick my choice of tracker. You came because I decided it.”

The black iron skeleton nodded calmly.

Yes. And if I hadn’t come, Oom would have come with you. We are both the eldest of our master’s creations. You are the youngest, for all you are first in his eyes. You lack experience. So he has said.

I am his favorite.”

So I have said.

Ryoka was trying to get up, to run. She was on her knees and pushing herself up when a hand picked her up. Effortlessly. Venitra tossed Ryoka into a wall. Ryoka felt a flash of pain, and the world spun.

“Ask your questions, Ijvani.”

I shall. Observe, Venitra.

Another face bent down into Ryoka’s line of sight. Two pale blue lights burned in black sockets. Ijvani spoke.

Have you left any notes, spells, or other measures to inform others of my master’s identity in case of your death or disappearance?

“No.”

Ijvani paused, looked over at Venitra. The giant bone woman nodded in satisfaction. She knelt by Ryoka and grudgingly spoke to Ijvani.

“Good.”

Then Venitra smiled and reached out for Ryoka’s hand again. She broke another bone. On the same finger. She grasped the pinkie finger, ignoring Ryoka’s frantic blows to her arm and face, and broke the already broken bone in a different place. This time Ryoka’s silent scream was long.

The two undead stared at the curled up human on the ground. Not dispassionately; there was a great deal of satisfaction on Venitra’s face. Ijvani was harder to read for her lack of features, but her voice was pleased.

She has told no one. I suppose we can kill her, then. But perhaps it would be better to let her live? Her disappearance would be noted.

Venitra turned her head towards Ijvani, clearly displeased.

“Our master gave me the authority to make decisions, Ijvani. This Human is not worth keeping alive.”

The skeleton shrugged.

The [Strategist] in the council meeting knew of her.

There was a flash of yellow light in Venitra’s eyes. She shook her head.

“Inconsequential. I want her dead.”

As you wish.

Ryoka got up. The two undead looked at her as she cradled her left hand. She glared at them.

“People will come looking for me.”

“Let them. I told you I would kill you. I will kill your friends and family too, Ryoka Griffin.”

Venitra smiled down at Ryoka. Ryoka hesitated. She looked at the ground and then dove for her belt pouch. Venitra missed as she swiped for Ryoka, expecting her to try to run around her.

She had one hand in her belt pouch, reaching for one of Octavia’s bags. Ryoka rolled, tore out a sealed bottle, and then sagged against the wall. A skeletal hand was on her shoulder again.

She’s certainly quick. No wonder you failed to catch her before. I wouldn’t have failed of course, but you were not built for speed.

There was an audible grinding as Venitra stepped over to Ryoka.

“I will rectify that error now. Give me her hand, Ijvani. I’ll start with that.”

She couldn’t move. Ryoka lay, helpless, as her left hand was offered up. Venitra inspected Ryoka’s fingers. She smiled as she looked into Ryoka’s eyes. She delicately pinched Ryoka’s twice-broken pinkie and—

Someone shouted from the alleyway. It was distant, but it broke through the bubble of horror around Ryoka. She saw both Ijvani and Venitra look up. In an instant they changed.

Regrika Blackpaw stepped away from Ryoka and Ikriss, the Drake [Mage] with dark purple scales, looked towards the alleyway. Both looked annoyed, but their features, voices, and the smell they gave off had changed in an instant.

“I thought you had put up a spell to keep others away.”

Venitra, now looking like a Gnoll with black fur, growled at Ijvani. The Drake lashed his tail and replied testily.

“I did. Someone must be coming through this alleyway for a reason. My spell deflects attention, not trespass. Kill whomever it is quickly and get back to business.”

Ryoka tried to get up. She had to run, warn whomever it was—but she still couldn’t move a muscle. She lay on the ground, and now she heard a voice. A distinctive voice. She recognized it, and heard pounding footsteps.

“Come back here you damn Winter Sprite! I’ll teach you to pour snow over my—oh hey, what’s going on here?”

Relc charged down the alleyway, following Ivolethe as she flew past him. He blinked as he saw Regrika Blackpaw, Ikriss, and Ryoka, lying on the ground.

The words that passed between the two undead were quick.

“Guardsman. We can kill him—”

“Too suspicious. Drakes value their soldiers too highly. Venitra, wait.”

Suddenly, Ryoka could move. Ikriss knelt and pulled her to her feet. Regrika smiled at Relc and approached.

“Hello, guardsman. We were on our way to visit an inn, but we seem to have gotten lost, yes? It is my fault. I thought this alleyway was a shortcut.”

“You okay?”

A clawed hand helped Ryoka up and she stared into two innocent, Drake eyes. Ikriss guided Ryoka past Regrika and Relc blinked at her.

“Oh hey! I know you! You’re that Human, right? You lot sure are clumsy, falling all over the place. This is what happens when you don’t have tails!”

“Uh.”

Ryoka stared at Relc, and then looked over her shoulder. Regrika’s paw came down on Ryoka’s shoulders.

“You know Miss Ryoka Griffin, guardsman? This is a surprise, yes? I was seeking her aid, which is why we have met. But we have not been introduced. I apologize. I am Regrika Blackpaw, and this is Ikriss Southwing, my companion.”

“Oh! Hey, you’re those famous adventurers!”

Relc’s eyes widened and he snapped his fingers together. He looked at Ryoka with a great deal of surprise.

“You know these people? Wow. Wow. Hey, this is great! We can all go to Erin’s party! I heard it was for a bunch of Gnolls and I figured that was too much hair, but I’m in the mood for a drink!”

Regrika and Ikriss exchanged glances. The Gnoll smiled.

“We would be honored, Mister…?”

“Oh, I’m Relc. Senior Guardsman in Liscor!”

“Very important, Regrika.”

“Hrr.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Why did you come down this alleyway, Guardsman Relc? And why are you covered in snow?”

The Drake [Guardsman] was covered in a layer of snow. He shook it off his scales like a dog and grinned.

“Funny story. I was minding my own business when one of those damn Winter Sprites came out of nowhere and hit me with a bunch of snow! Bastards. They do that all the time. Anyways, if you’re looking for Erin’s inn, you’re going the wrong way. Follow me!”

He waved the others down the alleyway and set a quick pace. Ryoka stared at Regrika and Ikriss, afraid to move. Should she run? Then Regrika slapped a paw on her shoulder and grinned at her.

“Let us not delay, Miss Griffin. I would like a drink, and to visit this inn so many seem to know of.”

She leaned down as Ikriss walked after Relc and whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

“You cannot run. If you cause trouble, we will kill the Drake and everyone we must.”

Ryoka had no doubt she would. Mechanically, she began walking down the alleyway as Relc began to chatter with Regrika and the Gnoll responded cheerfully. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ivolethe flying around her. The Frost Faerie’s face was worried as she flew by Ryoka’s side.

She flew right past Regrika’s face. The Gnoll blinked and batted at the Frost Faerie with a paw, missing her easily. She frowned, but then shook her head as Relc cursed at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie disappeared into Ryoka’s reclaimed belt pouch. Ryoka walked out of the alley and out of the city, the two undead right beside her. And all the while as Regrika was called out to Gnolls and greeted the ones who came up to her, she wondered what she was going to do.

She was afraid. Ryoka’s head was a maelstrom of thoughts, fears. She was ready to run, but understood she’d be dead the instant she tried. So flight was out. Ivolethe was vibrating in her belt pouch? Could she do anything? The Frost Faerie wasn’t allowed to interfere, though. Bothering Relc was probably all she could do and that might have been pushing it as well.

They were going to Erin’s inn. The undead had to be stopped. Mrsha was there, and Lyonette. And Erin. But—there was a bit of hope in Ryoka’s heart as they trudged up the hill, Relc taking the lead. There were two groups of Gold-rank adventurers in that inn, and Zel Shivertail besides. Maybe, just maybe—

“I’m here! Where’s the food—hey, that’s a lot of Gnolls!”

Relc happily kicked open the door to the inn and paused as he saw a full room inside. Noise and light swept over Ryoka as she stumbled into the room, followed closely by Ikriss and Regrika. The two adventurers stared around the room and the laughter and conversation stopped as everyone spotted the Named Adventurer and her companion.

“Regrika Blackpaw.”

It was a susurration around the room. Ryoka saw a bunch of Gnolls look up and her heart sank. Krshia and her nephew Brunkr were here with a group of Gnolls. That was right—they were celebrating Brunkr’s new class! And they seemed both surprised and elated to see Regrika Blackpaw here.

“Honored Blackpaw, we are truly grateful for your presence. I am Krshia Silverfang. We did not think to invite you, but we would gladly offer the bounty of tonight’s dinner with you, should you desire it.”

Krshia hurried over with a group of older Gnolls, practically falling over herself to bow to Regrika. The Named Adventurer laughed and bent her head to politely sniff at Krshia as the other Gnoll did the same.

“I am not honored here, surely? We are all fellow Gnolls—I had heard of this inn from others and wished to visit. I would be delighted to share a meal with you, Krshia.”

She stepped away from Ryoka—out of necessity more than anything else. The other Gnolls practically stampeded over Ryoka in their desire to meet their hero. Ryoka used that opportunity to take a few steps away from Regrika, looking around cautiously. She spotted Halrac sitting at a table across the room.

Now would be the time to edge over to the Gold-rank adventurers and hint at…something. Ryoka could use a piece of paper maybe, or speak in code. She was about to move when she felt a clawed hand tug at her sleeve. She looked around and into Ikriss’ smiling face.

The Drake leaned over and whispered to Ryoka. For a moment the noisy inn grew silent, and it was Ijvani’s echoing voice that spoke in Ryoka’s ears.

Speak and die, Ryoka Griffin. We will destroy this inn and everyone within. If you do not resist, it will only be your death this night.

The Drake let go of Ryoka and stepped back. Ryoka stared, and Ikriss smiled.

“I regret that we cannot speak now, Miss Griffin. But I am sure we will have another opportunity later. Excuse me.”

He walked over to Regrika and began introducing himself as well. Ryoka stared at his back. No way out. They were still watching her. Listening to her? Could she do something covertly while they were busy?

She clenched her fists. Slowly, Ryoka took a seat at a table in the leftmost corner of the room, by the kitchen. She stared as Regrika and Ikriss sat down at a table in the center of the room, looking for all intents and purposes like famous celebrities dealing with the admiring Gnolls around them.

But Ryoka was sure they were staring at her. The girl looked around and took stock of the inn. It was crowded, again, mainly with Gnolls to celebrate Brunkr’s class, but there were the inn’s regulars as well.

Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad were all occupying three tables next to the bar, laughing as Ceria stood on a chair and tried to mime something. The Horns of Hammerad looked…battered, as if they’d been in a fight. But they were all in high spirits.

That was her target. Ryoka glanced at Regrika and Ikriss. Now they were sitting down, the center of attention. They weren’t looking her way. Ryoka slowly got up—

 

“Don’t.”

 

A voice whispered in Ryoka’s ear. The young woman jerked in surprise and realized Ivolethe had left her belt pouch. The Frost Faerie hovered by Ryoka’s ear, lost in the noise of the room, speaking quickly and urgently.

 

“There is a listening spell on ye. I see it.”

 

“What?”

Ryoka glanced at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie’s eyes were wide and serious.

 

“The black skeleton cast it on ye. She can hear all ye say. Not what I say—her magic cannot detect the fae. But she’ll know in an instant should ye try to tell anyone else. And the bone woman is ready to slaughter everyone in here.”

 

Of course. Ryoka closed her eyes. Of course they wouldn’t be that stupid! Idiot! She looked at Venitra and hesitated. So they’d know. They’d know the instant Ryoka said anything. What if she—

 

“They are watching you. Don’t mistake the illusion. The black skeleton seems to be looking elsewhere, but she is staring at you, Ryoka. She hasn’t looked away once.”

 

Ikriss was indeed chatting and laughing with Krshia, his head turned away from Ryoka. But at Ivolethe’s words, Ryoka immediately relaxed and pretended to be looking around the room again.

Trapped. That’s what she was.

Ryoka clenched her hands together, gripping the table. She felt her pinkie move and doubled over in pain. Her broken pinkie finger—the agony there was actually suppressed by the sheer fear and adrenaline coursing through Ryoka’s body.

The young woman shook as she stared at the undead, surrounded by laughing Gnolls. They’d kill everyone in seconds. But there was Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers in one corner, and the Horns of Hammerad were with them too. Maybe—

Speak and die.

She had to do it. She had to shout it. And then Ijvani or Venitra would kill her. So make it quick. How could she tell everyone what was happening in as few words as possible?

‘They’re undead pretending to be adventurers!’

No. Too slow.

‘They’re Az’kerash’s minions!’

Close.

‘Az’kerash sent them.’

Yes. That was it. Stand, shout as you point. And die. Obviously, try to roll away and duck, but she’ll come for you. Venitra. Can the adventurers beat them? There’s no choice. Ryoka hesitated.

“Ryoka? Hey, are you okay?”

A face appeared in front of Ryoka as Erin waved a hand in front of her face. Ryoka jerked.

“Gah!”

She nearly fell out her chair. Ryoka caught herself with her bad hand and choked on a scream. Erin steadied her and pulled her back upright.

“Whoa! That’s weird. What’s up, Ryoka? I haven’t seen you all day! Did you have a good chat with Krshia? And can you believe that Regrika Blackpaw person is here? I saw you come in with her and Relc! Do you actually know her?”

Suddenly, there was Erin. Ryoka cursed and tucked her left hand under the table as she tried to grin at Erin.

“Erin! Erin. I—what did you say?”

“I said…did you meet that Regrika Blackpaw person? Hey, are you okay? You look pale and sweaty.”

Erin frowned as she peered at Ryoka. The Runner girl could barely tear her eyes off of Regrika to look at Erin. She knew she looked terrible. Relc might not have noticed, but Erin would. But Erin couldn’t get suspicious. If she did—

The [Innkeeper] was frowning and about to slide into a seat next to Ryoka when something flew in front of her face. Ivolethe scowled at Erin and flicked a bit of snow into Erin’s eyes, making Erin shout in surprise.

 

“Begone, Erin Solstice. Ryoka Griffin is busy. With me. Your presence is not needed.”

 

“Well excuse me. Grumpy faeries…hey Ryoka, I’ll get Lyonette to take your order in a bit, okay? Sorry, but we’re really busy as you can see!”

Erin backed away, spluttering and wiping at her face. Ryoka breathed out and looked at Ivolethe. Then, conscious of Ikriss, she pretended to be brushing at some dirt. Ivolethe floated in front of Ryoka, eyes serious.

 

“What will you do? You have heard her threat. I…cannot interfere. Perhaps—no. I could try if it came to it, but there are consequences, Ryoka Griffin. Dire ones.”

 

She stared at Ryoka. The young woman looked at her, and then around the room. Griffon Hunt. The Halfseekers. The Horns of Hammerad. She took a breath and pushed herself up slowly.

“I’m going to do it. I have to—I—”

She saw Ijvani—now pretending to be the male Drake known as Ikriss—look up for a second. Ryoka clamped her mouth shut as the Drake looked over. Ivolethe made a hissing sound. She flew closer to Ryoka’s head.

 

“You will die. I see it.”

 

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe and slowly shrugged. The Frost Faerie stared into her eyes and closed hers. Then she looked at the door and grinned.

 

“Wait. There are others coming. Hold this moment for a few seconds longer. For here is—”

 

The door opened and two figures walked in. Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss. Zel immediately greeted Mrsha who came bounding over, and Ilvriss stared around the crowded room, sniffing with disdain. He looked around and saw Ryoka. She stared back.

Never in her life had she been so glad to see Ilvriss’ face in her life. The Wall Lord began to stride towards Ryoka until Zel pulled him back. The [General] dragged Ilvriss towards a table further away. But that was what Ryoka needed to see. She took a breath—

And Ivolethe slapped a hand over her mouth.

 

Wait, I said! The fates are not done with tonight yet.”

 

Ryoka froze. Two minutes passed as she paused halfway out of her seat, and Lyonette waved her hands and tried to get Ryoka’s attention before getting up and placing a beef casserole in front of her. Ryoka ignored both. Her eyes were on the door. And then it opened—

And Brunkr walked in. He’d come back from using the outhouse. Ryoka sagged. But then the Gnoll turned and held the door open for—

Klbkch. And Xrn. The two Antinium walked slowly into the room and caused a hush of their own. They turned and Klbkch met Ryoka’s eyes. They found a table, sat.

Now was the time. Ryoka’s heart was beating out of her chest. She could see Ikriss and Regrika staring at both the Drakes and Antinium. Were they enough? They had to be. Here were legends from the Antinium Wars. They had to be—

She didn’t want to die. Ryoka imagined a spell, a magical bolt blasting her to pieces, or Venitra just pushing her hand through Ryoka’s chest. She didn’t want to die, and she was sure she would. But they were here. They were going to hurt her friends. They’d sworn it. Venitra had.

No choice at all. When Ryoka spoke, it was shakily, to Ivolethe, her friend, as the Frost Faerie hovered in the air next to her.

“I’ll do it, Ivolethe. Just protect—make sure that when I do—”

She was shaking. The Frost Faerie looked at the two undead, narrowing her eyes. Ryoka choked on her words and tried again. She wasn’t prepared for Ivolethe’s smile.

 

“Hold a third time, Ryoka. Hold. Perhaps there will be no death tonight.”

 

“How do you…?”

 

“Their master calls.”

 

—-

 

Venitra could hear everything Ryoka said. She could see everything Ryoka did. It was all thanks to a spell Ijvani had cast. The two undead chatted and ate their food normally, and all the while, waited, impatient for this farce to be over so they could kill Ryoka Griffin.

Of the two, Venitra was the most impatient. She hated pretending to be Regrika Blackpaw. Her illusion was sophisticated enough to fool a Gnoll’s nose, but it still required her to laugh, speak, and worst of all, eat. She hated eating. The food was obviously tasteless to the undead, and she would have to wash it out of her body later. She hated the disgusting way in which living things ate.

But she did it for her master. She kept her disguise up for him, and she would laugh and smile at however many Gnolls it took to accomplish his wishes. However, part of her wished Ryoka Griffin would try and alert her allies. She would relish a battle here. The Gold-rank adventurers she’d spotted would be an enjoyable challenge.

However, it seemed like Ryoka was content to wait. Venitra looked up as the door to the inn opened, letting more worthless creatures come in. She frowned as she spotted one of them, a big Drake with green scales. Something about him triggered a faint memory and she leaned over to whisper to Ijvani.

“Ijvani, who is that Drake wearing armor? The big one? I feel as though I should know him.”

The black skeleton, disguised as Ikriss, was having a harder time eating than Venitra. She was only a skeleton, and as such, the food fell through her body, forcing her to subtly teleport it outside every time she took a bite. She looked up, spotted the Drake that Venitra was indicating, and froze.

That is Zel Shivertail.”

Venitra sat up, a bolt of comprehension and hatred going through her body. She stared at Zel as he took a table across from her and began arguing with his companion, a Drake wearing many magical artifacts.

“The one who defeated our master during the Second Antinium War? He’s here?”

Ijvani nodded, not taking her eyes off of Zel. Venitra gritted her teeth.

“We should kill him.”

Pretending to speak to a Human [Barmaid] named Lyonette and refusing a refill, Ijvani shook her head at Venitra. She spoke to Lyonette and her voice echoed in the other undead’s mind.

That is not our mission.

“No, but he is our master’s enemy. It is worth killing him here. If you immobilize him, I can run him through.”

Venitra, we cannot take such an action without permission from our master.

“Do not order me, Ijvani. I am going.”

Venitra’s eyes flashed. She stood up, smiling at the Gnolls around her and pretending to be stretching. She reached for the sword at her side—

And heard a voice.

 

Venitra. Ijvani. I am very displeased with you.

 

Venitra froze. Ijvani sat up. They looked at each other and Venitra sat down. She mechanically responded to the Gnoll named Brunkr who was asking her about her exploits, letting a lesser part of her functionality take over the conversation. But the whole of Venitra, the part that mattered, was now focused on the voice.

The voice of her master.

There were no words Venitra had to describe her master’s presence in her mind. If Venitra had learned of religion, she would have called it as being akin to a revelation. She worshipped her master, the Necromancer, Az’kerash without knowing what that word was.

It was bliss to hear his voice. But also—terror. Because his mental tone was not loving as it normally was. Instead, it was filled with anger. And Venitra feared her master’s wrath more than anything in the world.

“Master. We are overjoyed to hear your commands. What have we done to displease you?”

Venitra spoke through the link that connected her to her master. In her mind they were words. Inwardly Venitra cringed, because she thought she knew why he was angry.

 

Venitra. Yesterday I asked you whether you had found the Courier who delivered the letter to me. You informed me that you were in Liscor and had been for a week now, gathering information in my name. You lied.

 

There was no denying it. Venitra shrank in her seat, and she saw Ijvani wince. She had feared to tell her master the truth, but she should have. He had found out about her lies, and so quickly too! There was surely nothing he didn’t know, and now he was angry at Venitra for betraying his trust.

Hesitantly, Venitra spoke, pleading, beseeching.

“I—did not want to disappoint you, my master. There were complications on the road and—”

 

You lied.

 

The two words nearly shattered Venitra’s spirit. She bent over the table, causing the Gnolls around her to cry out in alarm. Ikriss assured them that she, Regrika, had only eaten too quickly. But the truth was that Venitra was writhing in agony inside.

“I beg your forgiveness, master.”

There was no response. Had her master left her? For good? Was he so disgusted that he wouldn’t reply to her anymore, only speak to Ijvani? Venitra felt despair, and cried out, grasping for some measure of redemption.

“Master! We have found the person you seek. We know her name. She is called Ryoka Griffin and she is sitting in this inn at this very moment! We were about to dispose of her as you ordered—”

 

You found her? Show me.

 

Venitra instantly turned her head, relieved to be the eyes of her master. He could see and experience what she did, and she showed him Ryoka Griffin, sitting tense at her table, not touching her beef casserole.

 

Ah. That is her. It seems you have not completely failed me, Venitra.

 

The woman made of bone sagged in relief. She wasn’t worthless. She looked back towards her plate, pretending to be eating the steak she’d been served with relish. On the way she saw a pair of Antinium, and the two Drakes. There was a pause and then she heard her master’s voice adopt a quality she’d never heard in it before.

 

Venitra. Why is Zel Shivertail sitting over there with one of the Lords of the Wall? And why are Klbkch the Slayer and Xrn the Small Queen sitting in the same room?

 

Klbkch the Slayer? Venitra twisted her head back and looked at the Antinium sitting at one of the tables. Surely that wasn’t—but if her master said so, it had to be. She gulped, and the steak went down smoothly. The rising trepidation in her soul did not.

“I…do not know?”

She stared at Ijvani. The skeleton sat up and pretended to be dabbing at her lips with a napkin. Her voice was very, very hesitant.

Master, we were unaware of the Antinium’s presence until now. We did not think to inquire—

 

They are staring at Ryoka Griffin, the very person you were about to kill. Both groups are staring at her. Why?

 

The two undead stared at each other in silence. Ijvani jerked her head towards Venitra. Venitra shook her head imperceptibly. She gestured at Ijvani with her fork. Ijvani froze and shook her head.

Venitra made a furious gesture. Ijvani sunk down lower. Her voice was a whisper in Venitra’s mind.

We don’t know.

There was silence. Both undead sank down at their table, ignoring the other Gnolls. At last, Az’kerash spoke in their minds, sounding weary, annoyed, and worst, resigned.

 

I suppose this is all that I can expect from you two. Perhaps my faith in you, Venitra, and you, Ijvani, was misplaced. Would Kerash have served me better, or Bea? I fail to comprehend…how you two can be so careless.

 

There was nothing worse in the world. Venitra hung her head low. She had to fight not to let the illusion of Regrika Blackpaw burst into tears. Ikriss was having the same struggle. Az’kerash’s voice spoke in her head after a moment, clipped, and calculating.

 

Is this Ryoka Griffin aware of your natures? Do not lie. Ijvani.

 

Yes, my master. We confronted her and questioned her. She has told no one anything of your nature. We were about to kill her when we were interrupted. We have told her that if she speaks, she will die—

 

A poor threat in this room. Tell the Courier that you will not harm her or her friends at this time. Tell her that if she seeks a fight, there will be unnecessary death. Ensure that she does not call out. The odds are not in your favor, my creations.

 

Shock. Venitra and Ijvani exchanged glances, but Ijvani obediently began speaking to Ryoka. The Runner jerked and stared at them. Az’kerash’s voice began a murmur in Venitra’s mind.

 

A Courier with links to Drakes and Antinium both? No—her presence may have to do with the group of soldiers who infiltrated my castle. If they managed to follow her through my defenses—

 

She had no wish to interrupt her master’s thoughts or draw more ire towards her, but Venitra had to correct him. She felt wrong doing it, but she spoke up out of duty.

“She is a Runner, master. A City Runner, not a Courier.”

 

A City Runner? You are sure?

 

There was shock in Az’kerash’s voice. Venitra sent a mental approximation of nodding, very worried. Another pause, and then Az’kerash spoke to both Ijvani and Venitra.

 

Will she take action, Venitra? No? Good. Now. Look around again. Ijvani, monitor Zel Shivertail and the other Drake. Venitra, inquire about the Antinium. Subtly. I wish to understand what is transpiring here.

 

Obediently, his servants did just that. Regrika Blackpaw suddenly became the center of the table as she inquired politely about the two Antinium. Ikriss casually turned his seat so he could stare at the two Drakes out of the corner of his eye.

And across the room, Xrn and Klbkch were talking. They glanced over at Ryoka, and Xrn shook her head as she waved at Lyonette for service. Meanwhile, Zel and Ilvriss seemed to be arguing, and the Wall Lord kept standing up and being yanked down by the [General].

And they were all looking at Ryoka. The Runner wasn’t aware of this at first. She kept staring at Venitra and Ijvani. But she couldn’t ignore the other’s attention for too long.

Thanks to the spell Ijvani had cast, they all could hear Ryoka as she looked around and spotted first Klbkch and Xrn, and then Zel and Ilvriss and noticed them staring. The Human girl seemed to speak to herself a lot.

Venitra, Ijvani, and Az’kerash all heard Ryoka’s muttered words as she realized that Klbkch, Xrn, Zel, Ilvriss, and the disguised pair of undead were all staring at her corner table in turns.

“Oh fuck me sideways.”

 

—-

 

Some people might have called it funny. Three different groups, all intent on the same person, all at odds with each other, even if some of them didn’t know it. It was a classic Balerosian Standoff, and an impartial watcher might see the humor in it. The participants did not.

Ilvriss leaned over to Zel, hissing at him as he stared daggers at Klbkch and Xrn. He glanced over at Ryoka, at the Antinium, and gripped the handle of his sword tightly.

“Shivertail. Why are the two Prognugators here tonight? Is this some kind of Antinium trick?”

“Calm down, Ilvriss. I don’t know why they’re here either. They might have been watching us, or they have business with Ryoka as well.”

“Tonight? This is no coincidence! Either there’s a leak or we are being spied upon.”

“Funny, I thought we were trying to spy on them.”

“Don’t make light of this! We have to know what they want with Ryoka Griffin. Watch them, Shivertail.”

“I am.”

“If they make a move, we must be ready—”

“I know. Just keep calm. Keep…calm…”

 

—-

 

A few tables away, the two Antinium sat and stared at Ryoka Griffin and the two Drakes. Xrn coughed gently.

“Klbkchhezeim, why are the two Drakes here today?”

“Ah. I trust you are referring to the presence of Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss? I am uncertain. Zel is generally present for dinners. Ilvriss is an unknown factor. I suppose it is simply an unfortunate coincidence.”

“I see. They are glaring at us, Klbkch.”

“Yes. I suppose we upset them.”

“Our aim is not to upset them. I’ll try waving at them and see if it calms them down.”

“Ah.”

“Hmm. They really didn’t like that.”

“No, they did not. Perhaps I should try, Xrn?”

“I believe that would be most entertaining, Klbkch. Wave at Shivertail. Or better yet, buy him a drink.”

 

—-

 

The first group to go over to Ryoka was Zel and Ilvriss. The Wall Lord got up at last, too furious to be restrained by Zel any longer. He marched over to Ryoka and took a seat at her table, uninvited. Ryoka blinked at him.

Az’kerash and his creations watched. The Necromancer mused quietly, his words heard by them and no one else.

 

Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss. They were the two who fought outside my castle a month ago. They clashed with my disciple and now end up here? Why? This is curious.

 

They heard the entirety of the conversation between them. It started out with threats, and insults. Ilvriss leaned over the table, making Ryoka lean back.

“You will tell me what I need to know. No more excuses! I demand—”

Zel pulled the Wall Lord back and smiled at Ryoka.

“You have to understand our position, Ryoka. When a group of soldiers goes missing, especially elites—”

Did you kill them or not? How did they die? How did Periss—”

Ilvriss pounded the table. Venitra could make no sense of it, but Az’kerash put the pieces together quickly.

 

Ah. The Drake and Gnolls that Kerash and Bea disposed of. It has attracted the Wall Lord’s attention. This is…unfortunate. Yet it seems that Ryoka has refused to tell either Drake anything, despite their pressuring her.

 

Indeed, the next image all three watchers saw was Ryoka offering a single finger in reply to Ilvriss.

“Runner’s code, asshole. I can’t tell you a thing, even if I wanted to! I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

Ilvriss nearly strangled her, but Zel held him back. He was trying to argue with Ryoka, but his words weren’t that effective while Ilvriss uttered threats and tried to grab Ryoka over the table. However, the City Runner clearly had more on her mind. She glanced over at Ijvani and Venitra.

“Look, I’m really, really not looking to discuss anything tonight. Maybe later. In fact, why don’t you uh, turn around and piss off? That’d be helpful. Thanks.”

The two undead watched Zel forcibly pull Ilvriss away. Az’kerash’s tone was exasperated.

 

And you decided that the best course of action was simply to kill her? Why?

 

Ijvani and Venitra shuffled in their seats without saying anything. They heard a sigh in their heads.

 

You fools. This is why I ordered you to assess the situation before making any decisions! If this Ryoka Griffin disappears, this Wall Lord is sure to take interest. As for Shivertail—you are fortunate that your incompetence prevented you from taking her life earlier.

 

“Yes master.”

Yes master.

 

We shall speak with Ryoka Griffin now. I wish to know why the Antinium are here. They concern me—greatly. I was under the impression that Liscor’s Hive had produced nothing of value save for its strategic placement. I want to know what the Small Queen intends. She is dangerous.

 

—-

 

When Regrika Blackpaw walked over, Ryoka was prepared for the end. She was prepared for a fight, for threats, for anything and everything.

But she was not prepared for a smile. As Regrika sat down in front of Ryoka, she was smiling. She smiled and Ryoka stared. Perhaps it was just the illusion spell. But it was mimicking Venitra’s true expression, and for an instant, Ryoka saw nothing but simplicity in her smile. It was happy, guileless, and…innocent.

A child’s smile.

Ryoka had no idea why, until Regrika, or rather, Venitra, spoke.

“My master is here. He wishes to speak with you, Ryoka Griffin.”

Ryoka stared. She looked around and caught herself. She stared at Regrika.

“Here? In you?”

“I am watching and listening through my servant’s eyes, Ryoka Griffin. I am present. We have met before.”

The voice came from Regrika’s mouth, but it was neither the Gnoll’s voice, nor Venitra’s voice. It was male, educated, precise, and old. It was horrifically disturbing to see it come from the female Gnoll’s face. But it was Az’kerash’s voice.

The Necromancer’s.

Ryoka felt the floor open up. She saw Ivolethe flying towards her and tried to shoo her away. But the Frost Faerie alighted on Ryoka’s shoulder. She hissed and glared at Regrika. Ryoka saw the Gnoll’s eyes flick to her shoulder and frown, but oddly, the Necromancer didn’t seem to notice Ivolethe at all.

“Look straight at Ryoka Griffin, Venitra. Thank you. Now, Ryoka Griffin, I believe you know why my creations are here.”

“To kill me?”

“Perhaps. But not necessarily. They were sent with instructions to ascertain whether you had spoken of my existence to anyone else. They were not commanded to kill you outright. They have failed me and for that they will be…reprimanded.”

Something about the way he said it made Ryoka feel that Az’kerash wasn’t a very forgiving and nice master. Venitra certainly seemed frightened. The ears of the Gnoll sitting in front of Ryoka flattened, and her tail drooped.

“So I’m not going to die?”

That was all Ryoka could think to ask. She’d been prepared for death the instant she met Venitra. To suddenly hear that it was off the table was…disturbing. And relieving. She dared to hope, and because she was an idiot, she tried to take a gulp from her full mug for the first time that night.

With her left hand. The instant Ryoka tried to move it, she agitated the broken finger. Ryoka bent over the table, swearing, holding her left hand with the three fingers of her right hand. Why was her hand always getting injured? Oh, right. She’d shattered both her legs before too.

Her finger was swelling up horribly now. It was badly broken, and Ryoka was afraid to show it to anyone. Somehow, Az’kerash noticed it as Venitra stared at her. Maybe she’d told him, although Ryoka doubted it.

“What is the matter? Ah. Your finger. My servants are careless. Allow me to rectify the issue.”

Regrika raised her paw and pointed at Ryoka’s left hand through the table. Ryoka felt something shift in her hand and jerked. She stared as the bones in her pinkie rearranged themselves and snapped back into place.

It hurt like hell in those moments, but the sensations of her bones changing on her were more terrifying than the pain. And then it was all gone. Ryoka stared at her pinkie. It was still puffy and swollen, but it barely hurt now compared to before.

“A healing potion will correct the rest of the damage.”

Az’kerash’s voice was dismissive. Ryoka stared at him. She’d heard from Pisces himself that [Necromancers] couldn’t change around people’s bones unless they had direct physical contact. Apparently that didn’t apply to Az’kerash.

“I should say thanks. But your minion broke my finger to begin with. Does this mean you’ll leave me alone now?”

The look Venitra, or rather, Regrika gave Ryoka could have killed. Her big paws tightened on the table, but Az’kerash’s voice was cool.

“I am still determining the risk you pose. You claim to have kept my secret—”

“And I will. Totally. Runner’s Code and all that. I know what happens if I let anything slip.”

Ryoka raised her hands. Venitra growled at her.

“Do not interrupt my master!”

“Calm yourself, Venitra.”

Two voices, one body. Ryoka held still. Az’kerash’s next words were musing.

“Tell me, why did the Dragon choose you of all people? It seems odd that he would assign such a delivery to a mere City Runner.”

Ryoka gritted her teeth and forced a smile.

“He didn’t. He put up an open request and I took it because it paid well. Believe me, if I’d known it would have resulted in this, I wouldn’t have done it for all the gold in the world.”

“Hah. That is amusing. So much trouble over a Dragon’s whim.”

Regrika’s face didn’t change, but Az’kerash sounded like he was enjoying some dry humor. He paused.

“I understand both Wall Lord Ilvriss and Zel Shivertail are interested in you because of your delivery to me.”

“You killed Periss, his lieutenant. Or didn’t you notice?”

“They were disposed of by my creations. I had paid little attention until now. If the Wall Lord received the remains of his soldiers, would he be appeased?”

“Nope. Well, maybe. He wants to know why they died.”

“Ah. Inconvenient. However, it is a rectifiable situation. Hm. I have one more question for you, Ryoka Griffin. Why are there two of the Antinium in this inn?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I’m good friends with Klbkch.”

“You are concealing the truth.”

“Get that from a truth spell? I’m not plotting against you, if that’s what you want to know.”

“That is part of what I wish to know, but it is…enough for now. For now, know this Ryoka Griffin. I do not desire my presence to be known. For that reason, I will guarantee your safety for now. My creations will not harm you.”

“And if you change your mind?”

Az’kerash paused. His voice was very cold.

“Give me no reason to. Understand, you have little say in this, Ryoka Griffin.”

No say. No choice. She was helpless. Perhaps that was true, but Ryoka’s temper flared. She leaned over the table, glaring at Regrika and not caring about how it looked.

“Oh yeah? What if I tell Zel Shivertail about you? You’re not here right now—this Venitra person and Ijvani are. If Zel kills them, what can you do about it?”

The voice that replied through Regrika’s mouth was icily unconcerned.

“What gives you the impression that would be an intelligent decision, girl?”

“He kicked your ass once in the Second Antinium War. He killed you, although I guess that part was wrong. What’s to stop him from doing it to your precious servants?”

Ryoka grinned at Regrika, and the Gnoll glared back. But it was Az’kerash who spoke again. His voice was impassive, and for that reason, terribly scary.

“If you wish to try, by all means speak. You and everyone in this inn with surely die. But if you think it is worth the cost, then allow me to give you this.”

A paw rose, reached out, and touched Ryoka on the lips. She jerked back, but it was too late. Something heavy gripped her tongue for a moment, and then was gone. Ivolethe cried out into Ryoka’s ear.

 

“Death magic! The executioner’s axe hangs over your head, Ryoka! Do not speak!

 

Az’kerash spoke as Ryoka held very still, afraid to open her mouth.

“[Word of Death]. Speak any part of my name, Az’kerash, or mention necromancy and you will die in that instant.”

She stared at him, all her confidence lost again. The second intelligence hiding behind Regrika’s eyes flickered, and then vanished. Regrika got up. Without a word, she left the table. Ryoka sat there, ready to puke. She wanted to run and realized suddenly that there was nowhere far enough she could go.

And then Ryoka realized that Regrika and Ikriss were sitting at their tables, joking, talking about sending Ryoka to scout the Goblin Lord’s army, acting like everything was normal. But underneath the illusion the undead were still there. And so was Az’kerash. They were still watching her. And as Ryoka sat up and realized Klbkch and Xrn were still waiting to speak with her, she got really nervous.

 

—-

 

“Ryoka Griffin. May we sit with you?”

There had to be a way to tell people to go away without saying or doing anything to indicate that. However, Ryoka’s best ‘leave me alone’ posture and the glare in her eyes did nothing to dissuade Klbkch. He took a seat and the strange blue Antinium sat next to him.

Ryoka recognized her at once. She was Xrn, the Small Queen, a legend and one of the big players in the Second Antinium War. Normally Ryoka would have been freaking out about meeting her, but after speaking with Az’kerash, this seemed frighteningly normal.

“I believe we have not met, Miss Ryoka Griffin. I am Xrn.”

“Hi, Xrn.”

Ryoka stared at Xrn. Maybe if she acted weird or rude enough they’d leave. She really did not want to talk about dead gods here, or anything—anything, really. Az’kerash was listening.

“I have wished to speak with you for a good deal of time. However, issues in the Hive have necessitated me remaining below ground. Pawn may have informed you that our Hive experienced an attack by many monsters from Liscor’s Dungeon. They have been repelled—at cost.”

“Oh?”

Ryoka wished there was a way to tell Klbkch not to be so helpful at explaining things. But Klbkch only took that as a sign to keep going.

“Indeed. However, the development of the unique group of Antinium Soldiers under Pawn has led to—”

“Hey Klbkch, let’s not talk business right now. I think we should all just relax and—not discuss anything important.”

Klbkch paused. He looked at Xrn. The other Antinium stared at Ryoka.

“You told me that she was aware of everything, Klbkch.”

“She is.”

The Antinium cocked his head at Ryoka.

“I know you are busy, Ryoka, especially given Regrika Blackpaw’s offer to you. That is why I wish to converse with you and Xrn now. We may not receive another chance for a while. You see, Xrn is preparing to l—”

Ryoka gave up on subtlety and kicked him as hard as she could under the table. She heard one her toes crack and felt blinding pain. The Antinium paused and looked down at his undamaged shin as Ryoka leaned over the table, making incoherent sounds of pain.

“Hm.”

He wasn’t an idiot. He and Xrn exchanged looks, and then turned to stare at the two Drakes who were watching them. And Typhenous, who was also watching. And Pisces who was eying her warily and glancing at Regrika and Ikriss for some reason. And most of the other guests in the inn, who turned away and pretended to be doing something else.

“Ah, I believe I see Miss Ryoka’s objection, Klbkchhezeim.”

Klbkch shrugged.

“We are under a spell of silence, Xrn. They can’t tell what we are saying.”

Ryoka glanced quickly over to her left. Ivolethe shook her head definitively. Az’kerash’s spell was still in effect, silence spell or not. The young women thought quickly.

“This is not a good time, you two. I have that Wall Lord guy breathing down my neck. Let’s agree to not do or say anything with each other at all. Deal?”

This time both of the Antinium stared at Ryoka. Suspiciously.

“Have you been threatened, Ryoka Griffin? If you have, my duty as a Senior Guardsman and ally to you and Erin permits me to directly offer you the assistance of my Hive.”

“If she is being threatened, Klbkch, she wouldn’t say.”

Xrn reached over and prodded Klbkch in the head with one finger. She peered at Ryoka and the hearts of one Human and one Frost Faerie at the table stopped for a second. Xrn shook her head.

“I detect no magical enchantments on her. However, I agree with her desire for caution. I believe I have seen enough in any case. She knows what we plan to do. If she is an ally, she will prove herself as one. If not—”

The blue Antinium’s eyes swirled blackly for a moment. A wisp of yellow was extinguished by a shade of black that color had no words for.

“—If not, we shall see. Now, I wish to eat more of this innkeeper’s cooking before I leave. Tersk was telling me about it. Klbkch, let us eat. I have a spell I wish to try—[Stomach of the Cow]. [Powerful Digestion]!”

She cast the two spells as she walked away from the table. Ryoka watched her go.

“[Stomach of the Cow]? The hell’s that? Is that a real spell?”

Klbkch hesitated before nodding. He stood up.

“Xrn is a prodigy among spellcasters, Ryoka Griffin. I am unsure of her mechanisms, but she is able to create new spells based on ones she already knows. It is part of her class. She may have learned this spell before, or created it. I will now aid her in consuming Erin’s food supply and pay for her meals with my limited income as a [Guardsman]. Good night, Ryoka. We shall speak at some other time.”

He nodded to Ryoka and turned away. Ryoka watched him go and then collapsed onto her table. Ivolethe flew down beside her and shook her head.

 

“Hah! That one can’t spot magic to save her life! Although the spell cast is subtle. Yet she can see me, I think, and my sisters! When did mages become so useless?”

 

Ryoka put her head down and didn’t respond. The table was cool—until Ryoka found a sticky spot with her cheek. She sagged in her chair and desperately wished the night was over. Unfortunately, it was just getting started.

 

—-

 

Everyone had spoken to Ryoka, and gotten less than satisfactory answers out of her. That was true. But it didn’t mean they were about to leave. Indeed, all three groups were sitting in place. And unfortunately, Erin’s renovations to her inn hadn’t been completed yet, so there was a limited amount of space to put between all three parties.

Zel Shivertail glared at Klbkch across three tables, hand tight on his mug. Xrn and Ilvriss locked stares over Xrn’s raised fork filled with spaghetti. Venitra and Ijvani studied the two, as Az’kerash stared through their eyes, pondering, assessing.

The other diners in the room had certainly noticed the power plays and interactions. That was why they had cleared a space. No one wanted to be caught between the Antinium and Drakes. Indeed, the atmosphere was getting tenser by the minute. No one dared break it, not even the Gold-rank adventurers.

Silence fell over the inn as Xrn chewed at some spaghetti with her mandibles. Zel’s hand cracked on his mug. Ilvriss’s grinding teeth could be heard in the quiet. Regrika Blackpaw sat and watched.

And then there was Erin. She edged right through the staring contest, holding a big pan and shouting.

“Make way! Cake! Make way for the cake! Oh, hey Mister Zel and you. Do I know you? And hi Klbkch! You and your friend will want to eat this. Wait, do I know you?

Everyone stared. They stared at the fluffy pink frosting on the white background of the cake, the huge rectangular block of icing and cake, and at the letters on top. They formed a simple word.

[Knight].

The class was spelled out on top of the cake in pink, and set about with glowing candles. Erin gently put the cake in front of the bewildered Brunkr.

“Surprise! Krshia said this was a party for you, and I’ve been dying to make a cake! So…happy class day, Brunkr! Blow out the candles and make a wish! Wait! We’ve got to sing happy birthday first!”

Erin began teaching everyone the happy birthday song. It was surprising how many people she got to join in. Ilvriss was not one of them. Xrn and Klbkch were. So was Zel.

Ryoka did not sing. She was trying to alternatively stab her eyes out with her fork and hide under the table at the same time. She watched as Regrika Blackpaw got up and sang happy birthday, looking as happy as could be and wondered if Az’kerash could hear that. Then she wondered if he was joining in.

Brunkr gingerly blew out the mostly melted candles after that, and then there was cake. Cake.

“Have a slice, Ryoka! It tastes just like home! Go on!”

Ryoka stared down at the pink corner piece of cake she’d been given. She looked at Erin’s beaming face, took a bite, and tried not to puke. She managed to get rid of the cake, mainly by feeding it to Ivolethe and Mrsha. She could have probably just dropped it on any table and it would have been gone, though.

The inn had gone crazy over cake.

“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever had!”

Relc was crying as he gobbled down his piece of cake. He licked his plate and then began demanding to know how it was made, how much it cost, and where he could get more of it from Erin. He was joined by Revi, Jelaqua, and a hyperactive Mrsha who was practically vibrating in place.

If that were all, Ryoka would have gotten down on her knees and thanked the non-discriminate and blessed ways of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which was the only deity she was prepared to worship in this world. However, it seemed like Regrika’s fame meant that everyone wanted to speak with her, and Ryoka happened to be a fine way of introducing oneself via proxy.

“Hey Regrika. Let me introduce you to my friends.”

Ryoka’s smile twitched as she was forcibly prodded into place. The Named Adventurer looked up from her half-eaten piece of cake and saw the Horns of Hammerad clustering behind Ryoka, practically holding her in front of the famous Gnoll like a shield.

“Oh? Who is this? I am always happy to meet other friends of yours, Ryoka Griffin, yes?”

She smiled broadly at Ryoka. Ryoka gave her a return grin full of teeth.

“Great. These are adventurers. This is Ceria. She’s an ice mage. This is Yvlon, a [Warrior], Ksmvr, an Antinium [Warrior]—”

“I am pleased to meet you, Regrika Blackpaw. I understand you are famous. May I ask what your fame is derived from? I—why are you kicking me, Captain Ceria, Yvlon? I am only asking—”

“And this is Pisces.”

Ryoka ignored Ksmvr as the Antinium was dragged back. She smiled, and Ikriss raised his head.

“Ah, a fellow mage? What is his class?”

Everyone looked at Ryoka. She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t he have asked Pisces that? She spoke slowly, conscious of the [Word of Death] spell prohibiting her mentioning the N word. [Necromancer]. Frankly, the other N word wasn’t really an issue at this moment.

“Pisces? He…likes dead bodies. Animating them, commanding them. He’s got a fetish for that. Magical.”

Everyone stared at Pisces. He turned bright red and glared at Ryoka. Erin looked blankly at Ryoka, and then laughed and leaned over the table to address Ikriss.

“He’s a [Necromancer]. I think Ryoka’s trying to be polite.”

“Ah.”

Ikriss inhaled his breath and exchanged a glance with Regrika. The Gnoll stared at Ryoka and she glared in a friendly way at her. Pisces was the one to break the silence. His face was beet red.

“Allow me to assure everyone present that my, ah, obsession with the deceased is in no way sexual, as Miss Griffin seems to have intimated. I am a [Necromancer] out of academic interest, nothing more.”

He stared at Ryoka. She didn’t look his way. Regrika spoke slowly, staring at Pisces.

“I take no offense. I am aware of the stigma [Necromancers] face, but I myself consider it a worthy class. All magics are equal in principle, and those who pursue the heights of power are to be commended no matter what route they take. So I believe…yes.”

The was a pause after that last ‘yes’. Ryoka glanced sharply at Regrika. She wondered if it was Venitra who’d said that. Or her master.

Regrika Blackpaw’s words caused a stir at the table, and made Pisces flush with pride. He introduced himself and the other Horns of Hammerad stepped forwards eagerly to talk more as well. He shook hands with both Regrika and Ikriss and paused for a second as he stared at Ikriss. Then he retreated and let the other Horns of Hammerad introduce themselves.

“Everything okay? You like the food?”

Erin popped by, oblivious to Regrika’s rank and fame. She looked more concerned about the two adventurer’ plates, which were mostly cleared. Regrika smiled up at her and patted her stomach.

“It is most delightful, yes? I have seldom had finer food and I am grateful for it after many days on the road.”

“Indeed. I’m quite impressed by your abilities, Miss Solstice.”

Ikriss smiled as well. Erin beamed in relief. Then Regrika looked down.

“However, I seem to have attracted a youngling around my feet. Who is this?”

Half of the Gnolls exclaimed and Krshia leapt to her feet as Mrsha’s head popped up next to Regrika. Lyonette rushed over, chagrin clear on her face, but Regrika only laughed. She peered at Mrsha’s white fur and stroked her head.

“Hrr. What a delightful child. Is she one of yours?”

Regrika looked around the table. The faces of the Gnolls froze over for a second and Erin coughed.

“Uh, that’s Mrsha, Miss Blackpaw. She’s—well, she’s part of the family at the inn, really. Her family was—uh—”

She trailed off, and Regrika took the hint. She smiled sadly down at Mrsha who hadn’t been listening to Erin’s words. Regrika offered Mrsha a bit of her steak and the Gnoll happily accepted it and sniffed at Regrika, smiling and wagging her tail.

Ikriss took that opportunity to slide half of the contents of his plate onto the floor while no one was looking. As the conversation started back up, the topic of chess was brought up.

“Oh? You play the game? I was unaware that the game had spread so widely across the continent. When I learned of it I was intrigued, but there are few partners for me to play on my travels.”

This time Ryoka was sure that it was Az’kerash speaking through Ikriss, not Ijvani. Erin grinned as she showed the Drake her magical chessboard and then her non-magical ones.

“You like to play? That’s great! I’m pretty good at the game myself. Want to play a game?”

“I should like that very much.”

There was no way for Ryoka to stop the game between Erin and Ikriss, or rather, Az’kerash without upsetting the table or tossing a pot of soup over everyone. She considered that, but decided it was better to let them play. After all, what harm could it do?

The first game was slow. Ikriss was white, Erin was black. They played a game through, attracting Olesm’s attention, Typhenous, Pisces, and Klbkch while everyone else wandered away. The audience wandered back when they heard Olesm screaming about how amazing it was.

“What a game!”

The Drake threw up his hands and danced about. Ryoka stared at the board. It had been…a damn good game. And it was even better because Erin had won. She grinned as she watched Ikriss sit back, a look of amazement on his face. Across the table, Regrika’s jaw looked like it was about to hit the floor.

“Every move I made was optimal. And yet I was defeated.”

Az’kerash spoke quietly. Erin laughed and slapped Ikriss on the back.

“You were great! How did you learn to play like that? It was a great match, like Olesm said. But the difference was that I had a different style.”

“Indeed. I have not encountered anything like it. You flanked my approach most spectacularly.”

Erin nodded and took on the lecturing tone of a hardcore fan of chess.

“It’s called the hypermodern play style. You had a really, really good control of the center at the start, but it was all pawns. But my strategy was all about controlling the center through indirect pieces, see? I keep telling Olesm it’s a really good style of play, but he’s stuck on pawns like Belgrade…”

Olesm turned bright red and Erin patted his shoulder. She turned and beamed at Ikriss.

“Want to play another game?”

“I should enjoy that very much. Please.”

They began to play. Ryoka stood watching the game. To be honest, she didn’t watch the game so much as Regrika’s expression. The Gnoll, or rather, Venitra, was watching the game with something like horror in her eyes. Because Erin won. She played Ikriss twice more, lost one game, won one—it didn’t matter that she didn’t win everything. When she beat Az’kerash, Ryoka saw part of Venitra failing to comprehend.

“That’s right. Your master isn’t flawless. Sucks, don’t it?”

Ryoka muttered to Regrika after the game was over. The Gnoll turned. There was pure fury in her eyes. She gripped Ryoka’s hand and squeezed. Just for a moment.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice was having a good day. It seemed like a lot of days were good days recently, but today was excellent. She’d made a cake. She had important visitors, and she got to meet Xrn, who was really cool! And best of all—she got to play chess.

Why couldn’t all days be like this. Erin sighed as she pushed herself back from the game and shook Ikriss’ hand. The purple-scaled Drake smiled at her, his grip soft and light.

“You are a true master of this game. I am honored to play you and intrigued. Where did you obtain this level of skill?”

“Practice! Years of practice?”

Erin laughed until she remembered that chess had only been invented recently. She coughed.

“I play all the time. I’d love to play you again sometime if you’re up for it.”

“I believe I am.”

The Drake smiled slightly and turned away. Erin beamed, and then noticed Ryoka heading for the doors.

“Hey Ryoka, are you going out?”

“I—I’m going for a run.”

Ryoka’s hands were shoved deep in her pockets. She stomped towards the doors quickly, seeming to shield her right side. Erin frowned.

“At night? It’s dangerous—”

“Yeah. I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll see you—later, Erin. Have a good night.”

She left. Erin sighed, but let her moody friend go. She turned and saw Regrika was smiling and dining with all the Gnolls who loved her so much. She frowned as she saw the Gnoll bite with relish into a bit of her beef casserole. Erin stopped Lyonette as she went about the tables. She, Drassi, and Ishkr had been on their feet all night and looked beat. Erin made a note to pay them extra for tonight.

“Hey Lyonette, Regrika and that Ikriss guy like their food, right? Have they asked for anything changed or complained about the taste?”

Lyonette blinked at Erin and shook her head.

“No, they said they liked it. Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s just a feeling. Eh, whatever.”

Erin shook off the odd sensation in her head and grinned.

“A Named Adventurer and a Gnoll party! We’re raking in the dough tonight!”

“Raking? I thought you kneaded dough. Or is that some advanced form of cooking I don’t know about?”

“No, it’s this expression see. I—you know what, forget it.”

Erin deflated slightly. She waved the comment off and then looked around. She spotted Brunkr sitting alone at a table and wandered over.

“Brunkr! Aren’t you going to go have fun with the others? This party’s about you, right?”

The Gnoll grinned down at Erin, looking slightly drunk and very happy.

“It is good of you to say, yes? But I know this is for my Aunt, and for Ryoka as much as anything. My class is wonderful, but it is not all of this party. And Regrika Blackpaw’s presence honors us far more than my class.”

“Yeah, but your class is still cool! [Knight]! Wow! How did you get it?”

Brunkr’s eyes flicked from Erin to something over her shoulder. He smiled.

“I cannot say. It is not my secret to give, yes?”

“Aw. Really? Well, maybe you could share it with Yvlon? She wants to be a [Knight] too, you know.”

“She does? Hrm.”

Brunkr glanced with interest over at Yvlon, who was sitting at a table and still talking about the Crelers they’d killed with the other Gold-rank adventurers. He smiled a bit.

“Perhaps I will talk with her or…others about such a thing. But my class was a gift, truly. I am unsure of what I will do with my new class, but perhaps such a life might be worth doing after all.”

Erin frowned.

“Do what? Be an adventurer? I hope you’re not going down into the dungeon!”

Brunkr shook his head instantly.

“Of course not. I am no fool, yes? I owe too much to you, my aunt, and…and to Lyonette to risk my life so easily. But when I see adventurers like Regrika or—or your friends, I remember that I too wish to become more than I am. The Horns of Hammerad—”

Erin’s eyes widened.

“Do you want to…?”

She glanced at her friends. Brunkr looked embarrassed and shook his head.

“I am no doubt rusty. And I have just recovered. A single level in a class is—”

“I could ask! I’m sure they’d be happy to have you!”

“No, no. I must practice first. There are other Gnolls I can join up with. I will—no, please Erin. This is not the time to talk of such things. I did not mean to bring it up. I wished to speak with you in private, if I am honest?”

“Me? About what?”

Brunkr paused. He rested his butt on the table where he and Erin were talking, and looked around her lively inn. His eyes lingered on Lyonette, and then on Mrsha as she curled up into a ball by the fireplace. A large bee crawled onto her head, fanning its wings by the flames.

“It is a strange thing, to believe you know someone and not know them at all.”

He looked at Erin, and nodded at her.

“You saved my arm.”

“Aw, that was—”

“Everything to me. I do not mistake it. You saved my arm, Erin Solstice. For that I cannot be more grateful. And I am more humbled, yes, to know how badly I misjudged you.”

Erin fell silent. She didn’t know what to say to that. She needed to say nothing, as it turned out. Brunkr stared at her, and then out a window at the snow, reflectively. He spoke quietly.

“I did not know you. I thought you were an enemy, a fool at first. I was consumed by an image of you that was wrong. Entirely wrong. When I realized how ignorant I was, I felt as though I had lost my legs, my balance, and was falling. The world changed for me. My arm—I am sorry for all I said when you first came to me. Yes. I am sorry, and grateful we met.”

He smiled at Erin, looking a bit embarrassed. Brunkr turned his head away quickly and Erin grinned in delight. Gnoll faces were too furry to see, but she was sure, absolutely sure that he was blushing.

“You’re so nice. Aw. You’re making me blush.”

“I just wished to say thank you, Erin. Thank you. It is not often enough that we give honest thanks for what is done, yes? I want to say that. So you know what I do from now is thanks to you.”

He reached out and offered Erin a hand. His right hand. She shook it and beamed at him.

“Want more cake?”

Brunkr paused. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice.

“You have more?”

She grinned and nodded. Brunkr’s tail began to wag and he followed her into the kitchen. It was just some extras, but he ate them with delight. Erin watched, happy and content.

A good day.

 

—-

 

It seems this gathering has ended. Venitra, Ijvani, attend to my words.

 

The two undead had never been more relieved to hear their master’s words. They quickly bade farewell and left the inn. It was dark and close to midnight as the Gnolls and other partygoers finally began to leave. The two undead walked towards Liscor in the snow, listening to their master’s words.

 

Venitra, you have disappointed me. I ordered you not to harm Ryoka Griffin.

 

“Master, I only—”

 

Silence. You are failing me.

 

There could be no worse words. Venitra hung her head in silence. Ijvani waited, terrified she might hear the same.

 

And yet, it seems your failures have brought me an interesting conundrum and information about the rest of the world. For that alone, I will forgive you.

 

Both undead raised their heads hesitantly. They dared to hope. Az’kerash was silent, and then he spoke authoritatively, calmly.

 

Here are your instructions for now. Observe. Keep your true identities hidden. Do not harm Ryoka Griffin. That is an order, Venitra. And learn more about her relationship with the Antinium—as well as the Drakes. As for this inn, inquire about it and the magical door as well. I sensed it—it is an enchantment of peculiar power which does not belong in this place. Neither does that chessboard, but this Erin Solstice…ah. Inquire, that is all. I will contact you again tomorrow.

 

Both Venitra and Ijvani nodded. They felt Az’kerash’s presence in their minds, reassuring them, filling them, and then he was gone. In the bleak world that followed, both recalled their failures.

“He lost a game of chess. Twice.”

Venitra stopped in the snow. She turned to Ijvani and blurted out the thing both had been obsessing over for the entire night. Ijvani nodded.

He beat the [Innkeeper] in the end, though.

“But he lost. Our master. She—defeated him.”

It was a game, Venitra.

“Yes. And he lost it.”

Ijvani looked down at the ground. Venitra stared back towards the inn. She shook silently. Her master had lost a game. Her master.

Lost.

A.

Game.

And what had Ryoka Griffin said? He was not perfect? Something broke inside of Venitra. She stared at the Gnolls leaving the inn, laughing, talking. She stared at one as he left alone, bidding farewell to his aunt.

 

—-

 

Brunkr was walking down the streets of Liscor, gently swaying, licking around his face for more of the sweet frosting he’d eaten, when he heard and smelled someone coming up behind him. He turned, and immediately bowed his head slightly. Regrika Blackpaw strode towards him.

She was his hero. Brunkr wondered if he should say something or just get out of the way, but it was Regrika who spoke to him.

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course!”

Brunkr’s ears perked up. He eagerly fell into step besides Regrika, wondering what she could want to talk about. She led him down a side path, down alleyways that were devoid of criminals, but still not places Brunkr would normally walk. He supposed Regrika feared no routes at all.

“I am told this party at the inn today was for you, young Brunkr. That is…good, yes? You must have had a good relationship with the innkeeper to have it there.”

The young Gnoll blushed. She knew about his class? He spoke up.

“Yes, Honored Regrika. We had it there because my Aunt, Krshia Silverfang, is a friend of the owner. I am…indebted to her as well.”

“Indeed?”

Regrika’s face was shadowed. The clouds were dark and the sky was dark, but it was warming, Brunkr felt. He nodded.

“She saved my arm, my life as a warrior. I owe her—and Lyonette much. I would help them in any way I could, yes.”

“She helped you. Then she cares for you. You are a person that matters to Erin Solstice.”

“I—hope so.”

Brunkr hesitated. He wished he could be someone like that. But Erin had so many friends. Many people helped her. He was just one. A small, nonentity compared to someone like Zel Shivertail, or even Relc. Krshia had told Brunkr about the famous Gecko and his prowess during war. Relc was a hero. Brunkr was just a child. But he wanted to be like Regrika.

“I would do much for Erin Solstice. I hope that in time she will regard me with a part of the esteem I hold for her.”

That was all he could manage after a few seconds of thought. Regrika nodded abruptly.

“That will do. Yes, that is…appropriate.”

She halted in the street in front of Brunkr. He paused uncertainly. Regrika turned to Brunkr and he backed up a step unconsciously. She was breathing heavily. Brunkr’s smile faded.

“Honored Regrika? Is everything alright?”

The Gnoll stared at him. Then her body changed. The Gnoll with black fur vanished. In her place, a giant made of bone stood, a woman carved of ivory. Brunkr backed up, eyes wide. He reached for a sword he didn’t have. He turned to run—

Venitra twisted his neck around with a snap.

Brunkr’s body jerked once. She held him up and stabbed her hand through his chest, breaking bone and skin. She dropped the Gnoll’s lifeless body. Brunkr’s open ribcage stared up at the cloudy night.

He lay on the empty street, motionless. Venitra stood over him, shaking. She struck the lifeless body. Then she threw it against a wall.

There was no voice in the silent street, only the crunch of heavy footsteps in the snow. Venitra picked Brunkr up and threw him again. He flew across the street and landed in a heap. Then Venitra gave vent to her fury. She stomped on the ground, pounded the walls, and kicked the motionless corpse, raging silently in the cold.

Like a child.

When she was done, Ijvani appeared in the shadows behind her. The black skeleton stared up at the woman made of white bone and at the body at her feet.

You did not need to do that.

She spoke cautiously and backed up as Venitra stared at her. There was blood on her body. Venitra spoke, her voice icy calm.

“No one disgraces our master.”

She paused, and Ijvani nodded slowly in agreement. She looked at the body and then at Venitra.

All done?

“Yes.”

In that case, I will clean up. We must find a spot to place the body. I doubt hiding it would be the correct move. Hmm. You may have to kill some other Gnolls. Adventurers.

Venitra smiled.

“Gladly.”

She strode past Ijvani. The skeleton mage stared at Brunkr’s body. She sighed and reached for him.

Temper. Why is she the master’s favorite?

Brunkr did not reply.

 

—-

 

The next day, Brunkr’s body was found in Liscor’s dungeon, at the bottom of the crevasse, surrounded by a group of Gnolls, a known Silver-rank team and a few other Bronze-rank Gnolls who’d disappeared the previous night as well. Their bodies bore wounds consistent with a monster attack.

They were discovered as the sun was beginning to set in the sky.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.29

“I think we’re done here.”

“Really? But I thought—”

“Is that my tower? It is not as tall as I requested, Pawn.”

“You wanted a tower that was structurally unfeasible, Bird.”

“Yes. So?”

“This is as high as we deemed it necessary. You can shoot birds in it, and Erin—”

“I see a third floor, and I also see my inn’s bigger on the side. Right. And I have two new outhouses.”

“Yes. Are you unhappy with any of the work?”

“No, not unhappy. It’s just…my only question is…why’d you put the tower on one end of the inn?”

Erin stared up at the watchtower from her position in the snow outside. It was wet and cold, but warmer than yesterday. The sun was out and she had an unparalleled view of her new inn. And she was grateful, she really was.

Her inn was now big. Bigger, that was. It had been big. Now it was grand. It had a ground floor a third again as large, two new rooms on the second floor and an entire new third floor! And a tower. And while she was very grateful to the Antinium for all their tireless hard work, she had to question the tower.

It looked like a proper watch tower, sure enough. It had an open roof with enough space for someone to pace about on top. It would allow a bird-obsessed hunter to both keep a lookout and hunt birds in his spare time. It even had gutters which were angled so that if it rained, the water wouldn’t run down the stairs into the rest of the inn.

It was great. And Erin was sure that height aside, Bird loved it. It was just that the watch tower wasn’t placed symmetrically in the center of the inn. Rather, it was on the ‘back’, against the far wall from the front door. It made the inn look lopsided. That was Erin’s impression, though.

Pawn and Bird regarded the watch tower and looked at each other. They clearly couldn’t see the problem.

“Is there an issue with the placement of the tower, Erin? I thought it was quite appropriate.”

Erin smiled at Pawn’s worried face. She hadn’t seen enough of him lately, and she didn’t want to distress him, especially since it wasn’t that big a deal. It was just that every symmetrical instinct Erin had was crying out against this travesty.

“No, I mean, if it works, it works, right? And you put it over Bird’s room. I get that. But I just assumed it would be in the center, for uh, visibility, you know?”

Pawn nodded thoughtfully.

“A worthy idea. However, I elected to place the tower on that side in case you wanted another tower built in the future.”

“Another tower?”

“Yes. Perhaps one that is enchanted to throw lightning or hurl spells like the walls of Drake cities. Or if you wished to construct a fourth floor. Or mount a ballista on top. I am not aware of the methods with which to construct one, but the Antinium have our own plans for catapults we could share.”

“A ballista.”

The Antinium Worker realized he’d lost Erin. He looked over at Bird. The other Antinium clutched his new bow to his chest and nodded a few times.

“I could kill many birds with one. That is a good idea, Pawn.”

Erin coughed a few times.

“Yeah. A good idea. Well…good work! I think that’s all my questions answered. Anyone—anyone want something to drink? It’s on me. That means it’s free, you two.”

Pawn and Bird exchanged a glance. Pawn looked back at Erin. Bird kept staring.

“We would be delighted to have a drink, Erin. But I am afraid I must return to my Hive soon. Hm. Perhaps you could sell me a keg? Sharing a drink with my unit is a good idea.”

“Sounds good!”

Erin beamed. Pawn glanced back at Bird. He was still staring at Pawn.

“Bird, have I done something to offend you?”

“I wish to hunt birds. Are you trying to prevent me from sitting in my tower now, Pawn?”

“No, Bird. You are free to sit in your new tower.”

“You say that, but social obligations force me to drink with you. You explained this to me last week. This is a trap. I do not wish to drink but my status as ‘friend’ with you and Miss Erin prohibits me from refusing.”

Erin started to laugh and covered it. Pawn opened his mandibles and sighed.

“Bird, that is not…do I need to explain this to you again?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll leave you two to it! Pawn, come inside when you want to. Bird, you can sit in your tower if you want? I’ll tell Lyonette to send up a drink for you!”

The two Antinium watched Erin walk into her refurbished inn. Bird waved as Erin shut the door and then turned to Pawn.

“That was a considerate statement. Why could you not have made a similar statement to begin with?”

I didn’t say anything about you having to drink with me, Bird.”

“You said ‘we’. We implies multiple people, which in turn implies me. You said it despite my use of a meaningful stare you should have correctly interpreted. This is very hurtful, Pawn. I wish to sit in my tower and you have disregarded my feelings.”

Pawn glared at Bird.

“Look here, Bird. This is a stupid and pointless argument we are having. Each second we have it is a second I don’t spend drinking with Erin and you spend outside, rather than in your tower! Do I have to explain how free will and social dynamics work again?”

“…Maybe. Yes.”

 

—-

 

Erin’s new inn smelled like sawdust, fresh wood, and varnish. She could have done without the last bit, but at least it wasn’t tacky to the touch. The Antinium used a very quick-drying form of resin that was one of the reasons why they’d cornered the construction market in Liscor.

“Erin!”

Lyonette turned to Erin and smiled. She had food out and was serving drinks to the Workers and Soldiers who’d just finished their work. They were pretty much the only customers in the inn right now; breakfast had passed and it was before the lunch rush.

It was a good morning. Erin took another deep breath, and then looked around for Mrsha. She was nowhere on the bottom floor of the inn. Erin had a sense Mrsha was probably scampering about upstairs, probably with Apista clinging to her head.

“Hey Lyonette, that new bee of yours really likes Mrsha, doesn’t she? She’s always crawling on top of Mrsha’s head. Is that uh, safe?”

“Apista? I think so! I have a connection with her and she never feels violent when she’s around Mrsha. I don’t think she’d sting anyone anyways, Erin. I’m more worried Mrsha will squish her, to be honest.”

“Right. Right. Pawn’s coming in for a drink in a bit and he might want to buy a keg. Bird’s probably going to sit in his new tower. Could you bring him a mug of something when you get a chance?”

“Sure! Pawn’s buying a whole keg? Really?”

“He’ll probably bring it back to his Hive. Hey, have you seen Ryoka? I didn’t see her at breakfast this morning.”

Lyonette frowned as she offered a Soldier a mug. The Antinium cautiously took it, staring at the Human girl. He had yellow splatters of paint all across his chest.

“Oh. She said she wasn’t hungry so she grabbed a roll and left. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Figures. She’s been grumpy and weird again, lately. I don’t know why.”

Erin crossed her arms and frowned. She hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with Ryoka, but she distinctly remembered Ryoka’s odd looks last night. Was she really planning on scouting the Goblin Lord’s army like everyone was saying? And why had Ivolethe chased her away? Erin hoped that Ryoka wasn’t doing stupid stuff again.

Struck by a thought, Erin turned back to Lyonette.

“You’re feeling okay, right Lyon? If you’re tired, let me know and I can take over. I gave Ishkr and Drassi time off because yesterday was so busy. If you need a break…”

“I’m good! Serving the Antinium is easy since they don’t cause trouble, and no one else is coming in yet. If you give me a hand at lunch, I think we’ll be set!”

Lyonette smiled at Erin and Erin gave her a thumbs up in reply. She settled down at a table after pouring a drink for Pawn and herself. She had a nice variety of alcohol now thanks to her thirsty guests, but she still wished she could have some cool fruit juice from time to time. Maybe she could squeeze it herself? But it was so expensive…

Erin frowned as she sipped from her mug. She glanced up as the door opened and waved.

“Pawn! Oh—”

It wasn’t Pawn. Krshia entered the room, pausing to wipe her wet and snowy feet on the doormat. The Gnoll sniffed, and then spotted Erin.

“Erin. It is good to see you today, yes? I do not wish to bother you so early, but—have you seen Brunkr today?”

“I’m not bothered! Come and have a seat! Pawn’s going to join me for a drink. You want one?”

“Thank you, but no. I am looking for my nephew. You have not seen him yet?”

Krshia came over to the table. Erin frowned.

“I haven’t seen Brunkr since the party last night. Why?”

“He did not return home last night. I assumed he found somewhere else to sleep or found company—he has done so before. But no one I have spoken to remembers seeing him at another inn, or anywhere else in the city afterwards.”

Erin frowned as she sipped from her mug. She sat up a bit straighter in her chair.

“That is weird. I remember that Brunkr was pretty drunk last night. I don’t think he would have kept drinking. Maybe he fell asleep in a tavern or something?”

Krshia bared her teeth, although it wasn’t a smile.

“That was my first guess. But I have not spotted him or smelled him—and I assume he would be awake by now unless he truly drank too much. If he is not here, I will ask a few of the young ones to go hunting for him in the city. Thank you, Erin.”

“No problem. And tell Brunkr that I’ll talk to him about joining the Horns of Hammerad later, okay? They’re out right now. I think they’re in Celum—something about getting a new gauntlet for Yvlon’s arm? Anyways. Good luck finding him!”

Krshia nodded. She stepped out of the inn at the same time Pawn and Bird walked in. Erin thought no more of it, and she waved Pawn over. Bird went upstairs, and Lyonette followed him with a mug.

Pawn sat with Erin and introduced her to Yellow Splatters, one of the Antinium Soldiers who was apparently important. More so than the others, for some reason. Pawn refused to elaborate and told Erin it was a secret for now. Obviously, Yellow Splatters didn’t say anything.

They talked, and then the Antinium left in a single mass. After paying, of course. They always paid. A ‘tab’ was a foreign concept to them. Erin sat and daydreamed about catapults. After a while, Mrsha slunk into the room with Apista on her head. The bee flew off to bask next to the fire, which was a relief to Erin since Mrsha had curled up on her lap. Lyonette came down and began bringing dishes to the kitchen for Ishkr to wash later.

Lunch arrived too quickly, with a rush of visitors, some from Liscor, but most from Celum. Octavia came in too, hungry because she’d forgotten to eat since yesterday. She told Erin her sales of matches were through the roof, and showed her some more of the penicillin-type mold she’d grown. Erin made her wash her hands before eating.

Krshia came back as Erin and Lyonette were serving guests today’s special—grilled cheese sandwiches. Some had ham inside for extra niceness.

“Krshia! Hey, have you found him yet? Brunkr?”

“No, Erin. We have not. And now others are looking. I had thought he might have…it is nothing. I am sorry to bother you when you are busy, no.”

The Gnoll looked around the inn and shook her head. Erin frowned and signaled to Lyonette to take over for a moment.

“Do you want me to go look for him? I have time. We’re not that busy.”

“No, I—think we will be fine. It is just odd. We have not picked up a fresh scent of Brunkr. His trail vanishes. I hoped to get a fresher smell of him here. But it is faint here, too.”

Erin nodded. She felt a flash of—she ignored it.

“Well, okay. Let me know when you find him, alright?”

Krshia nodded. She left without a word. Erin got back to work. She felt a bit uneasy, now. But it was just a feeling. She told herself that as she served lunch, and then began to tidy up. Because she no longer felt like relaxing, she went into the kitchen and washed some dishes.

The door opened a third time as the sun was beginning to set in the sky. Erin knew Lyonette was upstairs and Mrsha was napping with her. Hands covered in sudsy water, she poked her head out of the kitchen. Krshia was standing in the doorway.

“Hey. Did you find—”

The words caught in Erin’s throat. Across the room, Krshia looked at her. Just looked. The Gnoll’s fur was wet with melted snow and sweat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, as if she’d just been running. And her eyes. Her eyes were too bright.

There was nothing supernatural about what Erin understood in that moment. It had nothing to do with magic or fate, and everything to do with the look on Krshia’s face.

Erin knew. But she pretended she didn’t. She told herself she didn’t.

“Did—did you find him? Brunkr?”

She smiled, forcing her lips to move as she walked out of the kitchen. A bit of soapy water dripped onto the floor. Krshia stared at the droplets on the floorboards, and then at Erin. Her voice was very distant.

“He is dead.”

“What?”

Erin was still smiling in that moment. She didn’t register what Krshia had said. She didn’t want to. Her heart began to beat faster.

“Krshia?”

The Gnoll looked at Erin. She had tears in her eyes.

“He is dead. My nephew, Brunkr. He is dead.”

There was a hole in the world. Erin fell through. She walked out from behind the counter as Krshia went on.

“They found him in the dungeon. In—at the bottom of the crevasse. His body and eight others. A team of Silver-rank Gnolls and—all dead. They were torn apart by some kind of monster, it seems.”

Erin felt the ground break under her. The day shattered. There was a hole in the world and Erin felt herself falling. Krshia collapsed into a chair and Erin sat on the floor. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

“Where is he now?”

There was a hole in the world. A dark, deep pit. Brunkr was lying there. They brought him out of the dungeon with magic and ropes. When she saw his body, Erin believed. She ran back to the inn to tell Lyonette to bring Mrsha away, far away. But it was too late. Mrsha smelled him. And she knew.

The city was filled with howling. The sun shone and melted the snow. Erin sat in the kitchen of her inn and wept.

And then Ryoka found Ishkr standing outside the inn. He was there for his evening shift. He hadn’t heard until the the howling began. He was crying in the melting snow when she asked him what was wrong. He turned to her, and she saw it in his eyes. And she knew too.

 

—-

 

“I’m going to kill her.”

Ryoka choked on the words. She ran, gasping in the cold air, tripped, fell. The snow was wet. Melting. Ryoka pushed herself up. She stood in the middle of Liscor’s rolling hills and valleys. In the middle of nowhere.

The snow had melted into ice in places. Part of the crust had cut Ryoka’s hands and arms as she fell. The blood and water mixed and dripped into the white snow, staining it. Ryoka looked down at her hands.

“I should have done it last night. I’ll kill her. I’ll—”

She choked on the words. There were tears in her eyes. Ryoka took a shaking breath, and then choked again. She coughed and bent over in the snow. Her lungs were burning. Her heart hurt.

And it was filled with rage. Ryoka felt at her belt. She grabbed a large bag of flour and the igniter.

“I’ll blow her up. I—I can do it. I’ll lure her into a trap or—or—”

 

“And do what? Die? You cannot harm her. You know that.”

 

Someone floated down beside Ryoka. Ivolethe stared at her Human friend, melancholy in her eyes. Ryoka turned to Ivolethe and half shouted, half screamed at her. The sound caught in her throat and she doubled over. She retched, and nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten since last night, really.

“I can’t let her get away. She killed—she—she did it to hurt me! I know she did!”

 

“Perhaps. But you know she did it because she could. Because you could not stop her. That is the truth.”

 

The Frost Faerie landed on Ryoka’s shoulder. She stared at Ryoka, not unsympathetically. Her words drove needles into the young woman’s skin. Ryoka grabbed her head with her hands.

“I know! I know. I can’t do a thing. I can only—”

She bit her lip, hard enough to break the skin. She could only tell someone like Zel or Ilvriss that Az’kerash’s servants were here. Then she would die. The [Word of Death] spell was on her, and if that failed, Venitra was sure to kill her.

But she had to do it. She had to do something. Brunkr was dead. Because of her. Because she had failed to do anything. Because she had been afraid.

Ryoka had hated before. She had hated her father, her teachers, the fake people at school and the entire world. She thought she knew hate. Only now, in this moment did she realize that she had never really hated anything before.

Venitra. Ryoka clenched her jaw so tightly her teeth ground together and nearly cracked. She hated only one person as much as Venitra. And that was the Goblin Lord.

Hate. She stood in the snow. Winter was ending. Ryoka looked to Ivolethe, resting on her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do. Ivolethe. Tell me. What should I do?”

Ivolethe looked back into Ryoka’s eyes. She was melting. Her body was crystal and liquid, ice and fading perfection. When she spoke, she pointed up towards the open, blue sky.

 

“Remember this, Ryoka Griffin: when you run, the wind knows. The wind is a thing. A thing that thinks, like trees do, or rocks. The earth is not alive, but neither is it dead. Remember that. Step as if you mean to walk into the sky. That is how faeries fly.”

 

Ryoka stared at her. Ivolethe flew off her shoulder as Ryoka lashed out. She circled Ryoka’s head, speaking calmly.

 

“What? Do you expect me to grieve with you? I did not know this Brunkr. I mourn, but he was not my friend. Do you wish me to tell you it will be alright? I will not lie. And I will not dictate your fate. I will not. I cannot.”

 

Her words were like ice. Painful, piercing, but also clear and true. Ryoka’s shoulder slumped.

“I know. But I can’t—”

She hesitated, afraid to give voice to her feelings. Ryoka stood in the snow as it melted onto her boots and heard a shout.

“Hey! You! Yeah, you, Runner Girl! I remember you!”

She and Ivolethe turned. Running towards them through the snow was a green blur. Ryoka recognized Relc and raised a hand as he skidded to a stop, spraying snow towards her. He grinned at Ryoka, showing her two rows of pointed teeth.

“I just remembered! You’re that Runner, aren’t you? The one I nearly caught way back when! ”

Ryoka stared at him. Relc laughed.

“Don’t you remember? You were running down the north road and I was on patrol. I ran after you and I nearly had you, but then you got away! We should have a rematch! All those bastards at the barracks were saying I was slow! Me!

It felt wrong for Relc to be here, laughing and upbeat. Ryoka could barely remember the incident he was describing. What was it? When she’d—yes, right after Pisces had healed her legs. She’d run back towards Celum and she remembered an angry Drake in armor chasing her.

“You were that [Guardsman]?”

“Sure was! I can’t believe it’s you! Small world, huh?”

Ryoka nodded. Then she stared at Relc.

“So what?”

He paused.

“Excuse me?”

Sorrow and helplessness became anger. Ryoka stared at Relc.

“Who cares how fast you are?”

The Drake looked insulted.

“I do. I want to race you again, to prove I’m faster. Not here—there are no witnesses. Back at Liscor. We’ll clear some snow or maybe run around the city. Then I’ll prove I’m the fastest!”

“Who cares? You lost! It doesn’t matter!”

Ryoka turned away, trying to resist the urge to punch Relc and get arrested or have her nose broken. The Drake danced around her, looking indignant.

“I didn’t lose! I mean, it wasn’t a fair race! I was in armor and I had my spear! Do you know how heavy chainmail is?”

“Not very. You can still run with it on.”

Relc opened his mouth and his tail twitched guiltily.

“Well, yeah. Right. But it’s still heavy if you’re trying to sprint in it! And I had too much to eat that day. You had a head start by the time I started chasing you—and uh, I had to get up to speed! If I’d have felt like it, I would have totally caught you in the next minute. But I’m a responsible guardsman so I had to get back to my patrol.”

“Right.”

“I’m telling the truth! Race me again and—”

“Oh shut up!

Ryoka turned and shouted at Relc. He blinked. Ryoka raised her voice, too angry to care about the tears in her eyes.

“Don’t you have any decency for god’s sake? Someone just died, or haven’t you heard? I don’t want to race you, so piss off and leave me alone!

She was breathing heavily. She turned and wiped at her face with a sleeve. When Relc spoke next, it was more quietly.

“I know. I didn’t know you knew the guy, though.”

“I didn’t. Not really. Not at all. But—”

She wanted to say it was her fault. And she knew she couldn’t. Relc shrugged his massive shoulders. He sounded genuinely contrite.

“Sorry about that. I uh, thought it wouldn’t bother you since you’re Human and he was—it sucks. I get that. But I wasn’t friends with the guy. And I’ve seen buddies die before. Too many. If I got bogged down every time it happened I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

“What, you mean your job is coming out here and harassing me?”

Ryoka turned and glared. Relc smiled and pulled something out of his belt pouch.

“Not really. That was just for fun. See, I am here to talk to you about that Brunkr guy.”

“Why?”

“Oh…Klb has a hunch, and all the Gnolls are really upset about it. So Captain Z ordered us to look into it.”

Relc tossed a clear crystal—it looked like quartz—up and down in his palm. He spoke as he glanced back towards the city and then at Ryoka. The air of reckless energy around him was gone. He was still animated, but now he was serious. When she saw that, Ryoka calmed down a little.

“Here’s the thing about the Brunkr guy. We found him in the dungeon, at the bottom of that rift. You heard? Right. They died right at the bottom, right near the ropes. When Klb heard that, he got a bit suspicious. I mean, that Brunkr guy was a good [Warrior] by all accounts. So we decided to do some investigating.”

Ryoka’s heart began to beat faster.

“Investigating? Why?”

“I dunno. It’s a hunch.”

Relc shrugged.

“It could be it was all an accident and some damn monsters killed the Gnolls. Or it might not be. Might’ve been a fight that ended badly and got covered up. Maybe Brunkr went down on a dare. Or maybe the other adventurers dragged him with them. Maybe it was just him and the Gnolls being stupid. But Erin swears he wouldn’t have gone down there and Klb and I believe her. So we’re doing an investigation.”

“And you came to find me.”

“That’s right. It’s nothing personal, but you were at that party last night, right? I was there—didn’t see you talking to Brunkr, but Klb says we have to cover all angles. So I have this.”

He showed the bit of quartz to Ryoka. She stared at it. It was a truth stone. She looked at Relc, dread in her stomach.

“What…do you want me to say?”

The [Guardsman]’s eyes focused on her. He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious and his posture—it was just a little tense.

“Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Ryoka stared at the gem in Relc’s hands. The Drake looked down at her. There was no accusation in his eyes. But he was waiting. Ryoka opened her mouth and spoke. Slowly.

“I didn’t do it.”

The gem flashed. Ryoka stared at it. Part of her expected it to show her lie. But it glowed bright blue. A false color. A liar’s color.

“Well, that settles that! I told Klb it was pointless, but he insisted. He even tested Erin. And the Mrsha kid! Isn’t he crazy?”

Relc tucked the stone into his belt pouch, laughing. Ryoka stared at him. Laughter was the last thing from her mind, but then she realized something terrible.

“He’s testing everyone from the party?”

The Drake nodded.

“Yep! Got them to come back to the inn and everything. I think it’s easier there—lots of booze so they can drink until they drop, y’know?”

They were testing everyone. Ryoka’s pulse raced. She turned back to the inn.

“I have to get back there.”

“What? Wait? What’s the rush? Oh! This is a race! Alright! Let’s do this!”

Relc shouted with glee and raced after Ryoka through the snow.

 

—-

 

Erin sat in her inn, numb, quiet. She heard people talking, heard tears, listened to Mrsha howling and Krshia and Lyonette trying to comfort her. She could hear Krshia’s voice breaking. Erin listened to tears.

She did not cry. She couldn’t. A part of her was curled up in mourning, but it was only a part. The rest felt…numb. Some part of Erin was still awake in her grief. It whispered to her. It spoke.

I have been here before.

She had felt this very feeling. Erin could remember it, when Klbkch died. When the Horns of Hammerad were pronounced dead. When she killed the Goblin Chieftain. She had been here before. Only this time it was different.

This time part of her called out for vengeance. Brunkr’s death had come as a shock to all the Gnolls, to Erin, to Lyonette, to everyone at the party. It seemingly had no reason, and Erin had no idea why it had happened. But she did know one thing.

It was no accident.

Her head turned as the door slammed open. Relc surged into the room, beaming, and deflated as he saw the mood. He coughed, and held the door open. Half a minute later Ryoka stumbled through the door, breathing heavily.

All eyes turned to her and Relc as they walked into the room. Ryoka sat down heavily at a table, looking around. Relc edged over to where Klbkch was interviewing a group of three Gnolls. He nudged the Antinium. When Klbkch turned around Relc whispered loudly.

“I won.”

Erin had no idea what that was about. Neither did she care. She only had eyes for Klbkch. The Antinium turned back to the Gnolls without a word and asked them a question. Each replied. The stone in Klbkch’s hands glowed white each time they responded. He moved on.

They were all there, all the people who’d been here last night. Klbkch, the blue Antinium named Xrn who’d eaten so much, the Horns of Hammerad, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Zel and the Wall Lord…and the Gnolls.

They were eating. Quietly, some while crying. Others just drank, but Lyonette, Drassi, and Ishkr were serving food from Erin’s kitchen, hot and fresh as the moment it had been cooked.

It felt wrong to Erin. But the Gnolls were grieving as they ate. They had to—it was evening and many hadn’t had lunch or breakfast before they found out. And they were a different people. They ate and mourned Brunkr in their own way.

“Miss Blackpaw, it is your turn now.”

Erin’s head turned. She saw Ryoka look up at her table. Klbkch calmly walked over to the huge Gnoll. Like the others, Regrika was eating. She pushed back her plate and turned to face Klbkch.

“I am ready.”

Was it just convenience or another reason that had made Klbkch ask everyone to return to the inn? Erin watched as Klbkch consulted a bit of parchment he was holding.

“Regrika Blackpaw, you were seen talking to Brunkr last night, before leaving the party. You did not have a long conversation and it was within sight of others guests. I have one question for you. Did you meet, speak with, or interact in any other way with Brunkr Silverfang after leaving the party?”

The room was silent. It had grown silent each time Klbkch asked a question. Erin saw Ulrien shift casually in his seat. It was just a thought. Of course it wasn’t Regrika Blackpaw who’d murdered Brunkr, if that was what had happened. But she could see the thoughts running through the Gold-rank adventurer’s minds. It wasn’t, but if it was…

The Named Adventurer with black fur did not look concerned by Klbkch’s question. She smiled as he held the crystal in front of her. Her smile was as innocent as could be. It was a child’s smile.

“I did not meet with Brunkr, no. I regret to say that I did not see him after the party, and missed his presence at the end of it. I am afraid that is all I know, Senior Guardsman.”

Everyone stared at the truth gem. It flashed white. Klbkch nodded. Ryoka stared at the gem. Her face was pale. Erin kept staring at Regrika’s face.

Klbkch consulted the gem and nodded.

“Thank you, Miss Blackpaw. I will interview Ikriss Southwing next. Mister Southwing, last night you were seen…”

Prompted by some instinct, Erin got up and walked over to where Ryoka was sitting. The other young woman was sweaty and looked—disturbed. She caught Relc as he was passing.

“Hey, why is the other gem flashing white?”

Relc made a face.

“Eh. Truth gems. They’re enchanted by different mages. Some flash white when the answer’s true, others blue, green…it’s a pain in the tail. I once had a gem where it would flash red if you were telling the truth and brown if you were lying. Who does that?”

Ryoka didn’t reply. She sat back in her chair, staring at Regrika’s back. Erin frowned.

“Ryoka? Are you okay?”

The other girl started and looked at Erin. Ikriss was done being interviewed, and Klbkch was consulting his list. She shook her head.

“I—can’t stay here. I shouldn’t have come back. Stupid. I should have known—”

She got up abruptly. Erin caught at her arm.

“Ryoka. I want to talk. Can you speak with me upstairs?”

She felt like there was a hole in her chest, but the dread certainty in her gut was moving her. Someone killed Brunkr. She wanted Ryoka’s help, but the Asian girl shook her head.

“I really can’t. I’m sorry, Erin.”

“Ryoka, I need—”

“I said no!”

Ryoka snapped. Heads turned. Erin let go of Ryoka’s arms. She had never been angrier with her friend than at this moment.

“Fine. Go.”

She saw Ryoka turn guiltily to her, but she still left. Erin watched the door swing shut. Klbkch looked up from his notes.

“I believe that is everyone. It seems there is no indication that Brunkr’s death was a result, however indirectly, of the actions of anyone within this building.”

A gentle sigh ran through the room, and Mrsha howled again upstairs. Erin stared at Klbkch as he went to consult with Relc. From their postures, she knew they were wrapping things up. They’d already talked to friends of the other deceased adventurers and found nothing. It was an accident, or something else. Not murder.

She disagreed. She felt it. Erin wandered over to the table where Regrika and Ikriss were sitting. They’d both finished their plates. She tried to smile at them.

“Did you like your food?”

They both smiled at her. Regrika spoke softly, sympathy in her large brown eyes.

“I did. Thank you, Erin.”

Erin tried to smile again. It failed. She walked off. And the certainty in her heart grew.

 

—-

 

Ryoka stood in the snow outside the inn. She hadn’t run far. Just far enough away from the city and inn that no one could really see her. She waited. She knew what was coming.

There was no crunch of snow to alert her. No sound. Only Ivolethe’s cold hand on Ryoka’s cheek. She turned, and saw Ijvani standing behind her.

The skeleton’s bones were black. Her blue eyes danced with flame. She held a staff in her hand that looked like it had been carved from a huge length of bone. Its tip was set with a golden gem. Ryoka swung at her.

Ah.

Ijvani caught the blow. She let go and Ryoka’s leg struck an invisible barrier. Ryoka bent, grasping at her leg and made an incoherent sound.

“Fractured. Curious. You move quite adeptly for a Runner.”

A second voice issued from the skeleton’s mouth. It was not Ijvani’s hollow tones, but the quiet, deliberate words she had heard before. Az’kerash spoke as Ijvani lifted a finger and pointed, and Ryoka felt the sharp pain in her foot subside.

“You bastard. Go fuck yourself.”

She didn’t thank him as she stood. Ryoka glared at Ijvani. The skeleton shifted in silent outrage. She heard Az’kerash sigh.

“Just as well that I did not bring Venitra. You are careless, Ryoka Griffin. My servants are devoted.”

“They’re murderers!”

“I am well aware of their traits. As to the death of the Gnoll—that was Venitra’s error. She has suffered my ire for her actions.”

Ryoka waited. Ijvani stared at her.

“That’s it?”

Her voice was trembling. Ryoka strode towards the skeleton and met the invisible barrier in the snow. She strained against it, shouting at Az’kerash.

“That’s it? You kill someone and—that’s all you have to say?”

“Yes.”

There was no limit to the coldness in Az’kerash’s tone. Ijvani stared at Ryoka, her jaw moving as he replied softly.

“Do you expect me to apologize for his death? No. I am irate at my servant for revealing herself in this way and potentially compromising my disguise for her. That is all. I care not at all for the lives of your friends. I am here simply to warn you against foolish impulses.”

Ryoka ground her teeth together.

“You mean so that I don’t tell anyone else. Why shouldn’t I? If you’re going to kill my friends—”

The skeleton’s eyes flashed.

“I will kill them all if I am betrayed, girl. Do not mistake me. This is not a threat, but a promise.”

The fear that swept over Ryoka was sudden and chilling. She fell silent. Az’kerash went on.

“You have no power here. Know that Venitra will not take any more actions without my consent. If she does, she will prove herself to be a failure. That will stay her, you have my word.”

Did Ijvani shiver on hearing that? Ryoka stared at the skeleton, and then looked away.

“So I just have to wait while you decide my fate?”

“Yes.”

Contempt. No, not that. Indifference. That was all Az’kerash’s voice held. Ryoka wanted to punch at Ijvani, and knew how futile it would be. She felt worthless. Helpless.

A flash of blue shot by her face. The flames in Ijvani’s eyes brightened for a second—and then went out. The skeleton tumbled backwards, frost suddenly covering her entire body.

“What is happening? Ijvani?”

I am under attack, master!

Something blasted Ryoka off her feet. She tumbled down the slope of the hill she was standing on, and then felt another force lift her up. She struggled in the air and saw the black skeleton pointing at her. Lightning was crackling from her fingertips, across her entire body. Ryoka went limp.

“It was not Ryoka Griffin. Hold your spell.”

Az’kerash’s voice snapped as Ijvani’s head turned around, surveying the landscape. She paused as Ivolethe floated in front of her face. The faerie was raising one finger and glaring. Az’kerash’s voice paused, and then grew thoughtful.

“What is that, Ijvani? I cannot see it, but I know something is there from your reactions.”

A…Winter Sprite, my lord. It seems to be protective of Ryoka Griffin.

“A Winter Sprite? Are you sure, Ijvani?”

Yes, master. I see it in front of me.

“How intriguing. I have never heard of a Winter Sprite befriending anyone before. Is it hostile, Ijvani?”

I cannot tell, master. It is a blur to me.

“I cannot see it. Put Ryoka Griffin down. Gently. Avoid antagonizing it, Ijvani. These Winter Sprites are considerably powerful in terms of magic, but they do not use force unless threatened. They are a form of elemental. Intelligent in some senses, but harmless.”

The look on Ivolethe’s face made Ryoka want to laugh hysterically as she was lowered to the ground. The Frost Faerie hesitated, looking at Ryoka, and then floated over to her shoulder. She sat there, glaring, as Ijvani turned back to Ryoka.

“That is all I wished to speak with you about. Ijvani, return to the inn.”

Yes, master.

The skeleton turned away. Ryoka clenched her fists, longing to shout, to say…something. But what could she say? There was no insult horrible enough, no word to describe him. She looked at Ijvani’s back and thought she understood a bit of evil. It was in Az’kerash’s voice. It was his sheer, awful contempt for everything he saw.

Ijvani walked through the snow, putting the illusion spells back on her body. Az’kerash spoke one last time through her mouth.

“Watch her, Ijvani. Don’t let her out of your sight. And find out more about her. That is an order.”

She nodded.

Yes, master.

 

—-

 

Ryoka sat in the snow, burying her face in her hands. She was lost. She didn’t know what to do. And she couldn’t ask for help from anyone. Because she understood now.

He was listening to everything she said. She was being watched. And there was no escaping. If Ryoka said anything, did anything, if she even hinted, she was sure Az’kerash would notice. Or his servant, Ijvani would.

She was stuck. Ryoka spoke to the air. It was the only thing she could speak to, the only thing that wouldn’t draw attention to her.

“What should I do?”

She was just speaking to herself. That was what the spell saw. But Ryoka had one friend. One friend the Necromancer’s magic couldn’t see. And the Frost Faerie was no mere elemental. She hovered in front of Ryoka and her frozen eyes blazed.

 

“Fight.”

 

Ryoka stared at her. She felt a core of her resonate with Ivolethe’s words. There was no help for it, was there? She had to fight. If not…if not, her fate was in Az’kerash’s hands. And she could not trust him for anything like mercy.

“How could I defeat those two? I mean, it’s impossible. That bitch Venitra’s made of pure bone and she walked through an explosion unscathed. As for Ijvani—how could I hope to kill them myself?”

Ryoka lay back in the snow, pretending to stare up at the sky. Ivolethe floated overhead, looking grave.

 

“By yourself? Ye could not do a thing. You know this. But you are not alone.”

 

“If I asked the others? That’s suicide. They couldn’t help if I managed to get word to them. Could they?”

She could imagine Zel putting up a fight, but Erin? What about the Gold-rank adventurers? Ivolethe considered this.

 

“If it came to a battle, perhaps they might win. Perhaps not. The lord of death watches his servants. He would cheat, as surely as you breathe, Ryoka Griffin. The leader of armies could fight well I think, but there are too many who would die.”

 

“It would be a bloodbath.”

Ivolethe nodded.

 

“Just so. But perhaps there is another way.”

 

Ryoka stared at her. She was desperate.

“What can I do? Tell me, please.”

She stared at the sky as the Frost Faerie flew next to her. Ivolethe whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

 

“There is one who fears neither death nor magic. He who rules above all others. A tyrant of flame.”

 

Teriarch. Ryoka inhaled the word before it could come out. Yes! Why hadn’t she thought of that? In the next moment she was deflated. Yes, there was someone she could ask. But he was—Ryoka shook her head in despair.

“It’s half a day’s run from Celum. And dangerous. I’d never make it—”

She’d be caught the instant she tried to run. Ivolethe nodded, understanding what Ryoka was saying without her saying it.

 

“Yes. Yes, they would hunt ye. But if you ran—if you had a distraction, then perhaps.”

 

“How? No. I could run for it. But there’s a cost, though, right?”

Ivolethe smiled sadly. Her form glistened. Another bit of her melted away and dropped, frozen and cold, into the snow next to Ryoka.

 

“There is always a cost. I bent the rules for you yesterday. I would bend them again. I can play…tricks on others. Tricks, Ryoka. It is not exactly interference. Bothering that fool with the spear was one trick. But I know many more. The servants of that lord of death may know their spells, but I have magic beyond what they know.”

 

“Maybe. Maybe I could just run away. But—what then? Would I have a chance? Or would I be killing myself either way?”

 

“Do you truly wish to know?”

 

The Frost Faerie’s gaze was ancient. Ryoka nodded. Ivolethe closed her eyes, and then nodded. She flew up and Ryoka sat up in the snow. She watched as Ivolethe looked.

She looked backwards, then forwards, and then through Ryoka. Ivolethe’s gaze traced objects that were not there. Her eyes were distant, aloof, immortal.

Ryoka averted her gaze. Of all the things she had seen her friend do, this unnerved her the most. In that moment, she felt the difference between the two. Because Ivolethe was immortal, for all she behaved like a creature of this earth. And the undying look at the world as it truly is, as it will be, and as it was.

Dust.

At last, Ivolethe shook her head. She alighted on Ryoka’s palm and looked up at her. There was infinite compassion in her gaze, infinite sorrow.

 

“You would save those who can be saved.”

 

Ryoka inhaled. Ivolethe held up a hand.

 

“Aye, but the cost. The cost is great, Ryoka. For when I look down that road, I see death, Ryoka Griffin. I see your death. It is unavoidable.”

 

There was a churning pit in Ryoka’s stomach, a clump of fear. It had been there since she’d looked back in the alleyway and seen Venitra’s face. Now the fear subsided. Ryoka felt calm. She stood up, holding Ivolethe, and looked north.

She could save them all. She could do it. Ryoka took a step towards the inn, towards the door that led to Celum. She took another step, and then realized something was wrong.

She wasn’t moving. Ryoka looked down. Her feet were planted in the snow. She tried to raise her left foot. It didn’t twitch. Ryoka stared. She couldn’t make her legs move.

She was too afraid.

 

—-

 

Erin stood in her kitchen, in front of a freshly washed cutting board. Her inn was empty. There was only Lyonette, Mrsha, and one or two others in the inn. Everyone else had left.

Mrsha was crying. She would cry, and then howl. It was a painful noise. Her throat was already raw, but nothing could make the Gnoll child stop. Lyonette was crying too. Erin could hear her sobbing. Their room was right over the kitchen’s upstairs.

Erin wasn’t crying. She stared at the cutting board. Then she looked along the kitchen counter. It was covered in food. Or rather, ingredients.

Choice cuts of meat, ham on the bone, wizened vegetables, the last of the winter’s harvests, flour, salt, and rarer ingredients still. Ground up Corusdeer horn, the skin of some kind of salamander or newt, a goopy mess that was something’s eyeball—ingredients from Octavia. They were all neatly arranged, but Erin hadn’t begun cooking. She stared at the ingredients, and then turned as someone coughed and knocked quietly on the doorjamb of the kitchen.

“What do you want, Pisces? I’m not serving food.”

“Perish the thought.”

The [Necromancer] delicately stepped into the kitchen, surveying the counter full of food. He paused and looked at Erin before clearing his throat.

“I ah, only wished to extend my apologies, Erin.”

“You?”

“Yes. I realize it may be…tactless coming from me, but I feel that offering my sympathies is only appropriate—”

Pisces caught Erin’s eye and broke off. He paused for a moment, sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and then spoke. Differently, this time.

“I am sorry. That’s all I wanted to say. I know I am not the person you would wish to turn to, but Ceria is about to leave for the city. Liscor, that is. I believe she and the others intend to drink and leave you in peace. However, I could ask her to stay, or find Miss Selys—”

“No. No, Pisces, that’s kind of you, but no.”

Erin shook her head. She relaxed a bit, and turned to Pisces. He looked uncharacteristically somber. But his words sounded as genuine as they had ever been. She was glad to hear it. Pisces stared at her kitchen.

“Are you cooking something?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking about it.”

He nodded.

“That may be a good way to, ah, relieve stress.”

“It’s not for that.”

“Oh? If it is tomorrow’s meal or tonight’s you are worried about, I am sure that closing your inn would not be—”

“It’s not that, Pisces. Thanks for asking. It’s…it’s actually about Regrika and Ikriss.”

Pisces’ gaze sharpened slightly.

“What do you mean by that?”

Erin heard a choked noise from above. She looked up and saw Pisces closing his eyes for a second. Erin ignored Lyonette’s voice as she spoke.

“She didn’t like my cooking.”

“Who?”

“Regrika. And that Ikriss guy. They say they like it, but they hated it. I can tell.”

Erin gestured to one of the plates lying on the counter. Pisces stared at the grilled cheese sandwich.

“Those are not typically Gnoll foods, I admit—”

“No. They didn’t like last night’s meals either. They ate a lot, but they didn’t like a thing. Not the steak, not the casserole—nothing. Not even the drinks.”

The [Necromancer] frowned and stroked at his chin as he eyed Erin.

“That is a curious certainty, Erin. How do you know?”

She looked at him. Pisces flinched and avoided meeting her eyes. Erin looked back at her empty kitchen counter.

“I’m an [Innkeeper].”

There was something burning in her mind, something hot behind her eyes. She hadn’t meant to turn it on Pisces. After a second he cleared his throat.

“So this attempt at cooking is…?”

“I wonder what they do like eating. That’s all.”

Erin stared at the counter. There was a feeling she had, like when she was about to solve a chess problem, or she felt like she had come up with a great move in a game of chess. It was as if she stood on the edge of certainty. She had that feeling now. There were pieces. Just pieces, but…

She looked at Pisces.

“Pisces. Is it possible to deceive a truth detection spell? Is it possible to lie when someone’s using one of those stones on you?”

He froze. Pisces stared at Erin, and she felt him searching her face. He hesitated, gnawed on one lip, raised a finger, and then lowered it. Then he nodded and leaned forwards to speak softly.

“Practically? No. I could not do it. Nor could Ceria, Typhenous…a Named Adventurer would probably lack the ability to do so. But in theory? Yes. The current Archmages of Wistram could most likely affect such a spell. And such stones are not…flawless. There are ways to deceive simpler versions of the spell, which is why more expensive and accurate versions of truth-telling artifacts exist.”

“Thanks. That helps.”

Pisces nodded, but didn’t pull back. He lowered his voice further.

“I do not wish to tell you what to do. However. Perhaps, Erin, it might be better to…grieve. And let whatever you are thinking of go.”

He was not prepared for the hand that grabbed the front of his robes. Pisces yelped and then stared at Erin. His face was inches away from hers. Erin stared at him.

“If you know anything, Pisces, tell me.”

He jerked back, brushing down his clean robes. He shook his head. Erin glared, but he kept shaking his head. When he looked her in the eye, it was with open honesty.

“It is just a feeling. Less than that. I cannot sense anything about them. Anything at all. Rather, it is my instincts that prompt me, not magic. Just my intuition.”

“What does it tell you?”

Pisces hesitated. He turned his head and stared back at the common room. It was empty of course. But he still lowered his voice.

“They frighten me, Erin. They frighten me terribly. And I do not understand why.”

There was no confusing which ‘they’ he meant. Erin nodded.

“They bother me too.”

Pisces stared at her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then turned away. He walked towards the kitchen’s exit and then turned back.

“Be careful.”

Then he was gone. Erin stood in the kitchen, and heard a howl from upstairs. She closed her eyes. And thought.

Erin didn’t know much. She wasn’t smart. She couldn’t figure out why Brunkr had died, or what the motives were, or figure anything else about where he’d been found or his injuries.

His injuries. Erin’s hand tightened on her counter. She relaxed. Slowly.

No, she couldn’t figure any of that out. But she had one certainty, and one alone. Brunkr had been murdered. He’d told her that he wouldn’t enter the dungeon. He’d promised her he wouldn’t risk his life, not carelessly. He’d promised her that.

And she knew Brunkr. She knew people. So she knew he had been murdered. As for who had done it—Erin knew people. It was just a hunch.

She stared at the counter. She had no proof. None at all. She heard Mrsha howl again and Lyonette try to stop her. But the girl broke down and began to sob rhythmically. It went on and on. Erin stared at the ingredients.

Food for Regrika Blackpaw. Which one was it? What would she use? If she were making food for that one person. For Regrika. For her. What would she make.

Erin’s hand moved unconsciously. She stared at what she grabbed, and then put it on the board in front of her. The world was slowing. Everything was crystalizing around Erin, becoming a single moment. A terrible moment. Lyonette was crying, Mrsha was howling and then pausing for breath, and then howling again.

Time slowed. The intervals between Lyonette’s sobs and Mrsha’s howling grew longer. Erin’s hands moved. She grabbed a hammer. She grabbed a knife. She pushed ingredients around, poured, assembled. Baked. It was all one moment, one slowly unwinding scene of horror.

And then it was over. All the pieces fell into place. Erin looked down at what Regrika Blackpaw would eat. She stared at the dish she’d created. And she knew.

 

—-

 

The world was ringing. Or humming. It felt like everything was vibrating. Ryoka’s heart was beating too fast to keep still. She walked up towards Erin’s inn, holding something in her hands.

A bit of parchment. An inkpot. And a quill. She’d bought them from the market. She cautiously pushed open the door to the inn.

“Hello? Erin? Anyone?”

There was no one inside. Not Lyonette, or Mrsha. Erin was gone too. Ryoka took a shuddering breath. That was…fine.

It was dark as she ascended the stairs. A bit of blue lit the way. Ivolethe flew slowly next to Ryoka as the girl walked into the room she shared with Lyonette and Mrsha. Ryoka slowly sat on the floor. She put the bit of parchment on the floor and pulled out the quill and inkpot. She opened the inkpot and picked up the quill.

Then she stared at the parchment lying on the ground. Ryoka’s heart beat wildly. She hesitated. She didn’t know what to write.

But she knew she had to write it.

She stared at the blank piece of parchment for a long time. Then she dipped her quill in the ink and wrote. Just a few lines. There were no good words she could think of, but Ryoka had no time to come up with some. She was running out of time. So she wrote and it was done.

Next, Ryoka folded the parchment and tucked it into her belt pouch. Then she took her belt pouches off and put it in her room. She took the bag of holding off her belt and put it next to the pouches. She shifted her Runner’s pack to hide both items and stood up.

“That’s it. That’s all she wrote. I can go now.”

Slowly, she walked out of the room and down the stairs. Ryoka felt like she was in a trance. Everything seemed vast around her, and she felt as though she were looking down at herself. The door to Celum was right in front of her.

Ryoka stopped in front of it. She looked to one side. Ivolethe hovered there, a piece of infinity. Melting away. The Frost Faerie was smiling. Gently. It was the first time Ryoka had seen her look this way. She almost seemed…proud.

“I guess this is it, Ivolethe.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The faerie nodded once. Ryoka gulped.

“Do you think I’m a coward for being afraid?”

The tiny immortal shook her head.

 

“No. I would never scorn you for that.”

 

“Thank you. And tell them—tell Erin and Mrsha and Lyonette—tell them—”

Words failed her. Ryoka turned away. Ivolethe nodded.

 

“I will see your end.”

 

“Thank you.”

Ryoka opened the door. She took a breath. Then she stepped through.

And began to run.

 

—-

 

Dusk had ended. Night was upon the world when Az’kerash contacted his two servants.

 

Report.

 

Venitra stood in her disguise as Regrika Blackpaw, Ijvani as Ikriss, just outside the city limits. They stood next to the wall and spoke to the air.

 

I have discovered that Ryoka Griffin is a known City Runner who has completed deliveries to the High Passes, and to Lady Magnolia Reinhart. Of note, she has recently travelled to Invrisil via magical carriage. It was sent by the Reinhart family.

 

Indeed? That is intriguing. Reinhart knows of me, I am sure. But why would she concern herself with a City Runner? Venitra. What have you discovered?

 

Venitra’s words were quick and eager. She rushed to speak, afraid to disappoint her master any further.

“She is the caretaker for the Gnoll child, and she has links to the adventurers in the inn, master. Not the Gold-rank ones. The group with the half-Elf, the [Necromancer], the Antinium and the woman with damaged arms—they are known as the Horns of Hammerad.”

 

Ah, yes. I recall. The young [Necromancer]. What of the [Innkeeper]? Erin Solstice?

 

The two undead shifted and looked at each other. Venitra was the first to speak.

“She has a magical chessboard, master. And she is known as the best player of the game. She appeared months ago out of nowhere and began running the inn. The old one was destroyed. She obtained the magical door thanks to her connections with the Horns of Hammerad as well. She…she is rumored to be the one who defeated a powerful Flesh Worm known as Skinner. The Antinium are said to consider her a friend, and she can create magical dishes which act as temporary enchantments for those who consume them. It is said that she had a skeleton as a servant before, and she is capable of making wondrous music. She can apparently shoot blood from her crotch and—”

 

What was that?

 

“She can shoot blood from—it is what we heard, master.”

There was a long silence as both Venitra and Ijvani waited. Az’kerash’s mental voice sounded peculiar when he replied.

 

Do you mean…no. I see rumor has mixed with fact, Venitra. Try to differentiate the two. How peculiar, though. Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin. Both are odd in their own way. Very odd. Where is Ryoka Griffin now, Ijvani?

 

The skeleton mage immediately responded.

In Celum, master. The other city. She is sitting in a tavern, drinking.

 

Good. I have made my decision. Venitra, your careless actions have endangered the disguise that you have built up over the years. Your reputation as a Named Adventurer is at risk and I do not trust you to remain in Liscor without incident any longer.

 

Venitra hung her head. Ijvani gave her a grin only a skeleton could give in triumph. Both snapped to attention as Az’kerash continued.

 

However, Ryoka Griffin is an unstable variable I dislike having. She is not trustworthy I feel, even if restrained by spells. Thus, my order to you is simple. Bring me back her head.

 

The two undead looked up. Venitra slowly smiled.

“Just her head, master?”

 

That is all I require. It must be undamaged, Venitra. Completely. The rest of her body may be disposed of, but I require the head frozen or kept in stasis. Take action tonight, and make sure you are not observed. Do not kill anyone or reveal yourselves to anyone besides Ryoka. Make sure her remains are disposed of outside the city—I will teleport Oom to you and have him reveal himself as the murderer of both Ryoka and the Gnoll. Is all that understood?

 

“Yes master!”

Yes master.

 

Go, then. If there are any complications, contact me at once.

 

The connection broke. The two undead looked at each other. Venitra was smiling broadly. Ijvani nodded her head.

The magical door is in the inn. Let us go to Celum. I will draw Ryoka Griffin out with a spell. Then you will have your chance, Venitra.

“Good.”

Leave part of her for me.

“I will not promise that.”

Ijvani shook her head in annoyance. Venitra strode off through the snow, eagerly heading away from the city. The skeleton followed. They walked towards the Wandering Inn. Both of the undead were smiling.

 

—-

 

The door to Erin’s inn swung open and Regrika stepped through. She was surprised to be greeted by a shout.

“Hey, come in! Regrika? It’s great that you’re here!”

The Named Adventurer blinked as Erin bustled over. The [Innkeeper] had a mug in one hand and she smiled at Regrika and Ikriss.

“Greetings, Erin. You were looking for me?”

“Oh yeah! I wanted to show you something. I had Ishkr go into the city to look for you—guess he must have missed you!”

“No doubt.”

Regrika glanced around the inn. It was quiet and empty. There were too many memories of Brunkr here for most people to want to return, but there were some customers.

Halrac glanced up as Ikriss closed the door behind the two adventurers. He grunted. Regrika looked at him and the rest of his team, Griffon Hunt. They were sitting in a corner of the room, clearly deep into their cups. The tables around them were deserted. Some were overturned.

It looked as though there had been a fight.

“Sorry. People are a bit touchy right now.”

Erin lowered her voice as she ushered the two adventurers to a table. Regrika coughed.

“I am sorry Erin, but I am afraid we did not come here for a meal. We have business in Celum, actually.”

She indicated Erin’s magical door. Erin made a disappointed face.

“Come on, sit. Please? I made a new dish, all for you!”

Regrika and Ikriss exchanged a glance. The Drake coughed.

“As delightful as that sounds, Miss Solstice, we are rather busy. We’d like to enter Celum, unless you charge a transportation fee…?”

He got no further because someone called out behind him. The two adventurers turned and saw Jelaqua Ivirith, holding a mug and laughing over her plates with Seborn and Moore.

“Celum, huh? Sounds like fun! Those Humans know how to party. But have a drink with us, first!”

The Selphid drained her cup and grinned at the Named Adventurers. Regrika hesitated. Erin pulled out the chair.

“Just a taste? I promise you, you’ll love what I came up with! Here—sit over right here so you don’t have to deal with the two grumpy Drakes.”

“I heard that, you bumbling Human.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss sat up at his table. He glared at Erin. Zel sighed and put one claw on his shoulder. Regrika sat, clearly reluctant, and Ikriss joined him. Two mugs appeared on their table and Erin rushed into the kitchen. She came back out with two plates of what looked to the Gnoll like steak.

“Hmm. That is a steak, yes? I believe I had one two days ago, Miss Solstice.”

Erin beamed at her.

“Yes! But it’s not just any steak. This one’s seasoned specially. Try it, come on! Please?”

The Gnoll and Drake looked at each other. Ikriss coughed as he prodded his steak with a fork and knife. It looked rather hard. Regrika sighed.

“Miss Erin, I appreciate the hospitality. I truly do. But please, you need not force yourself. We understand the recent death of Brunkr has affected you all. It has hurt us too. He seemed like a fine [Warrior]. That is to say—[Knight]. My apologies. I would not like to intrude.”

Silence fell over the inn as the adventurers drank. Zel closed his eyes and Ilvriss scowled into his mug. Erin looked down at the ground.

“Yeah. That was—sorry.”

She wiped at her eyes. Regrika smiled sympathetically and reached a paw out to touch Erin’s hand. The [Innkeeper] moved back a bit and shook her head briskly.

“I don’t want to be down. And I don’t want to be pushy, but I just thought I’d be hospitable, you know? That’s what I do. I’m an [Innkeeper]. So this steak—”

She edged it close to Regrika. The Gnoll hesitated. Erin looked at her pleadingly.

“Just let me know how it tastes. I worked really hard on it.”

There was no way around it. Regrika sighed and cut into the steak. It took a bit of work to slice a section away, and it crunched as she popped it into her mouth. The Gnoll chewed obligingly. And then her eyes widened. Across the table, Ikriss was making the same expression.

“Good?”

Erin looked intently at their faces. Regrika’s response was to cut off another bit of steak and chew it. She gulped and looked at Erin, deeply surprised.

“It’s…excellent. Very tasty. How did you…?”

Beneath the table, Ikriss kicked her. Regrika coughed.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Miss Solstice. I am quite happy with this dish. Did you…spice it differently, somehow?”

“Something like that. Go ahead! I’m glad you enjoy it!”

The young woman beamed as both adventures began to scarf down the steaks. When they were done, there were only crumbs. Regrika leaned back and eyed her plate. Then she looked at Ikriss. The Drake was raising both his eyebrows at Regrika.

“A truly fine meal. The best I’ve had in…forever, I believe. Erin, I would love to know how you made it.”

“Really?”

Erin looked over the moon. Regrika nodded.

“I would pay much for the recipe. And I will certainly come back tonight.”

Ikriss curled his tail up in delight.

“Yes. Tonight as for as long as we are staying. What is it made of? I haven’t tasted…taste…”

Both adventurers leaned over the table towards Erin. She hesitated.

“Well, it’s a bit of a secret. But I guess I could tell you.”

“Yes, please do.”

“You really want to hear?”

“I would pay much for it, yes.”

“Okay, then. Listen close.”

Both adventurers leaned in. Erin whispered.

“It’s bone.

Regrika blinked.

“By bone, do you mean meat off the bone—”

“No, I mean, it’s bone. You ate bones of dead animals. There was no meat in that. Not one bit.”

Both Gnoll and Drake looked at Erin. She took a step back and pointed at their plates. Her smile was still on her face, but it had changed.

“You want to know what that was? It was bones, dried and ground up into dust. And other bones soaked in pig’s blood from Octavia’s shop and mixed with mana potions. I baked it together using marrow as glue. Then I dyed it with more blood. It looks only a little bit like a steak. No one else would ever eat it. No one except you two.”

Regrika stared at Erin. The hairs on her body began to rise. Erin continued. She had a very big smile on her face.

“And I put poison in it. Bad poison. The kind that can kill Shield Spiders. I got it from Octavia. I put in a lot. Funny. It didn’t seem to matter if I did. I knew you’d like it.”

“I don’t understand. Is this some kind of joke…?”

Ikriss tried to laugh. Erin turned to him. Her smile had become wide. Her eyes were bright.

“No. I didn’t expect you to actually eat my food. But you did. You ate it and didn’t notice a thing. You thought it was steak because it was red and shaped like it. That’s not normal.”

“Well, I—”

“And another thing. You didn’t like any of my other dishes. I could tell. You didn’t like drinking beer, and you didn’t like the cake. Not one bit. And you lied about that. I guess that’s normal. Everyone’s got different tastes and all, but then I got to thinking. Hey Regrika, you’re a really weird Gnoll, you know that?”

“Really? I think I’m quite normal, yes?”

Regrika bared her teeth. Erin did the same.

“No. I mean, you smell like a Gnoll and you act like one. And all the Gnolls love you, but guess what I noticed? It was a little thing. You never really mentioned Mrsha. Not once.”

Ikriss glanced swiftly at his companion. Regrika hesitated and then appeared indifferent.

“Mrsha? Oh. The little Gnoll cub. She was very cute. What about her?”

“You think she’s normal, don’t you?”

The Named Adventurer paused.

“No. But I did not mention her because it would have been rude. A Gnoll cub being raised by a Human is strange. However—”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Erin stared at Regrika. Ikriss’ eyes widened. He hissed at Regrika.

“The white fur!”

“That’s right.”

Erin stepped back from the table. Her eyes were on Regrika. The Gnoll stared back, no longer smiling.

“White fur. That’s bad…luck? I don’t know. But I know that every Gnoll knows what it means, even if they won’t tell me. Every Gnoll. Ishkr was born in Liscor and he still knows about white fur. But you, you didn’t bat an eyelash. You asked whose kid Mrsha was.”

Silence. Regrika shifted in her seat. She looked around and suddenly saw a different room. The Gold-rank adventurers from Griffon Hunt were standing up at their table, adjusting their belts, nodding at each other and spreading out. On the opposite side of the room, the Halfseekers were already in position. Jelaqua lifted her two-handed flail, not trying to hide it.

“You don’t like normal food. You lied about killing Brunkr. And you don’t know about white Gnolls like Mrsha, which every Gnoll knows about.

Erin’s voice was hard and loud. She was walking backwards, back behind a table where two Drakes were getting to their feet. Zel and Ilvriss walked forwards. A sword was in the Wall Lord’s hands. Zel’s claws were open.

“I see. We were discovered.”

Regrika’s voice was very calm. She remained sitting at the table as the Gold-rank adventurers spread around the room and the two Drakes stopped in front of their table. She smiled at Zel Shivertail, and then looked at Erin.

“One question. How did you know I lied about Brunkr? I passed the truth detection spell the Antinium gave me.”

Erin looked at her and shook her head.

“Isn’t it obvious? It wasn’t about the truth crystal. Everyone was looking at that, but I could tell without it. You gave it all away here.”

She tapped her mouth. Regrika blinked.

“What?”

“It was your smile. You smiled like Mrsha does when she’s been naughty. Kids are bad liars. And so are you.”

Erin looked at Regrika. She reached for something lying on a table and came up with a knife and a frying pan. Halrac growled at her.

“Don’t be a fool! Get out of here!”

Erin didn’t move.

“I want to know who killed Brunkr.”

Ilvriss spat. His eyes were on Regrika and his grip was steady on his sword.

“I don’t care about the Gnoll. But justice is justice and I won’t have the law broken by a Named Adventurer. You, Gnoll! Tell me. Why have you been asking about Ryoka Griffin all day? What’s your connection with her?”

Zel shifted. He stared at Regrika and then Ilvriss. He was wary, his stance low.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Silence. The two adventurers looked at each other. Regrika stared at Ikriss. Ikriss nodded. Losing her temper, Revi shouted as she raised a glowing talisman.

“Well? Answer us!

Regrika exploded backwards in her chair. She rolled out of it and onto her feet as the table shot towards Moore and Seborn. The half-Giant was knocked off his feet by the impact and Seborn dove out of the way.

Damn it! Attack!

Ilvriss and Zel charged forwards at once, towards Regrika. Ulrien and Jelaqua leapt forwards at the same moment as the other adventurers leapt backwards. Halrac looked around and shouted.

Watch out! The Drake—

Zel turned. Ikriss had vanished in the moment when Regrika moved. Now he reappeared in front of Zel and Ilvriss. Halrac loosed a shot. Zel swiped.

The arrow struck Ikriss in the back of the neck. The claws tore open his face. But the Drake still moved. He placed a hand on Zel’s stomach and one of Ilvriss’ arms and spoke.

“[Lesser Teleport].”

They vanished in a pop of air. Jelaqua swore and she and Ulrien rushed at Regrika. The Gnoll had her massive sword and shield in one hand. She raised it and blocked Jelaqua’s first swing. Ulrien slashed at her from behind with his greatsword. The blow skated off her armored back as Regrika twisted to one side.

“Typhenous, cover us! Revi! Summons! Erin, get clear! Jelaqua—”

Regrika turned. Ulrien swore and attacked.

“[Devastating Slash]!”

His sword changed trajectory mid-cut. It swerved as Regrika lifted her shield to block and shot down, to her unguarded legs. Ulrien swung with all his might, and his blade bit into the Gnoll’s furred leg. And stopped.

The greatsword shuddered to a halt, buried two inches deep into the Gnoll’s leg. Ulrien stared at his blade as the force of his cut travelled back up into his hands. He tried to step back and wrench his sword free from the impact.

Weak.

A sword rose. Regrika brought it down. Ulrien raised his bare arm to protect himself. The sword connected with his arm and there was a flash of light. Something—an amulet exploded on Ulrien’s chest. He stumbled back, his arm still intact.

The second sword stroke took off his head. Ulrien’s body stood for a moment, and then the big man’s corpse collapsed forwards. Jelaqua howled as she lashed Regrika from all sides. The Gnoll stood under the barrage, and then turned and struck. Jelaqua choked as the sword stabbed through her stomach and then leapt back.

“Ulrien?”

Halrac stared, the bow and arrow he’d drawn frozen in his hands. Typhenous roared and threw bolts of magic that blasted into the Gnoll—

And did nothing. She stood in the center of the room, raising her arms, laughing. Regrika turned to Erin as the [Innkeeper] stood frozen in the middle of her inn. The Gnoll’s blade ran with blood. She pointed around the room, at the other adventurers. She ended with Erin.

“You are all dead.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.30

Blood dripped from Regrika Blackpaw’s sword and onto the ground. Erin couldn’t take her eyes off it.

Ulrien was dead. The brave Gold-rank adventurer and leader of Griffon Hunt lay on the ground, headless. His greatsword was still embedded in Regrika’s leg. The Gnoll didn’t seem concerned by it. She flicked her sword down and knocked the blade loose. As she did, the adventurers attacked.

Halrac howled as he put two arrows to his bow and shot them.

“[Double Shot]!”

The Gnoll turned and raised her shield. An explosion of fire and some kind of acid burst over her shield. Some sprayed across her face. She didn’t flinch. She turned and then caught another blow from Jelaqua on her other side. She was too quick, too strong!

Erin stared at Ulrien as Regrika fought, stepping around his body. He was dead. Just like that. His magical amulet had protected him from one blow, but not two. It felt impossible. He was a Gold-rank adventurer, and he was Ulrien! She had never really talked to him one-on-one, but he was like a rock. Solid. Dependable. He held his team together and never seemed to get worried.

He couldn’t die so easily. That was what she felt. Someone screamed. Revi hurled five talismans and glowing figures rose from the floor. Regrika cut one down and then another before the summoned beings could fully appear. She turned and ran her sword deep into Moore’s abdomen. The half-Giant grunted, and then punched her. The impact made the floor shake.

His fist broke.

Erin stood behind the table where Zel and Ilvriss had disappeared with the Drake [Mage], Ikriss. She stared at Ulrien. He’d been the first to agree to help her when she’d told him and the others what she suspected. Without hesitation. She’d accused a Named Adventurer and he’d asked her to explain herself while the others were exclaiming or asking if she was crazy. And when she asked for help, set the trap up—he’d agreed at once.

He’d said yes, although Revi was throwing a fit and Typhenous said that it would ruin their reputation if Erin were wrong. But Ulrien had looked her in the eye for a few moments and then nodded. That was all. He’d trusted her.

He’d said yes. And now he was dead. Erin looked at him, and then remembered Brunkr. Then she looked up and saw Regrika was laughing. The Gnoll spun, catching a cascade of magical bullets shooting from Typhenous’ fingertips on her shield and then kicked a chair at Halrac.

The [Scout] dodged out of the way as the wood smashed into one of the tables he was taking cover behind. The impact knocked the table back, sending it skidding to the far wall. Erin stared in disbelief. All that from a kicked chair? She was too strong!

Get away, you idiot!

Someone seized her shoulder. Revi pulled Erin back as she raised a glowing talisman. She hurled it to the ground and a third figure rose. Three of the glowing warriors, all String People, took positions between her and Regrika. Two were warriors, one had a staff. They charged the Gnoll as the spectral mage swung his staff and shot shards of ice and earth at the Gnoll.

The spells lashed the Gnoll’s form without effect. She cut down one warrior with a slash as he approached. Her blade cut right through the shield he’d raised and into his head. He vanished in a shower of yellow motes of light. The second stabbed into Regrika’s armored side; his blade skated across the metal without effect.

A spike flail’s head caught Regrika across the back of the head as she swung her shield and scythed through the second summoned warrior. Regrika didn’t stumble, but slashed backwards. Jelaqua sprang back, cursing.

“The hell is that? My flail’s not doing a thing!”

Regrika slashed at Jelaqua and the Selphid backed up, shielded by a rain of spells coming from Typhenous, Revi, and Moore. Bolts of energy splashed across Regrika’s body, a cluster of vines ensnared her legs—she raised her shield and caught a glowing purple orb from Typehnous. Again, the spell was blocked as the orb exploded, sending fragments of light shooting across the room. Where the fragments landed the floor, walls, and furniture burst into flame.

“My spells aren’t working!”

Revi screamed at the others. Typhenous pointed at Regrika with his staff as she advanced on Jelaqua, but her shield was up, blocking his direction. Moore’s vines were entangling her as the half-Giant chanted and pointed his staff, clutching his belly with his other hand, but they barely slowed her.

A flash of movement. Regrika half-turned. Too late. Seborn buried two knives in her shield arm, slashing her exposed black fur. He dodged away as she swung at him, his form blurring into a shadow. His voice was astonished.

“My knives did nothing! Her fur—”

His blades glowed with magic, but they’d left no imprint on Regrika’s arm. She grinned at him, and then turned to block another spell from Typhenous. Jelaqua strode forwards, gritting her teeth and shouting at Seborn.

“I’m Rampaging! Get back!”

The Selphid threw herself forward, her arms and body turning into a blur. She moved too quickly for Erin to follow and lashed with her two-handed flail in every direction, striking, dodging, and striking again.

Erin watched, numb, and saw it was another bad matchup. If Ulrien had died because Regrika was too strong and too well protected somehow, Jelaqua was a victim of the same problem. She rained blows on the Gnoll from every direction. She was like lightning, unpredictable and impossible to block or evade, much less dodge. But Regrika stood in the whirlwind of steel and didn’t fall back. The flail struck her repeatedly and she did not move. The flail did nothing to her. Her body was too strong.

Why?

Her sword rose. This time Halrac shot three arrows in rapid succession into her back. Crackling lightning earthed itself on Regrika’s armor; to no effect. Typhenous’ spell was blocked. Moore’s spray of thorns showed Regrika’s left side and Seborn cut at the same leg Ulrien had struck. A frying pan hit Regrika in the back of the head.

Nothing stopped her. Jelaqua’s blurring arms paused and she raised her flail to block. The sword knocked the flail out of her grip. The Selphid swore and the sword took the top of her head off as she ducked. She fell.

Regrika kicked Jelaqua’s body across the room, catching Seborn and tossing him into a wall. She grinned, and locked eyes with Erin. The knife spun towards her eye and Regrika twisted her head. The blade missed.

She charged across the room, her footsteps like thunder on the floor. The other adventurers shouted, and Erin tried to run. Too slow. Revi raised a glowing fragment of horn and the bloody sword cut her from shoulder to hip. She fell, bloodless. Regrika stood over Erin and grinned. Then she paused. She looked up to the ceiling and spoke one word.

“Master?”

 

—-

 

She’d killed two Gold-rank adventurers already. The feeling of killing the third, of slicing the [Summoner] in half, gave Venitra a rush of pleasure. She raised her shield and caught a third spell from the old mage as he screamed curses at her.

He was the only threat. His spells could damage her if not blocked. However, her shield was enchanted and capable of resisting any magic he might use. So long as she kept him in view and didn’t let the others escape, they were helpless. Her analysis of the situation was flawless, she knew.

In battle, Venitra’s mind was cool and calculating. She was not affected by the chaos of combat and she could think with perfect clarify as spells and arrows flew around her. It was her luxury to indulge in emotion, but she was not bound by it.

Three dead, and now the innkeeper. Venitra would take extreme pleasure in this. She raised her sword, heedless of the voices of the other adventurers and the arrow that broke on the back of her head. Her body was made of spelled bone; the [Scout] could not injure her with his enchanted arrows, not while he thought she was made of flesh or warded by magic. Her entire body was armor. In many ways her shield was useless. She was a shield.

 

Venitra.

 

A voice, a presence connected to her mind. A revelation from above. Venitra paused. In the heat of battle she looked up.

“Master?”

He spoke to her in a flash of images, a torrent of thought. Thought was far faster than any spell, or the quickest arrow. Her master reached into Venitra’s mind and appraised all that had occurred in the moments between Ijvani removing Zel Shivertail and the other Drake.

 

I see. I will attend to Ijvani. She is outmatched by far but will keep Shivertail and the Lord of the Wall occupied. You will go after Ryoka.

 

“Yes, my lord.”

If they were spoken as words, it was only because Venitra felt more comfortable this way. Time had slowed to a crawl in this instantaneous communication between the two. The second arrow the [Scout] had loosed was still in the air, crawling towards Venitra’s right shoulder. They thought and spoke together in the moments between.

 

Dispose of the Gold-rank adventurers if you are able, but do not waste time on them. Learn from this battle. They are inferior to you, but still a threat. Go after Ryoka Griffin with all haste. Bring me back her head, undamaged. She is in Celum. Trace the spell Ijvani laid on her.

 

“It will be done, master.”

 

I will assist you if necessary, but I must focus on Ijvani as well. Lastly, Venitra. You will not kill Erin Solstice. Nor will you allow her to be harmed. That is an order.

 

“But master!”

Erin Solstice was frozen in front of her, eyes wide, hand raised to ward off a sword blow that would end her. Venitra longed to strike, but she felt her master’s will pressing down on her. She felt his displeasure and reluctantly obeyed. His mental sending faded away in her mind with a final rebuke.

 

Enough. Go.

 

The arrow caught Venitra’s shoulder and exploded into shrapnel. Venitra snarled in her guise as Regrika Blackpaw and spun. She walked away from Erin and towards the [Scout] who already had another arrow drawn. The girl would live. For now.

 

—-

 

Zel Shivertail fell out of the sky, cursing and still slashing at the Drake [Mage] in front of him. He caught only air. Then he hit the ground.

Argh!

The impact knocked the wind out of him and cracked the paving stones he’d landed on. Zel lay there for a second and then rolled upright. He looked around and then up. He should have been dead. If not for his Skills, he probably would have been; he’d fallen from rooftop level onto the ground wearing armor.

But because he did have Skills, he was alive. Zel glanced around and realized he was in Liscor. The dark streets were empty. But where—

“[Grand Fireball].”

He heard the voice from above. Zel turned and saw the blazing glow. He turned and ran.

The explosion kicked him across the street. The heat burnt his scales. Zel shouted in pain and fury as he caught flame. But he lived through it. And he turned to see the Drake with purple scales, staff in hand, standing on the roof of a burning building.

Watching him.

Ikriss raised his staff and Zel sprinted down an alleyway. He felt the ground erupt behind him and heard screaming. From inside the buildings. Dead gods, there were innocent people sleeping inside! But the crazed [Mage] didn’t seem to care. More spells ripped up the street and Zel ran through the alley into another street.

One of the rules for fighting a mage was never to let them see you. And to get close. He hunkered down and heard a sound in the distance. It sounded like…cursing?

He looked up. On the roof of another building he spotted a Drake in expensive armor, looking around as he clung to the tiles with one claw. A bared sword was in the other.

“Ilvriss!”

At the sound of his name, the other Drake looked over and spotted Zel. He dropped to the ground. It was a long fall, but the Drake landed as lightly as a cat. Some kind of protective spell, no doubt. He ran over to the [General], crouched, sword at the ready.

“What the hell happened, Shivertail? That mage teleported us—”

“He’s blasting the street looking for me!”

Zel spoke grimly as he heard more thumps and now more screams. People were waking up. He started as he saw the earth rise at the far end of the street. The paved road ripped upwards and formed a jagged wall of stone.

“He’s trying to box us in.”

Ilvriss hissed, his tail lashing with fury. He twisted at one of the rings on his fingers. It flashed, summoning his bodyguards, no doubt. Zel nodded.

“Or slow us down. Regrika Blackpaw’s back at the inn!”

“I know that! Let the Gold-rank adventurers fight her. I want that traitor dead.

Zel didn’t argue with that. He looked around the alley, and then raced back down it with Ilvriss behind him. They ran into the next street and Ilvriss cursed.

One of the buildings, an apartment, was fully aflame. Zel could hear people screaming inside, but he had no time to go to them. Ikriss was standing in the center of the street. He had erected walls of stone around him and was standing in front of some glowing runes. Ilvriss raised his sword and walked to one side of the street. Zel advanced on the other.

“Surrender now and we won’t kill you, traitor!”

Ilvriss roared at the other mage. The Drake smiled, his face glowing in the light from his staff.

“My duty is to keep you here. Or kill you. I think I can, no matter what I have been told about you, Shivertail.”

He raised his staff and pointed. Zel had been waiting for this moment and dove to one side. He felt something burn his leg and rolled upright. Ilvriss was charging the mage. He stepped onto the first rune and the ground exploded.

Ilvriss!

The Lord of the Wall charged through the smoke, one of his amulets shining like the sun. More wards exploded around him and he lunged at Ikriss, too fast for the mage to dodge. His blade cut into the other Drake’s stomach—

And Ikriss vanished. The illusion that had been him faded and Zel cursed. He looked around and heard Ikriss’ voice everywhere.

“Warriors are such simple creatures. They shoot arrows, swing a sword—what can you do against illusions? Without magic, nothing. You are nothing, Zel Shivertail.”

Something—Zel turned, and Ilvriss appeared. This time, the fireball blasted Zel straight in the chest. He vanished, and Ikriss grinned as the explosion of fire destroyed half the street.

Someone walked through the flames. A claw sliced through the second illusion of Ikriss. Zel coughed and felt the fire and his melted breastplate burning his scales. They burned, like putting his claws on a hot kettle or a stovetop. He coughed, looking around for the [Mage].

“You may be right. We warriors don’t have the same tricks mages do. But we don’t die easily, either.”

Ilvriss was cursing, raising one of his rings and shouting into it. Screams echoed from the burning building. Zel heard a child’s voice. He waited, his blood boiling.

The Drake [Mage] reappeared at the other end of the street, no longer smiling. He stared at Zel.

“…That’s cheating.”

Zel didn’t reply back. He charged, and Ikriss began casting spells at both Ilvriss and Zel. The night was full of death. Zel prayed the Gold-rank adventurers could handle Regrika Blackpaw. Ikriss was far too strong to be merely Gold-rank. He had to hope that they could defeat her, Named Adventurer or not.

He roared as he charged and Ikriss’ eyes grew wide. The mage turned and vanished. A Golem rose, shaping itself out of the flagstones and broken earth. Zel sunk a claw into its side and ripped a chunk of it away. He should have been fighting Blackpaw. She was too strong. That was what his [Dangersense] was telling him. Too strong for Gold-rank adventurers.

Far too strong.

 

—-

 

Erin had seen Gazi Pathseeker fight, once. She had deflected arrows from every angle, fought a group of Guardsmen and not taken a single scratch. That was what made her a Named Adventurer. In Regrika’s case, it was not her sight. It was her limitless, contemptuous strength.

She could not be stopped. Her sword bit through a table Seborn was using as cover and the [Rogue] leapt. She slashed at his back and the Drowned Man blurred, using a Skill to get out of range in time. Moore swung his staff and Regrika raised her shield to block. She slashed, and he blocked.

The impact of sword meeting staff was thunder in the common room of the inn. Moore’s huge arms strained and he grunted from the impact. He jabbed at Regrika with his staff, and she dodged the blow. She opened up his arm with one cut. He cried out, a loud, painful voice.

Moore!

Someone shouted his name. Regrika turned and Erin stared, holding a chair in her hands, about to throw. Jelaqua Ivirith charged into Regrika from behind, her flail’s two heads spinning into the Gnoll’s back. The top of Jelaqua’s head from her eyebrows up was gone, but the Selphid moved as if she were entirely whole. No blood ran from her wound. And the inside of the head was…empty.

“Selphids.”

That was all Regrika said. She backhanded Jelaqua with a shield and sent the Selphid tumbling backwards, unconcious. Moore was backed into a wall. He tensed as she turned, and thrust his staff into the ground.

A wall of earth shot up, breaking the floorboards and blocking him from Regrika. She slashed through the earth, sending it spraying and found—

A hole. Moore crashed through the wall, spraying glass and wood as he leapt into the snow outside. The Gnoll laughed. She whirled, and a fireball engulfed her in an explosion. When she appeared out of the smoke her shield was raised.

And she was unharmed.

Dead gods take it all!

Typhenous screamed and then paled as he realized Regrika was running towards him. He raised his staff.

“Halrac! [Astral Binding]!”

Shimmering ties of light shot out and constricted Regrika. For a moment. She tore through them and found Typhenous rushing for the door. She ran after him.

“Stop.”

Two arrows broke on her back. Regrika’s fur burned. A bit of lightning crackled over her armor. She turned her head and smiled at Halrac.

“You cannot harm me. I am perfection.”

A pot bounced off the back of her head. Halrac stood up, six feet away from Regrika. His eyes were burning as he pulled an arrow with a black tip from his quiver and set it to his bow.

“I will kill you.”

“Try.”

She lunged at him. Erin screamed as Halrac dodged sideways. Like Seborn he used a Skill—but it wasn’t enough. The sword missed, but Regrika kicked him as he passed. The impact sent Halrac crashing into one wall. Erin heard his ribs break.

“No! No, no, no! Stop!

She charged Regrika with a knife. She heard Seborn shout at her. She didn’t care. The knife slashed at Regrika’s arm as the Gnoll looked at her. It felt as though Erin were cutting at a rock. Her kitchen knife did no damage to the Gnoll.

Erin knew it wouldn’t. Nothing she’d thrown had worked. Halrac’s arrows hadn’t worked. So she dropped the knife and clenched a fist.

[Minotaur Punch]!

She threw it with all her strength. Regrika’s face was almost too high for Erin to reach. Her fist struck the Gnoll’s chin and Erin felt the impact travel down her arm. Regrika stared down at her.

And smiled.

Pain. Erin felt as though she had hit a rock. She raised her left arm and punched again.

[Minotaur Punch]!

A second blow. This time Erin felt and heard something crunch in her hands. She didn’t care. She punched again.

“[Minotaur Punch]! [Minotaur Punch]! [Minotaur—]

Her right hand broke. Erin cried out as she felt her fingers break. Blood seeped through her torn skin. And Regrika stood in front of her. Unhurt. She raised both her arms upwards and stood tall. Her bloody sword and shield pointed towards the ceiling as the Gnoll posed.

Like a statue. She let Erin hit her, cut at her, ignoring her. Smiling. Seborn appeared behind her and slashed. His knives dug into her arm, cutting. Regrika stood through it all and then looked down at Erin. Her eyes were contemptuous.

“Insignificant.”

The room was emptying. Moore had vanished. Typhenous had fled. Seborn vanished as Regrika turned away from Erin. The girl was crying, her hands dripping with blood. Regrika was unharmed save for a bloodless cut on her legs and scratches on the rest of her body. She looked around for her next victim and found him standing across the inn, next to the door.

Halrac’s bow was raised. He had a single arrow drawn to his chest. His eyes were locked on Regrika.

“[Piercing Shot].”

The arrow struck her in the chest as Regrika covered her face, slipping underneath her guard. There was a crack that made Erin’s ears ring. The arrow that hit Regrika did not explode, or break, or do anything else. But it pierced Regrika’s armor. It buried itself halfway into her chest.

The Gnoll blinked down at the arrow. Halrac lowered his bow, staring. There was no blood coming from her wound. And Regrika didn’t seem hurt, just surprised. She stared at the arrow and slowly drew it out of her. It snapped in her hands and she touched the hole in her chest.

Bloodless. But it had broken her armor. When she looked up. Regrika’s smile was gone. Her eyes were filled with fury.

“You hurt me. Me!

Halrac’s second arrow was explosive. As the Gnoll lunged, the force of it blew Erin off her feet. She got up, ears ringing. Regrika’s armor cracked. The metal fractured slightly from the explosion. Erin stared. Did metal do that?

The Gnoll screamed in fury and charged Halrac. He dove towards the open door. She charged after him.

“Halrac!”

Erin tried to go after him. Her hands were nothing but pain, but she had to do something!

“Don’t go after him! Help me up!”

Someone shouted at her from behind. Erin turned. Who had spoken? Jelaqua was passed out on the ground. Seborn had vanished. Moore and Typhenous had fled and Halrac was running too. Then who—

A hand shot up. Erin stared in horror. Revi’s arm moved as her head turned towards Erin. That was one part of her torso. Her other arm and the rest of her body lay on the ground, cleanly separated by Regrika’s blade.

“Don’t just stand there you idiot! Help me before that monster comes back!”

That broke the paralysis. Erin rushed over to Revi. All of the Stitch-Girl’s summoned minions were gone, destroyed by Regrika, but their armor and weapons lay scattered around her. Revi’s head looked up at Erin. There was pain in her eyes, but she still spoke.

“Sew me up! There’s a needle in my pockets. Don’t worry about neatness, just get me together. Now!”

“But how—I thought—”

“You can’t kill a Stitch-Girl with a sword! Hurry! Halrac’s running for his life. If that Gnoll catches him—”

Erin fumbled for Revi’s pocket. She stabbed the needle deep into her finger when she found it, and barely noticed the pain. Her right hand was useless. Her left…Revi cursed at her as Erin clumsily pulled one of the threads through the needle. Each second felt like forever.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! If she comes back—”

A heavy tread. Erin froze and Revi’s eyes went wide. Regrika appeared in the doorway, smiling. Only this time fury was in her eyes.

“Clever. The rats have fled. They jumped down a hole in the snow. Into a dungeon. But you? You’re still here. And I can kill you.”

She pointed at Revi. The [Summoner] went very pale. One of her hands grabbed Erin’s needle and began to stitch the rest of her body together as Erin rose.

“I won’t let—”

Regrika shoved Erin aside. Erin grabbed at her, trying to pull her back. Her feet skidded across the broken floor as Regrika walked over to Revi. The Stitch-Girl was nearly complete, but she still couldn’t move her lower half. She looked up, eyes full of fear. Regrika grinned.

“Please step away from the guest.”

Someone spoke. Regrika whirled and stared. Erin turned. A figure was standing in the doorway with a drawn bow. For a second Erin’s mind saw Halrac, and then the figure moved and she realized it wasn’t him.

It was Bird. Two of his arms held the bow, his other two held something in his hands. He was alone, and he stared at Regrika. She stared back.

“An Antinium?”

He nodded.

“I am Bird. I am a guard at the inn.”

The Gnoll smiled.

“A dead one. You should have fled.”

“I was asleep.”

The Gnoll blinked. Bird looked past her and at Erin.

“I was asleep in my tower. I woke up to hunt birds. I assume that this person is a danger to you and or the residents of your inn?”

Erin stared at him. Regrika stared at him. Revi took the moment to keep stitching her torso together. The Antinium waited and then turned to Regrika.

“Know that I am obliged to hurt you with brutal force. You are not a bird, so I will shoot you and not eat you. Unless you are tasty.”

The Gnoll stared at him. Then she began to walk towards him. Bird loosed the arrow. It snapped as it struck her between the eyes. The Antinium paused.

“Ah. I saw that happen earlier too. I woke up and watched the battle, by the way.”

“You cannot harm me.”

Regrika’s voice was arrogance, her stride lazy as she crossed the inn towards the Antinium. Bird nodded.

“I noticed. This is my tactical analysis of what I should do in a situation like this.”

His other two hands rose. They were holding something. A bucket. Bird hurled it at Regrika. She didn’t block it. The dark liquid splashed over her and Regrika stopped. Erin froze. She couldn’t see well in the darkness, but she could smell it. Bird turned.

“That was feces from the outhouse. I gathered it. It is an antagonistic action meant to irritate. I am bait. The poo is not from birds, by the way.”

He ran out the door. Regrika was staring at the excrement covering her body. She brushed off a clump, and then she went insane.

You have disgraced my image! You! I will kill you!

She rushed out the door. Erin turned to Revi. The Stitch-Girl shouted at her.

“Hurry! I can’t reach my back!”

This time Erin plunged the needle into the cloth as fast as she could. When the last clumsy stitch was in place, the cloth lower half became real. Revi gasped, sat up.

“We have to run. Where’s the back door?”

“I don’t have one!”

“The hole, then. Corusdeer!”

She raised the bit of horn in her hands and a spectral deer cantered into focus. Revi leapt onto its back and extended a hand.

“Come on! We’re dead if she comes back!”

“I can’t. I can’t run away from her! She killed—”

Erin choked on the words. She killed Brunkr. And Ulrien. Revi slapped her.

“You can’t save anyone if you’re dead! Come on!

“She won’t hurt me. I don’t think she can. I don’t know why.”

Erin replied numbly. It wasn’t just her instincts that were telling her this. Regrika had ignored her several times. Erin didn’t know why, but she felt certain that she was safe. She, and she alone.

Revi opened her mouth, and then paused. There was crunching outside, the same footfalls. She paled and the summoned Corusdeer swung around. Revi shot through the hole Moore had made. Erin turned.

Regrika walked back through the doorway. She stank. Her eyes were blazing, but there was no broken chitin on her blade or the Antinium’s green blood. Erin stared at Regrika. The Gnoll paused as she stepped through the broken inn. She looked around for Revi and then at Erin.

“I will remember you. And I will come back. I will slaughter all those who were here. The mages, the Selphid, the [Scout] and the Antinium. They will all suffer.”

“Who are you?”

Erin spoke quietly. She looked Regrika in the eye. The Gnoll laughed.

“I was sent here by my master for one reason. To kill Ryoka Griffin.”

She turned to the door leading to Celum. Erin felt her heart stop. She blocked Regrika’s way. The Gnoll shoved Erin aside.

“Stop! No! You can’t!”

Erin battered at her, but again, it was useless. She tried to pull Regrika back with her good hand. It was impossible. She grabbed onto the Gnoll’s leg, tried to pull her back using a table as an anchor. The table jerked across the ground and Erin felt her arm being pulled out of its socket. Regrika didn’t slow. She opened the door and looked down at Erin as the girl clung to her with all her strength.

“I do not see why he values you. You are pathetic. And you cannot stop me. No one can.”

She bent and contemptuously prised Erin’s hand from her leg without effort. Then she stepped through the door to Celum. It swung shut behind her.

And then she was gone.

 

—-

 

The fight in the inn had taken less than half an hour. Celum was quiet when Venitra strode out of Octavia’s alchemy shop, smashing through her window without bothering to use the door. Those who were on the streets did not pay much attention to the Gnoll until they saw her bloody sword and raised the alarm.

In Liscor, the night was broken by shouts and howling. Zel Shivertail dove to the side as a bolt of crackling red lightning shot down the street, nearly missing him. The electricity arced and struck his breastplate, making him hiss, but most of the energy grounded itself harmlessly on a metal railing of one of the houses.

“Ancestors damn it! Where the hell is he?”

Zel roared at a Drake taking cover behind him. Ilvriss glared and raised his sword as he peeked around the side of a wall.

“I don’t know! My amulet has a radius of about ten feet. I can’t search while that traitor’s blasting me with spells!”

The two Drakes ducked as another spell—a boulder thrown by magic—crashed near their position. Zel looked around. The street was a disaster area, and Ikriss was standing in the center of it, raining spells down on their position.

Only, it wasn’t Ikriss. There was another Drake mage with purple scales standing on a rooftop, and another in the doorway of a building. The [Mage] had created multiple copies of himself, all illusions, and it was impossible to tell which was which.

“They might all be illusions out there! We need a [Mage] to dispel the illusions or we’ll be chasing our tails until that bastard gets us! Where’s the Watch? Where are your helpers?”

Zel shouted at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall cursed.

“Behind one of the walls, or fighting one of the Golems that was summoned! We have to either break an opening or—incoming!

Both Drakes had heard the whistling noise at the same time. They abandoned their hiding spot as a boulder fell down from above. Ikriss pointed and Zel saw more hovering boulders in the sky. The Drake [Mage] had figured out that spells were ineffectual against both Zel and Ilvriss and had decided to crush them instead.

Ilvriss’ rings flared as he caught a bolt of red-lighting. He shouted as he charged the [Mage] and his sword cut through the illusionary Ikriss. Again. Zel cursed and looked for somewhere else to hide. They couldn’t kill the mage and he was trying to cut off their space. Sooner or later he’d be hit, and when that happened, there were ways to kill him, even with his resistance to spells.

And in the meantime, people were dying. Ikriss’ spells had burned one building. People had leapt to their deaths rather than die in the blaze. His other spells were blasting holes in the city. Two of the summoned constructs were battling the Watch. As Ilvriss and Zel met up again, crawling under a collapsed building, Zel spotted an arm buried in the rubble. It had scales, yellow, covered in dust. And it was far too small.

It was too much. He was a [General of the Line], a protector of his people. And they were dying while he took cover. Zel clenched his fist.

“We’re ending this now, Ilvriss. I’ll distract him. You try and locate the mage with your amulet. I’ll take on his spells.”

“Are you insane, Shivertail? He won’t bother with magic—he’ll crush you!”

“I’ll dodge. People are dying, Ilvriss.”

The Lord of the Wall hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Don’t die.”

Zel nodded. He walked out from behind his cover. All of the projections of Ikriss looked at him.

“Giving up, Zel Shivertail?”

“Give me your best shot, mage.”

The Drake bared his teeth. His tail lashed the ground as he saw Ikriss pointing. The levitating boulders angled themselves towards him. Then Ikriss paused. All of his projections suddenly looked left. Zel looked as well, and saw blue.

Her carapace shone in the moonlight. It sparkled. Unlike the other Antinium with their brown bodies, the pigmentation of Xrn’s body had a luster of its own. It was surpassed only by her eyes. They shone green and blue and red, colors mixing together and swirling in the darkness.

“The Small Queen.”

Ikriss inhaled. His illusions shifted their grip on their staffs, suddenly nervous. Zel stared warily at Xrn. She had a staff of her own. She raised her other hand in greeting.

“Zel Shivertail. I did not expect to see you here. But this situation makes more sense the more I see.”

“Why are you here? This doesn’t concern you. This Drake is your enemy.”

Ikriss’ voice sounded worried and panicked by turns. Xrn looked at him. He raised his staff threateningly. She only nodded towards the devastation around her.

“I thought I sensed someone casting destructive magic. Klbkch refused to believe me at first, but he is on his way with many Soldiers.”

Zel wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried. Ikriss was certainly unhappy. He shifted, staring at the ground, and then glared at Xrn.

“I have no quarrel with you, Antinium. Stand aside and I will rid your people of Zel Shivertail. Get in my way and I will destroy you.”

His words made Zel tense. Ikriss was clearly his enemy. But Xrn was an unknown quantity. If she teamed up with him—

The Small Queen regarded Ikriss with a tilted head. She sighed.

“You killed children and innocents with your spells. You, a Drake. I do not understand it. The Antinium are called monsters because we sacrifice our own. But we do not murder each other.”

Both Ikriss and Zel stared at her. Xrn turned her head away from the image of Ikriss she was staring at and began talking to the air next to her.

“My orders from the Grand Queen are not to use force unless attacked first. Especially not against groups like adventurers to avoid starting a war. So I will not cast any spells. Unless you hit me with one. Please, do.”

The Drake shifted his grip on the staff. He didn’t move. Xrn nodded. Zel looked at her warily. If she wasn’t going to fight, but just stand there—

Stand there. Xrn was speaking and staring at a blank patch of…nothing, although she’d clearly been addressing Ikriss. She was staring at it intently. Zel’s heart pounded. He abandoned his position and charged towards Xrn. Not at her, but a bit to the left. At the patch of air.

The [General] rushed past Xrn. She didn’t budge. His claws opened and he aimed for the exact spot where she’d been looking. For a second he thought nothing was there, and then he heard a sound. Something cursed and shifted. Zel lashed out. His claws were sharper than steel and he caught something—

Ikriss appeared, stumbling, his side laid open, but bloodless. He glared at Zel and spoke.

“[Lesser Teleport]!”

He vanished. Zel whirled around, saw nothing. He stared back at Xrn. She glanced at him, and then casually stared up. Zel looked up and saw her gaze was on a rooftop two buildings over.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond. Zel charged towards the building. Halfway there he heard a cough. Xrn’s gaze was now on a building collapsed by rubble. Ilvriss ran towards Zel, sword drawn.

“The Ant’s looking—?”

“That’s right.”

Zel grinned and Ilvriss stared at Xrn before gripping his sword with both hands. The Drakes advanced. Zel muttered to Ilvriss.

“Hard target. I felt like I was cutting into armor, not flesh. Go for limb amputations and use force.”

“Got it.”

They circled the rubble. Nothing was there. Ilvriss gripped at his amulet. There was a flash, and Ikriss blurred into place. For a second Zel thought he saw something else, something black and shiny—but then the Drake shot up. He threw fire at both Drakes, retreating. He vanished as Ilvriss leapt at him, sword swinging.

“This isn’t fair!

“Life seldom is.”

Xrn carefully turned her head, staring at an open patch of ground across the street. Both Zel and Ilvriss charged. This time Ikriss raised his staff and Ilvriss threw something. There was a screech and whatever spell the Drake was trying to use failed. Zel and Ilvriss tore into him from both sides.

Zel ripped part of the mage’s arm away, slicing through…something hard. Ilvriss grunted as he cut through the mage’s leg. Ikriss fell, grabbing at his leg. He wasn’t bleeding.

“Got him!”

Ilvriss put a foot on the mage’s chest and ran him through. He twisted the sword, pulled it out, and stabbed it in again. The body beneath him convulsed, and then the corpse, the thing that should have been a corpse, muttered a spell.

“[Aerial Burst].”

Both Drakes flew backwards. Xrn raised her staff and held her ground, a bubble of violet light appearing around her. Ikriss got up, holding his leg, using his staff for support. He was babbling, and his voice was…changed. It was suddenly feminine, and echoed slightly.

I’m going to die. Me. Oh no. Master, help, help…!

Zel ran at him…her? Ikriss turned to him, and there was genuine fear on his face. Zel slashed at his head, and felt a connection. Then there was light. Ikriss vanished.

Damn!

Zel roared and spun to Xrn. She was looking around. She shook her head.

“Nowhere. He vanished. I could have sworn I felt someone else’s magic there. That was a powerful teleportation spell, far beyond what he could have used. An artifact? Hm. Shivertail, why was that Drake trying to kill you?”

“No time. Ilvriss! The inn!”

Zel roared. Ilvriss pulled himself out of a collapsed wall, swearing. The two Drakes raced for one of the walls Ikriss had raised. They got over it after Xrn blew a hole in it for them to cross. They found two destroyed Earth Golems, at least sixty [Guardsmen], Watch Captain Zevara, and an army of Antinium Soldiers behind them.

“Hey, it’s General Zel!”

One of the Guardsmen, Relc, called out. He had a spear in hand and he was standing on top of one of the fallen Golems. He leapt down as Klbkch and Zevara both strode towards them. Zevara’s eyes flicked towards Xrn. She looked warily at Klbkch.

“General Shivertail? Is the Antinium—?”

“No. We were attacked by Ikriss. He and Regrika Blackpaw are murderers. I have reason to believe they killed Brunkr. We were teleported here and Regrika is back at the inn!”

The Drake’s eyes widened. She looked at Zel, and then towards the gates.

“Regrika Blackpaw? But—”

“I want everyone with a level higher than twenty at that inn, now! Erin Solstice and two Gold-rank teams are there, but a Named Adventurer might be too much for them.”

“Erin? Wait, what’s—”

“The inn! Go!

Zel roared it at the confused people around him. Relc’s eyes widened. He turned and began sprinting down the streets. Klbkch was already pointing and shouting. Antinium streamed out of the city, and Zel ran after them. They found Revi and Bird fleeing towards them. And in the inn—

Death. And no Regrika. She was already in Celum. And by that point, they were too late to catch her.

 

—-

 

Venitra strode through the city of Celum, blade at the ready, closing in on Ryoka Griffin’s position. She knew where the Human girl was exactly, thanks to the magic Ijvani had cast. The Humans in the streets cried out and ran when they saw her approaching with blood splattered across her armor. Venitra cared not.

She was unstoppable. The Gold-rank adventurers had damaged her. Her. And the Antinium had—soiled—her form. The form her master had given her! Venitra had burned him into her memory. She would tear him apart slowly. But she had a mission. It trumped all things.

Ryoka was in a little inn called the Frenzied Hare. Venitra strode through the door, hearing conversations stop. She spotted the Runner at a table with four other adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad looked up. They froze when they saw Venitra, or rather, Regrika Blackpaw covered in blood. Ryoka slowly got up, her eyes wide.

“Miss Blackpaw, what’s—”

Venitra lunged. Her sword shot across the table towards Ryoka. The Human—dodged. She twisted in her seat and threw herself across Yvlon’s lap. As Regrika cursed, she cut left. She was trying to cut straight through Yvlon, but her sword slashed across the woman’s breastplate instead. Yvlon shouted and Ryoka ran for the door.

“Come back here and die, Ryoka Griffin!”

The undead woman roared, not caring that she was ruining her guise as Regrika Blackpaw. She was too incensed to care. Ryoka disappeared out the door in a blur. Venitra ran after her and felt something slowing her. She looked down.

Ice was covering her lower half. She saw Ceria pointing, and walls of ice rose in front of the undead woman, blocking her way. Venitra raised her shield and punched through the wall of ice, shattering it. She swung her sword and the ice binding her broke.

“Stop!”

The Horns of Hammerad spread out around Venitra, looking afraid, but determined. Venitra longed to cut them all down, but she ran for the door. Ryoka was more important.

“You are attacking our comrade. I would advise you to surrender, Named Adventurer or n—”

Her shield smashed into Ksmvr as he tried to bar her way. The Antinium fell. Yvlon lunged for Venitra, sword flashing.

She had no time for this! Venitra ignored Yvlon’s sword and accessed a part of her she seldom used. Her master had done more than create her body. He had imbued her with certain enchantments.

“[Mists of Madness].”

The spell erupted from her body in the form of a cloud which engulfed the inn and spilled out onto the street. She heard the other adventurers shout, and then the inn went insane. The cowering Humans suddenly turned on each other, some clawing at each other’s faces, others grabbing weapons and hitting each other, themselves—some sat in corners and gibbered, or became different people.

“A simple matter.”

Venitra strode out of the inn, sensing which way Ryoka had gone. She began to run as the insanity-causing mists began to affect the entire street. The [Guardsmen] who’d come running became crazed killers themselves.

 

Venitra. What is taking you so long?

 

Her master’s voice. Venitra cowered internally as she ran.

“I am pursuing Ryoka Griffin right now, master! I was delayed but she cannot escape—”

The Runner was moving fast. Venitra was faster. She barreled through the wall of a building and out the other side. Ryoka turned, eyes wide, and reversed direction as she ran down a street. Venitra ran after her. Az’kerash’s voice thundered in her head.

 

Where? No—I see by the spell you are close. Hurry, Venitra. Ijvani has retreated due to her wounds. Ryoka must not escape!

 

“Yes, master! I am almost—”

Someone stabbed Venitra in the back. She paused, turned, and lashed out with her sword. There was a blur of motion and her sword cut through air. She saw the blur resolve itself into a figure standing several feet away. He had a flaming rapier in his hand and crackling magic lightning in the other.

Pisces coughed, waving away the madness-causing mists that still clung to his robe. He was frowning, but the spell hadn’t affected him. He smiled weakly and nodded to Venitra.

“A mental attack is only half as efficacious on the second attempt. I am afraid…I have already experienced my own insane delusions once.”

His rapier was at the ready. His stance was set, his eyes watchful. Venitra turned away in disgust. As she did, Pisces blurred forwards and stabbed her in her arm. He seemed astonished when his rapier did nothing but slide off Venitra’s bone body.

“Begone, pest!”

She lashed out at him. Pisces blurred away, using the [Flash Step] spell. She turned to run, and he appeared next to her, rapier dancing across her side. Stab, stab, cut. Three precise strikes, all failures. Then he vanished. Venitra roared in Regrika’s voice, irritated by his futile attacks.

 

Venitra, stop paying attention to him and pursue Ryoka Griffin!

 

Her master’s voice made Venitra turn and immediately begin running. Pisces struck her twice more in the back as she did, and then blasted her face with lightning. Venitra swung her sword, trying to catch him, but he was a gnat, buzzing around her, too quick to catch!

But he could not harm her either. His rapier, enchanted with magical flames, was weak, and his spells were laughable. Venitra had been enchanted to withstand spells from Named Adventurers! She could not be so easily—

“[Bone Fracture].”

A hand on her arm. A sensation. Venitra felt her arm, cut slightly by Seborn’s knives, crack. She stopped and stared down in horror at her arm. Running along her perfectly shaped arm was the tiniest, most miniscule of breaks. She stared at Pisces. He disappeared as her shield swung at his head. He appeared at the other end of the street. He stared at her.

“You are no Gnoll. What…what are you? Who made you?”

He knew. In that moment, Venitra knew he had to die. She ran at him. Pisces became a blur, dodging away. He was faster than Ryoka Griffin thanks to his magic!

“You will not escape!”

Venitra roared at him. She tapped into the enchantments on her body, about to use another one. Her master’s voice halted her.

 

Hold, Venitra. Ryoka Griffin is getting away.

 

“But master, he knows!

 

So I have witnessed. I will deal with him. He is…different. Hunt down Ryoka Griffin, now!

 

Her master’s words were never wrong. Venitra turned. She saw Pisces appear in front of her. He raised his hand, about to use the spell again, when his eyes went wide. He touched his hand to his head.

“Who is speaking to me? Who—?”

Venitra ran past him. She envied Pisces. He was speaking to her master. There could be no higher honor. She ran down the street, no longer hampered by anything or anyone. Venitra ran straight to Ryoka Griffin, charging through walls, running over anyone she encountered in the street. The Runner was too slow to evade her.

She burst through a wall and there was Ryoka Griffin. The Runner’s eyes widened and she turned. Too slow this time. Venitra’s hand shot out and she grabbed Ryoka’s arm. Then her face.

“I have you now.”

Venitra’s fingers tightened on Ryoka’s head as the young woman lashed at her chest, punching, kicking. Venitra felt nothing but satisfaction as she tightened her grip. Then she remembered her master’s injunction and stopped before she fractured Ryoka’s skull.

But her arms. Venitra could start with them. She seized Ryoka’s arm and grabbed one of her fingers. She bent the pinkie finger of Ryoka’s right hand back, back, and then tore it off. The girl screamed. It was the sound Venitra had waited for all this time.

 

Venitra, what are you doing?

 

She flinched as Ryoka convulsed in her grip. Venitra’s voice was sulky, reticent.

“Master, I was only—”

 

I told you to find Ryoka Griffin, not waste time! You have disobeyed me once. Why are you wasting time with nothing when—

 

“Master? I have Ryoka Griffin!”

What was going on? Venitra stared at Ryoka. The girl was sobbing in her arms, blood running from her detached finger. Az’kerash’s voice paused in her mind.

 

What?

 

“I have Ryoka Griffin. In my hands.”

Venitra repeated herself slowly, disbelievingly. Was something wrong with her master’s spell? Inconceivable. And yet, he did not see Ryoka Griffin through her eyes. Either he was wrong or the spell was wrong. Either way, it was impossible.

 

Venitra. What are you looking at?

 

Az’kerash’s mental tone was slow, quiet. Venitra hesitated.

“Ryoka Griffin, master.”

 

No. You are not. There is nothing there.

 

The world paused. Venitra turned and stared at Ryoka Griffin’s face. She saw tears in the girl’s eyes, an anguished face—and then a smile. Ryoka straightened. She looked Venitra in the eye and laughed as her hand bled and Venitra held her pinkie. Then she spoke.

 

“What? Did ye think she’d really sit here and wait for death? More the fool ye art, then.”

 

The girl blurred in front of Venitra. Her finger and body vanished. Something blue and indistinct hovered in front of Venitra’s face. She stared at it.

And her master lost his temper.

 

—-

 

“Where is she? Find her!

Az’kerash’s voice was never raised. His wrath was cold and deliberate, never a product of emotion. That made this moment and his raised voice all the more terrible now. He paced back and forth in his castle, staring at the image of Celum as Venitra ran through it. His servants cowered. Ijvani, her skull fractured and her black metal bones torn and broken in many places, flinched as she bent over an orb.

They were scrying for Ryoka Griffin. The spell that she had cast had been—altered—somehow. It pointed to the Winter Sprite. But Ryoka Griffin was elsewhere. They had to find her.

“There.”

It wasn’t Ijvani who spoke, but the other spellcaster among Az’kerash’s chosen. Bea. The rotting woman turned to their master, an image of Ryoka Griffin in her hands. She was running through the snow, the world racing around her.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, reacted at once. He closed his eyes and put one delicate finger to his brow. When he spoke, it was to Venitra, hundreds of miles away from their location.

“Venitra, your quarry is southeast of Celum. She is heading towards…”

He paused.

“Towards the High Passes? No. That cannot be—catch her, Venitra! Use the [Haste] spell, now!”

Ijvani did not hear the reply, but in the image of Venitra that was being projected to her in her orb, she saw Regrika Blackpaw suddenly blur and race out of the city. She closed the connection and flinched as her master turned towards her.

Master, I am sorry. I failed—

“You did little wrong, Ijvani. Against Zel Shivertail and a Lord of the Wall, I would not expect you to triumph. Let alone with the Small Queen interfering. Why did she help Shivertail? How would that serve the Antinium? Why is a Winter Sprite—”

He broke off. Ijvani shrank, feeling her broken form leaking mana. Zel had cut through her ribs with his claws, and the Drake with the sword had cut off her leg! It didn’t hurt of course, but the loss of one of her limbs was painful in a mental way.

Far worse was seeing her master distressed. Ijvani looked around the room. All of her master’s servants in the castle were here. Oom, dark, wearing a long trench coat and hat, face obscured. Bea, rotting, rotten. Lovely in her putrefaction. And Kerash. He was an undead Gnoll, a giant among his kind even in death. He was as tall as Venitra and proud. And dead.

All of them bowed their heads as Az’kerash strode past him. His black eyes and white pupils were narrowed in his ire.

“Shivertail. He may suspect. Ijvani, your illusion broke down twice during the battle for a few moments. Besides that—this is too good an opportunity to waste. He is a thorn. I will have him removed.”

Master? Do you wish me and Venitra to kill him?

Ijvani wasn’t sure she could be of much help. The [General] had survived some of her best spells! Venitra might be able to kill him, but alone…Az’kerash shook his head.

“No. Venitra will catch Ryoka Griffin. I will not wait for her. I have used one of my scrolls of [Greater Teleportation]. I must spend more, it seems. Bea, Kerash, Oom. You three will accompany Ijvani. I will teleport you all—you will each carry a scroll of [Greater Teleportation] with you.”

His servants held their breaths. Well, none of them needed to breathe, even Oom, so that was figurative. But they were all astonished. The scrolls of [Greater Teleportation] were limited. Even their master could not acquire more. And four, one for each of them? They stared at their master as Az’kerash spoke.

“You will appear in Liscor and kill Shivertail and as many Antinium and Drakes as possible. Bea, I leave the slaughter of Antinium and lesser soldiers to you. Ijvani, you will support Kerash in disposing of the dangerous elements, such as the Gold-rank adventurers. Oom, you were created to deal with enemies like Zel Shivertail. Kill him without giving him any opportunity to run.”

“Yes, master.”

They bowed as one and lined up before their master. Az’kerash walked past them. Kerash, axe in hand. Bea, smiling. Oom, faceless. And Ijvani, wounded but eyes alight with power. He nodded and glanced back towards one of the images of Liscor. In it, shapes milled about, soldiers rushing towards the inn.

“You will teleport in as a group. Try to catch Shivertail alone. He is surrounded by too many strong individuals for an open engagement. The long-distance teleportation spell will take thirty minutes to complete; possibly longer…I will not waste eight scrolls. As for the battle, if you believe yourself in danger, return here with the scroll rather than risk yourselves. I have need of you all. None of you are permitted to die.”

They shivered in delight. They were needed. Their master needed them. He began to trace a complicated pattern on the floor, glowing lines spreading out as he pointed. Az’kerash began to calculate their destination, lips moving slowly. Because he was their master, he could speak and act while he cast the spell.

“A last note. The innkeeper. I do not know where she will be when you appear. But if she becomes a casualty…I will understand. Zel Shivertail’s death matters above all. After he dies, you will regroup. The Slayer is there, as is the Small Queen. And one of the Antinium Queens. If I must reveal part of my forces in some form tonight, I will reap the rewards of it. However, I intend to keep my secret. Kill all witnesses. Is that clear?”

“Yes master.”

They spoke as one. And watched as the image of Ryoka Griffin fleeing grew closer to the image of Venitra. They were both running through the snow. And no one could catch either one.

Time was running out for Ryoka. And for Zel Shivertail, and Liscor.

 

—-

 

Ryoka ran. The snow blurred around her. Her legs churned through the ice, biting into the packed snow. She was barefoot. Her feet bled as they landed on shards of ice. She wore no jacket, no long pants. She was in shorts and t-shirt.

This was the fastest way she could move. Ryoka ran, and felt her legs and body freezing. She was bleeding, leaving a crimson trail in the snow.

Time. She fumbled at her belt. She had left her belt pouches behind, abandoned her bag of holding. But she had taken something with her. Vials of liquid. She grabbed one with frozen fingertips and removed the cork. The liquid sloshed and some splashed out into the snow. Ryoka ignored it and lifted the sparkling violet liquid up in one shaking hand.

She poured the potion into her mouth, choking as she tried to swallow and breathe at the same time. The liquid burned going down. And then the fire spread. Her frozen body began to warm. Ryoka felt her feet tingle and her toes began to feel once more. Her feet began to heal, the cuts closing.

A second potion, as she tossed the empty healing vial away. This one was green and made energy rush through Ryoka’s frame. Her legs began to move quicker. The stamina potion reinvigorated her, healed the aching muscles, and gave her more energy to keep sprinting. Ryoka kept running, trying not to puke.

These were the eighth and ninth potions she’d downed. The side effects of so many potions was making her sick. She had vomited while running. Twice.

But she couldn’t stop. Ryoka knew she’d been running for hours. Hours. The instant after she’d written her goodbye letter, she’d gone through the door to Celum, leaving a disguised Ivolethe behind.

Now the snow and dark night blew around her. It was dark. Ryoka couldn’t tell how long she’d been running; only that it was too long. She had to hurry up. She had to get to the High Passes in time.

It took half a day of running to get there. Ryoka had to be there faster. She didn’t know how long Ivolethe’s disguise would last, or if she’d slip up when Venitra and Ijvani spoke to her. Would they know? And if they did, what would they do?

No choice. It was that or let them kill her friends one by one. Ryoka pumped her arms and legs, willing them to run faster. The mountains, the impossibly high peaks loomed in the darkness ahead. So close and too far.

Ryoka felt like she was running in slow motion. Slow! So slow! She’d seen Valceif run, seen Hawk run—even Relc was faster than she was! She had to go faster.

Or her friends would die. Erin would die. Mrsha and Lyonette would die. She had to run.

Something moved in the darkness. Ryoka flinched, expecting wolves, a traveler. But the glow was blue and familiar. She saw it streak ahead of her, and then saw Ivolethe’s tiny form, flying, glowing ahead of her. And just like that, Ryoka knew she’d ran out of time.

“Ivolethe!”

She screamed at the faerie, her breath snatched away by the breeze. The faerie looked back and Ryoka saw her flying ahead, flying through the wind. So quick, so effortless.

She did not speak. Of course not. She’d told Ryoka she was bending all the rules to play a prank like this. That it was a prank was the only reason she could get away. She couldn’t help now.

It was just Ryoka. So the girl ran as fast and as hard as she ever had. She tried. She really did. She tried to run like the wind. She tried to run with the wind. But it blew in her face.

And the faerie flew on, looking back. Ryoka raced after her, trying. How did it go? Step as if you want to walk into the sky. That is how faeries fly.

But she was no faerie. She was mortal, afraid, weak. Ryoka felt sick. She tried to feel the wind. It was no good. She was trying, trying so hard! Why couldn’t she do it? Why…why….?

Why was life so unfair? She was trying. But the wind blew and the snow chilled her. And then Ryoka heard the voice from behind.

“I am coming.”

It was a sound no mortal throat could make. No lungs could contain enough air, no mortal throat could make that sound. It echoed for miles, thundering. Fear made Ryoka run faster. She was coming. She was here.

Venitra.

There was a shape blurring through the snow behind Ryoka, in the distance, but moving incredibly fast. Venitra ran, magic making her move at twice, three times her normal speed. Ryoka despaired when she saw that. It wasn’t fair! The bone woman ran towards her. Now her voice was louder.

“You cannot escape me.”

She had promised to kill Ryoka slowly. Kill her and everyone she loved. Ryoka felt her fingers breaking. She ran, pumping her legs. Too slow.

Ivolethe flew ahead of her, looking back. Ryoka thought she saw other faeries flying in the snow now. Or was it her delusion? The wind blew into her face. She chased the blue glow. But it was always ahead of her. And the magic—where was the magic?

It was never there when Ryoka needed it. She reached out, lungs burning, legs failing. Ivolethe was disappearing. But the faerie’s tiny head was looking back, urging Ryoka on. Telling her to follow. To run like the wind.

But Ryoka couldn’t. Tears froze on her face. She ran and whispered a word.

“Please.”

Her lungs burned. The word disappeared. Ivolethe’s gaze was caught with hers. Too slow. Venitra appeared out of the blizzard and lunged.

I have you!

Her golden eyes burned. Ryoka swerved desperately, trying to avoid her. Venitra missed and Ryoka felt her powerful hands snap together where Ryoka’s neck would be. She ran, trying to lose the woman. But Venitra was too quick.

“You cannot escape me!”

Ryoka grabbed at her belt pouch and threw a bag. It turned into vines as thick as her legs, tangling around Venitra. The undead roared and tore the Tripvine bag away in moments. She caught up with Ryoka in another.

You cannot get away!

One step. Two. Ryoka ran and tried to run into the sky. She ran after that tantalizing glow, that bit of blue magic in the storm.

She failed. Venitra seized hold of her. Her arms were tight on Ryoka’s neck.

“Now who will save you? No one.”

Her words ran together, almost too quick to follow, a product of the [Haste] spell. Ryoka closed her eyes. Waiting. Venitra dropped Ryoka and seized hold of her arm. Ryoka twisted, trying to run as one of her fingers was seized in an iron grip. She looked for Ivolethe. She’d always thought the faerie would protect her! But there was no Ivolethe. One of Ryoka’s fingers bent. It snapped.

She screamed. The second was caught. Again. And then Ryoka did scream.

Ivolethe!

There was no flash of blue in the blizzard. No sign of her at all. She could not help. Venitra laughed. A third finger was gripped, and Ryoka stared around. But the faerie had not come for her. She and her sisters were gone. There was no blue.

But there was green. A flash moved past Ryoka in the snow. She blinked and then she heard a voice.

[Relc Kick]!

A foot smashed into Venitra’s head. She blinked and let go of Ryoka. The girl dropped and Relc appeared. He stared at the Gnoll Named Adventurer and then at Ryoka.

“Run, you idiot! I thought you were supposed to be fast!

Ryoka got to her feet. She ran. Relc faced Regrika Blackpaw as the Gnoll stared at him. She had her sword and shield. He had a wooden spear with a steel tip, solid, thick, and unenchanted. She struck at him. He leapt backwards.

“Whoa! That’s a [Haste] spell! You cheating bastard!”

The Human girl ran through the snow. The High Passes were ahead. Venitra, Regrika, hesitated. She turned. A spear tip caught her in the back of the head. Relc yelped.

“What the hell? What’s your head made of? Rocks?”

She turned and ran, blurring after Ryoka. Too fast for the Runner to evade or outrun. Regrika was nearly on top of Ryoka when she heard a shout.

“[Lightning Sprint]! [Triple Thrust]!”

A shape moved past her, fast, faster than she was. Three spears seemed to appear at once, striking Regrika in the face, side, and arm. She turned, swung her sword. Relc dodged back again, panting.

“Okay, seriously. I’m retired, you know? And this is a lot faster than I’d like. Can’t you, I dunno, bleed?

She snarled at him. Relc snarled back. They fought in the snow. Regrika lunged at Relc, sword swinging. He dodged back, feinting, not willing to block her strikes. His spear shot out, was blocked by her armor, her shield. A thrust hit her in the face, glanced off.

This is why I wanted my enchanted spear! But noooo—”

Relc yelped and zipped back a few steps as Regrika lunged again. He was panting hard now, his face greying with exhaustion. He held up a hand, chest heaving.

“Okay, okay, I may be a bit out of shape. And my Skills don’t last forever. Why don’t you…is that [Haste] spell expired yet?”

She charged at him. Relc struck her twice with his spear. She rammed forwards with her shield and he had to block. His spear splintered from the impact and he fell back. Relc stared at the bits of spears in his hand and then at Venitra. He curled a fist.

“[Relc Punch]! Relc Punch! Damn it, I could really use an actual Skill like that!”

He punched her twice as she swung at him. She caught his chest and laid it open with a strike. Relc cried out and ran, fumbling at his belt for a healing potion.

“Too old for this! Good luck, Runner Girl!”

Venitra let him go. She turned to the High Passes. In the distance, a girl was running through the snow. Goats were racing after her. Stone gargoyles stirred in their frozen nests. Venitra ran. She caught Ryoka five seconds later.

 

—-

 

This was how it ended. Ivolethe closed her eyes as Venitra swung Ryoka bodily into a rock face. The girl cried out. Venitra turned and beheaded one of the fearless goats that were trying to bite her leg.

Her sisters floated in the air around Ivolethe. They chattered, some laughing, others mocking Ryoka. Some sympathized with the girl, other the undead bound by spells and loyalty to her master. Some cared. Others did not.

But Ivolethe alone knew the scene below mattered. She alone remembered Ryoka’s name. She alone called her friend.

But she had done too much. Too much. The rules had been bent, and trespassed in places. Ivolethe had done all she could. And it was not enough.

 

“Sister, sister. Do not interfere. Our King watches. He knows!”

 

One of her sisters, young and impetuous, cautioned Ivolethe. Another, old as time, spoke.

 

“It is not worth it. Not for her. Not for a mortal.”

 

All agreed. The Frost Faerie floated in the air, their transient forms of ice turning slowly to water. Ivolethe looked at them. Slowly, she nodded.

 

“You are right, sisters. She is not. A mortal is not, for all her passion. For all her wonder. She is not worth interfering with, not worth breaking the rules. Not as she is.”

 

They agreed. Some laughed. Others wept. They were more than creatures of snow and ice. Their natures were changing. They were changing. Ivolethe looked down at the ground. To break the rules was to be punished. That was how rules worked. But they were rules for a reason.

They could be broken, if you were willing to pay the price. She swept downwards. Hands grabbed at her.

 

“Sister, no! Did you not say?”

“It is not worth the cost! Not for a mortal! You said, you said!”

“Yes.”

 

Ivolethe’s voice was distant. She flew, ignoring the cries of her sisters, summoning the last of her strength. Her body froze, colder than winter. Her voice echoed.

 

“It is not worth it. Not for what she is. But perhaps. For what she might become. And for one reason more. Because she is my friend.”

 

She dove and the world froze around her. Venitra, laughing, froze with Ryoka in her arms. Her hands froze and Ryoka fell. The girl stared. The High Passes, cold and snowing, froze. Ice, such as had never been seen before or since on this world covered the sky, the earth, and the undead woman.

Ice. The frost of the beginning and end chilled the earth for a moment and froze the air itself. Venitra stood, astonished, frozen, and her master stopped, his eyes wide. Ryoka stared up at Ivolethe as the faerie smiled down at her.

A small smile. A friend’s smile. Then the air bent. There was wrongness here. Something had happened. Someone had broken a rule. The Frost Faeries flew around Ivolethe, screaming.

 

“You broke it! The rule! You broke the rules!

 

Ivolethe stood in the air, looking down at Ryoka, her friend. She was smiling. She opened her mouth, and in that moment the wind ceased. The other faeries quieted, and Ryoka heard Ivolethe’s words.

 

“Remember. Remember it all. This is truth. This is wonder. This is magic.”

 

Then she leapt up. She flew towards the sky, laughing, daring her King. She cried out.

 

“Blow winds and come, wrack! Lord what fools these immortals be! Come! Come and see what cold cannot freeze and winds cannot erase! I am no coward! Let the storm rage on! Let the earth hear my cry! I am Ivolethe! And I will not let my friend die!

 

The world paused, and Ryoka looked up. She saw a host in the sky, watching figures, made of snow and ice. And felt a presence. The lone glow of Ivolethe’s light spiraled up, higher and higher to that celestial host. And then fell. Ivolethe fell to earth in front of Ryoka. And broke.

The Frost Faerie’s body of ice shattered to pieces on the ground below. Where once had been life was just melted water. Memory. Nothing more.

The world groaned and was silent. The Frost Faeries around Ryoka hushed. And the ice around Venitra began to melt. Ryoka got up. She turned and ran. And wept.

 

—-

 

He was old. And tired. And sleeping. Teriarch woke as she ran into his cave, woke as his spells alerted him. He opened an eye.

“What now? I thought I told you we would never meet again, girl. There is nothing for you here. Nothing I will give. Why tempt my wrath? Why try?”

A broken voice was his reply. Ryoka stood in the cavern of the Dragon, bleeding, fingers broken, weeping. As Teriarch woke and realized what he saw, she shouted at him, screamed.

“Why? Because I can’t do it myself! I can’t! And you—you didn’t know! Do you even care?”

“Care? What’s going on? Why are your fingers—”

Teriarch stared at Ryoka, befuddled. She strode towards him, and the gold Dragon looked into her eyes. Ryoka’s voice was hoarse, and she was trembling. Still crying.

“My friends! Everyone I love! He’ll kill them all! Is this a game to you? Didn’t you think about what the consequences would be? Why do they have to die—why did he have to die because of a damn letter? A birthday letter? Why didn’t you protect them? Why did they have to die?”

“Who? What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer him, not right away. Ryoka trembled. She inhaled several times. Then she spoke. She looked at Teriarch and shouted it at him, at the Dragon, in his cave of wonderful and useless treasures.

“You know who! Him! Perril Chandler, the bastard who lives in the Blood Fields! The one you wanted me to find! The Necromancer! Az’kerash!

Ryoka said it. She shouted it at Teriarch. The Dragon inhaled. He hesitated, struck by guilt. Then by anger. He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t his business, that he didn’t care.

He never got the chance. Ryoka clutched at her chest. Something was wrong. Something was happening. Teriarch saw magic around her. His ears heard her heart squeezing, heard her breath catch. And then the spell activated.

Ryoka’s heart burst. She collapsed. Teriarch stared at Ryoka Griffin as she fell to the ground. He stared. She lay on the ground, dead. Teriarch reached out with a trembling claw and touched her. Then he opened his wings and roared.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.31

In the moments after Ryoka died, she had a vision. She had left her body and she was running down a path. It was some kind of road that stretched on until infinity and she was running as fast as she could down it.

There was no pain. There was nothing but the wind on her face, and the sensation of flying, flying across the ground. Ryoka ran. And ahead of her was a flying blue figure. Ivolethe.

The Frost Faerie was laughing as she let herself be chased by Ryoka. She was going so fast, and no matter how quickly Ryoka ran, she could never catch up to the faerie. But for once, Ryoka didn’t mind that. She ran, happy and free.

And then she came to a cave. Ryoka slowed and slowly walked into it. Now she was in a different place.

In a place where mountains touched the sky, there was a cave. It lay at the foot of one of the mountains, dug into the side. It could have been called a cavern. There was an old man living there. The cave was his home.

It was a large cave, but small for the old man living inside. Too small. It was cramped and he didn’t belong there. He should have been out in the sun, but he hid from it. He was old, and Ryoka heard him whispering. His voice echoed around her, until she was standing by his side.

She looked down and saw her own body lying on the floor. Ryoka knew her heart wasn’t beating. It was in pieces. Magic had shredded it. And the old man was trying to keep her alive. He pointed, and Ryoka saw her chest begin to rise and fall.

Now his voice echoed around the cave, whispering. Frantic and old.

—breathe. The death magic must be dispelled. But the heart—where’s my scroll of regeneration? No time. I’ll have to reconstruct it—what do Human hearts look like?

He turned and began to search around his cave as Ryoka watched her chest continue to rise and fall. Something was happening in her chest. Ryoka knelt by her body and felt her heart start to assemble itself, flesh and blood melding together.

I can’t find my compendium of anatomies! Another heart? A magic one? No, no. Just heal the damage. It’s just a death spell. Simple to fix. She will survive. Of course she will.

He was old. And worried. And tired. Ryoka looked at the old man as he paced back and forth in his tiny home, his cave of rock.

And then she saw a Dragon.

His scales were bronze and shone like the sun. They looked closer to gold in the half-light of his cavern. The Dragon was huge, taller than any creature of the land or sky, majestic. His mane flowed like molten metal, his claws were like razors.

And he was legend. He was one of the last of his kind, a reminder that magic, true magic still walked the earth. He was older than the mountains he rested under, the ancient watcher. A being of flame and sky.

A Dragon.

And then Ryoka felt her body give a start. Her heart began to beat again and she saw herself cough. Ryoka felt her chest convulse. She was lying on the ground, her heart aching. And then she opened her eyes and the old man and the Dragon were one. He had a name.

Teriarch.

He crouched over Ryoka, an expression of worry on his huge face. The Dragon reached out with one claw and touched her. So gently, a giant gently caressing an ant. She looked up into his eyes, heliotrope and cerulean and saw him smile.

Relief filled the huge Dragon as he looked down at Ryoka Griffin. And then, just as suddenly, the relief turned to fury. He turned, and Ryoka sat up, despite the pain in her chest. The Dragon roared again, a sound that made the cavern shake and the vast collection of his artifacts tremble. She looked towards the entrance of the cave, waiting. The vision was still in Ryoka’s mind, that endless road and Ivolethe. But she put it aside for one moment.

There was no way she was going to miss what came next.

 

—-

 

Venitra stopped when she heard the second roar. It echoed through the High Passes, sending the other monsters running for cover. Even the goats. It even sent a moment of trepidation through her. But the undead woman did not flee. She had come too far to be denied her victory now. Her master would not accept failure.

And Ryoka was so close. Venitra’s body was still frozen from the ice but she made it move. She strode towards the huge cave opening. There was a yellow flag of some sort tied to a rock at the entrance. The undead disregarded this. This place was suitable for Ryoka Griffin’s end.

I have found you!

She roared into the cave, wondering if Ryoka had awakened some kind of monster within. Venitra strode into the darkness, fearless. She had been created to be superior to any monster! She was perfection. Her master had made her, so she must be so.

Her sword and shield were drawn, weapons of enchanted bone, like her body. Venitra walked forwards, her heavy tread crushing rocks underfoot. She had been built like a knight; her body was armor superior to any steel, and the magic in her warded her against lesser spells and attacks. She was flawless! Unstoppable! She was—

The woman rounded an outcropping of rock in the darkness and saw the Dragon. He loomed over her, violet and blue eyes burning with fury. His scales glinted as his head moved down to regard her.

“Wretch. Thing. You dare trespass in my domain?”

He bellowed the words and Venitra trembled. She stared up at him. A Dragon. A—she brandished her sword. She could see a young woman lying on the ground in front of the Dragon. His tail was half-curled around her, protectively.

“Give me Ryoka Griffin. I have no quarrel with you, beast.”

Did her voice quaver? Surely not. She was not afraid. She was not! Venitra lifted her sword, daring the creature before her.

The Dragon reared up. His eyes narrowed and Venitra braced herself. He roared a third time, and Venitra dashed forwards. Her body, enchanted with [Haste], darted at the girl half-sitting up on the ground. Venitra leapt—

“Begone.”

Something grabbed her. Venitra cried out and stabbed at the claw grasping her. Futilely. Her blade glanced off something, and then she felt herself lifted.  Venitra struggled and something hurled her—

“What?”

The undead woman twisted, her shield raised, her sword slashing the air frantically. What had just happened? She felt weightless. There was nothing to stand on, no ground—or Dragon—anywhere around her. Everything was a blur and she was…moving? What? Venitra realized what was going on.

“I’m—falling?”

Then her body crashed into the side of the mountain. Venitra felt the shock of the impact crack her body. She lay there, stunned.

“I broke? I? What—”

Wing beats. She struggled upright and then saw him. A Dragon flew upwards, wings stretched wide. His head rose and he turned to look at her. And Venitra was afraid. She raised her shield. The Dragon inhaled. Venitra crouched. Her body was bone, not flesh! He couldn’t harm her. He couldn’t—

The air caught aflame. The world turned to fire. Venitra felt her ivory body blacken and crack from the heat. She screamed. Pain, real pain engulfed her soul. Everything was burning! She cried out.

“Master!”

But there was only fire. Venitra screamed and the Dragon roared. He turned his head away from the broken undead creation and flew upwards. He shouted at the sky.

Az’kerash!

The mountains shook with the word as Teriarch bellowed another word. And hundreds of miles away, the Necromancer’s heart began to beat faster for the first time in years.

 

—-

 

“Venitra?”

Az’kerash’s voice faltered. In the minutes after Venitra had been encased in solid ice, the room around him had gone silent. Ijvani, Bea, Kerash, and Oom stood in their teleportation circles. The spell was nearly completed. But their master’s attention was solely concentrated on the image of Venitra.

“Venitra. Can you hear me? Respond. Pull back. Retreat. This is an order!”

The Necromancer spoke to his servant. But Venitra didn’t seem to hear. She strode towards the cave opening. And then the image of her vanished. Az’kerash cursed. Ijvani turned her broken skull to stare at her master. She had never heard him swear before.

Master?

The Necromancer began to pace back and forth. He whirled as the projection of Venitra flared back to life. Ijvani gasped as she saw Venitra. The bone woman was flying through the air! Then she was landing. And there was fire—she saw Venitra, her master’s last great creation and favorite of his servants burn in the fiery inferno. She heard Venitra calling out for her master. And then she heard the voice bellowing her master’s name.

Az’kerash!

“This is problematic.”

Az’kerash stared at the projection of Venitra. She was barely moving. Ijvani couldn’t even tell her apart from the melted rocks, still glowing with heat. He turned.

Kerash! Go to Venitra. Use a scroll. Teleport there and bring her back. Do not do anything else. Do you underst—”

“Master, there is a spell addressed to you! It’s a [Message] spell.”

Bea cried out. Az’kerash turned.

“I sense it. Do not answer, Bea. Kerash, take three scrolls of [Greater Teleport]. If Venitra is unable to use it, force her to—”

Master?

He turned. Ijvani pointed. There was something in the air behind him. The necromancer stared at the burning piece of air, a shining, fiery dot, and narrowed his eyes.

“Do not respond to the spell. Kerash—”

Bea didn’t touch the spell. Neither did Ijvani. But somehow, the spell itself activated. Ijvani stared as the point of flame expanded, wrote itself in the air. That was impossible. The rational, dead part of her mind kept saying that. It was just a [Message] spell! It couldn’t—what was happening?

Then the word wrote itself in the air. It was a single word, and when it completed, there was a voice.

Worm.”

And with that word came fire. The Necromancer raised his hands as flames burst into the room. He shouted.

“[Mass Flame W—]”

The air ignited. Ijvani’s bones caught flame. The air, the stone, everything burned. Searing fire engulfed the Necromancer and his servants. They cried out. Bea screamed and Oom writhed in silent agony. Ijvani shrieked as she felt her enchanted bones melting in the fire. She caught a glimpse of Kerash flailing, engulfed in flames, and then her master, raising a hand.

“[Snap Freeze]. [Void Room]! [Sanctuary of Protection]!”

A cold blasted through the room, lowering the temperature and creating boiling steam. Still the flames did not go out. But then the air in the room vanished and the flames disappeared too. Ijvani stopped flailing and saw her master, standing motionless, ash covering his body.

He was burned. And as he turned, a roaring face appeared in the air in front of him. A Dragon. His projection had engulfed the room in fire. His words were thunder.

Az’kerash, you worm! You dare? You dare send your minions to trespass in my home?

“Ijvani. Bea. Oom. Kerash. Leave.”

Az’kerash spoke through gritted teeth. His servants picked themselves up. They stared at the Dragon and fled. The air was gone in the room, save for a pocket around Az’kerash, a glowing sphere where the heat could not touch. But despite the vacuum of air, the heat from Teriarch’s wrath was beginning to melt the stone within.

“Calm yourself, Teriarch! I did not order Venitra to attack you. Nor did I intend to interfere with you in any way. She was pursuing a girl—”

“Ryoka Griffin. You tried to kill her! A Runner! A messenger! Have you no shame, coward?

The Necromancer held up a hand, black eyes narrowed. His white pupils locked with Teriarch’s.

“I was safeguarding my interests. She knew my location thanks to you, Teriarch. If she spoke of it—”

I do not want to hear your excuses, brat!

This time fire burst into the air around Az’kerash. He shielded his face as the flames danced around him. These were no ordinary flames. They were a Dragon’s fire, and they flew around him in the void, trails of white-hot fire that burned on pure magic, not oxygen. He muttered a word and a layer of bone grew out of the floor, shielding himself from the flames which began burning their way through the thick ivory.

“Enough! I will not apologize for my actions! I will safeguard my secrets at any cost! That girl was a tool. Why do you care whether she lives or dies?”

Teriarch’s eyes narrowed. He inhaled, and Az’kerash raised his arms.

[Wall of the Damned]!

This time the raging Dragon’s fire blasted through the projection between the two. It blasted around the twisted wall of glowing bodies that had appeared to protect Az’kerash and into the corridor beyond. The undead warriors standing in the hallway burned. Ijvani and the other servants had a chance to scream before the inferno flashed down the corridor and blasted across an entire wing of the castle.

When the smoke cleared, Az’kerash lowered the shield between him and Teriarch. He stared at the Dragon. Teriarch was panting, wheezing. He slowly lowered himself back onto the ground, curling his wings up tiredly. He and the Necromancer stared at each other.

“She is under my protection now. Understand? Kill or threaten her, and I will personally exact a reckoning upon you and your toys!”

“Understood.”

Az’kerash coughed, exhaling a plume of black ash as he spoke. He wiped it from his lips grimly before speaking.

“I will leave her and her associates alone. Allow me to collect my servant, Venitra.”

“You may send someone to bring back what is left of her.”

Teriarch’s tail lashed the ground. He narrowed his eyes at the man standing in his destroyed room.

“I will not warn you again, Necromancer. I will not be crossed.”

“I was not aware that a single City Runner merited your protection. Or do you care for Humans now, when you’ve abandoned your descendants, the Drakes?”

Az’kerash responded icily. Teriarch hesitated.

“I care not for mortal lives. But Ryoka Griffin. She is—deserving of respect. She delivered a gift for you. Has she done anything to warrant death?”

It was the Necromancer’s turn to pause.

“No. But I will warn you, Teriarch, that my secrets are not to be given away. If you will not let her die, make clear to Ryoka Griffin the consequences of—”

“I think you have already done that. She is under my protection, Chandler. Remember that. Your undead are no match for my wrath.”

Again the two locked gazes. This time Teriarch was the first to look away. He spoke a curt word and flicked his wings. The image vanished.

In the silence, Az’kerash looked around the now-destroyed room. He sensed the havoc Teriarch’s fire had wrought, and heard his servants screaming for his aid, still aflame. Slowly, Az’kerash sat on the ground, brushing ash from his robes.

That ended poorly.”

He paused. And then smiled as he put a finger to his lips.

“Or perhaps not. Hmm.”

 

—-

 

Fire. Ryoka saw fire. She heard Teriarch’s roar, saw him hurl Venitra and then fly out of his cavern after her. And the fire—it burned through the air, searing, shining bright despite Ryoka’s closed eyelids.

So hot. So…pure. It was fire, and it made every flame, every bonfire and firework and campfire Ryoka had seen before it seem pale in comparison. To see Teriarch breathe fire was to understand it. She stared up as the Dragon roared and felt tears evaporate on her face.

“It’s beautiful.”

Then she cried for other reasons too. She cried for Ivolethe and walked back through the empty pass to the place where ice had mostly melted away. A few large chunks remained, melting in the now burning air. And on the ground…a shining splash of wet. A few droplets that had once been ice. Ryoka bent and touched the water. It dripped from her fingertips and evaporated.

She blinked, and her eyelids drooped. Ryoka lay down on the ground.

When she opened her eyes next, Ryoka was flying. For real this time. She looked around and realized she must have passed out. Because she could not explain how she was looking down at the world. The air rushed around her as Ryoka saw snow below her, tiny houses, clouds—she looked around, panicking as she realized she was up high, and then saw the claw.

It was gripping her gently, a talon of burnished bronze scales. Ryoka looked up and saw Teriarch.

He was flying. Or rather, gliding. The huge Dragon flew through the night’s sky, high, high above the ground. Like an airplane. His wings barely moved as they spread wide through the air. Occasionally they would flap, but Ryoka had a distinct impression they were moving far too quickly for the wings to do much.

It was cold this high up. So cold. Ryoka felt the icy chill of the air around her and would have frozen, but Teriarch’s claws were warm. They radiated heat, enough to keep her more than comfortable. Slowly, Ryoka shifted, and the Dragon sensed it, minute though the motion was.

“You are awake.”

“Yeah.”

It was an unfulfilling exchange after everything that had happened. Ryoka twisted in Teriarch’s grip to look up at him better. The Dragon turned his head and she saw one massive eye looking at her.

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

She felt him chuckle through his talon. Teriarch smiled, and then looked down. So did Ryoka. The world flew past her below. Ryoka stared. There was no comparing this with sitting in an airplane and staring out a window. It wasn’t like skydiving or gliding. She flew through the night sky, impossibly fast, and yet the wind did not roar in her ears. There was silence around the Dragon, and the air was calm around him. Ryoka looked down, through clouds, across a frozen world.

This was the sight a Dragon saw. She felt her heart in her chest shake. Her heart.

“You brought me back to life.”

“It was not hard. A death spell destroys very little. And I am a master of magic.”

Again, the Dragon smiled, but this time it was sadly. He bent his head as he flew to look at her.

“The Necromancer. He came after you because you knew where he resides, didn’t he? I did not expect that. I…apologize.”

Ryoka stared at him. She tried to find the helpless rage, the despair and contempt she’d felt for his indifference. But she couldn’t. She had died. Ivolethe had died. There was only the truth, empty and painful. Truth, and beauty. She stared into the eyes of a Dragon and nodded.

“Yeah. He did. He killed a good person. And Ivolethe died to stop him.”

Teriarch nodded. He looked past her, down at a mountain below. Then he swerved to move out of the way of a peak that rose in the sky, higher than he was flying. Ryoka stared at it as she flew past. The slopes were covered in ice. It was a world unto itself up here and she could swear she saw something moving across the ice and rocks. Then it was gone, lost behind a cloud. Teriarch’s voice was quiet.

“He will not come after you again. I have spoken with the Necromancer and we have reached an accord. You are under my protection.”

“Why? I thought you didn’t care about mortals.”

“Then why did you come to me?”

“Because I hoped you would. Because it wasn’t fair. Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Silence. The Dragon nodded once. Ryoka looked at him.

“I shouldn’t tell anyone about Az’kerash or his servants, right?”

“That is what he wishes. And perhaps it would be wise. But I will not force you. Not now.”

She looked at him. He looked at her. Ryoka tried to wiggle an arm. Teriarch’s claw opened a fraction so she could scratch at a cheek. She didn’t feel fear, though his grip was loosened on her thousands of miles in the air. She felt safe with him.

“Are you going…to put a spell on me?”

There was a pause. Teriarch’s head glanced down at Ryoka.

“Another geas spell? No. There is little point it seems. And you—you have paid for the knowledge you possess. Paid far too much for it.”

“Thanks.”

He said nothing. Ryoka stared down. She thought she could actually recognize where they were now. A narrow pass led south, in a gap between the mountain ranges. She and Teriarch flew over a city, tiny below them, and entered a valley where the mountains formed a natural basin.

It was a beautiful, still sight, as flecks of snow whirled around them. The snow covered the area, making it shine. Winter. This high up you couldn’t see how it had melted or turned to mud where the snow was thin. But winter was ending. It had ended.

Ivolethe was gone. Struck by that sudden realization, Ryoka fought back tears. Then gave in. Her voice croaked.

“Teriarch?”

“Yes?”

She took a breath.

“Why did he—I mean, I know. But why did—why did she—why…?”

She tried to ask the question she had no words for. Teriarch listened as she choked on her words and fell silent. He did not respond.

The Dragon flew lower now, gliding down through the clouds. He whispered a word and Ryoka saw his body vanish. She looked down and realized she’d vanished as well.

They landed in the snow within sight of Liscor’s walls. On the east side, so Ryoka couldn’t see Erin’s inn. Teriarch let go of Ryoka, placing her gently on the ground.

She stumbled, fell to her knees, jolted awake by the cold snow. Ryoka looked at her hands and realized she was visible again. Teriarch was still a ghost, but his voice was clear in the night’s silence.

“I am sorry. I did not mean for this to happen.”

She looked at him, where he should be. A Dragon stood on the ground, a legend. His wings spread wide, and his scales shone in the moonlight. His eyes were deeper than the stars. He was real.

But she couldn’t see him. And if she closed her eyes, Ryoka could imagine it was all a dream. This world, everything she’d been through. Magic didn’t exist. She couldn’t actually cast spells, monsters weren’t real, and there was no wonder. The world was empty of such things.

But she remembered a laughing blue creature of frost and wind. She saw the world freeze and heard a faerie’s voice. Ryoka reached out and touched a scale, hot and warm and real in the silence.

Magic was real. You just had to believe.

Ivolethe was gone. Brunkr was dead. Az’kerash…there were a thousand things she could say. Ryoka said none of them. She felt Teriarch’s body shift and stepped back.

He leapt into the sky. She felt a gust of wind that knocked her over, and then heard his voice.

“I am sorry.”

And then he was gone.

Ryoka got up slowly. She began to walk, stumbling through the ice and snow, towards Liscor. Her heart hurt. Her entire body felt…tired. It felt like she really had died back there, and the last few moments had been a pleasant illusion. But she believed.

The gate were barred when Ryoka reached them. The guards on the gates aimed arrows and wands at her. They cried out when they saw her. Ryoka stumbled into the city, as people rushed towards her. There was too much to say, too little she could say.

But she’d come back in time. Come back before Relc, bypassing the patrols searching for her and Regrika. They were called in. Zel and Ilvriss returned. Ryoka found the Horns of Hammerad nursing their wounds and Mrsha and Lyonette with Krshia and every Gnoll in the city. And Erin—she found her with the Gold-rank adventurers in her inn, surrounded by the Antinium.

Ryoka was silent through it all. She couldn’t explain, couldn’t answer any questions. Not now. She told them it was over, and then realized it wasn’t. Not yet.

She had made it back in time for the funerals.

 

—-

 

Erin stood in the snow and looked at the two bodies wrapped in a shroud. They were Brunkr’s remains, and Ulrien’s body. The cloth they were covered in was white. It seemed to blend together with the snow. Only the pyre of wood separated them from the cold oblivion around them.

She looked to one side and saw Ryoka standing by herself in the cold. The Runner had a dazed look on her face, as if she were dreaming while awake. She was alone, for all people surrounding her. No one stood by her side. Many watched. Zel and Ilvriss, and his followers. A group of Guardsmen including Relc and Klbkch. The Antinium.

Everyone was here. And that was odd. Gnolls from Liscor, adventurers from Celum, Drakes of all colors, the Horns of Hammerad, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Lyonette, Mrsha, and Pawn, Bird, and the other Antinium—they were all here. Erin would never have expected to see Xrn and Klbkch sharing space with Zel and Ilvriss, for all they stood on opposite sides of the pyre.

It was like a dream. Yes, that was how it felt. A bad dream that she couldn’t wake up from. Erin stared at her hands.

Her right hand was bandaged. It had broken, and though the healing potion had fixed her skin and Pisces had helped with the bone, she had been ordered not to use it. Her injury was one of the few present. Zel, Ilvriss, even Revi, Seborn, and Typhenous all looked like normal.

The only injured were Jelaqua, Moore, and Halrac. Halrac had bandages over his ribs. Moore’s fist had been broken like Erin’s and he was still recovering from the healing of his other wounds. And Jelaqua—Erin glanced at the Selphid.

The top of Jelaqua’s head had been sewn together in a hurry. It was hard to see the stitches at a distance, but up close they were noticeable. The Selphid was still active, though. She seemed to be wincing as she cradled her stomach. But she stood with the others, watching the bodies.

There was no priest. No one to say any words. And there was no ceremony. The Gnolls, led by Krshia, approached Brunkr’s shroud. Krshia bent. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] bent to touch Brunkr, then put something by his body. A sword. His sword.

Someone else put his shield there. Another added a part of his armor, someone else a piece of clear stone, a gift, perhaps. The Gnolls put their tributes by their fallen brethren.

Ulrien had no gifts by his body. His greatsword and equipment had been removed. He lay, silent, as the adventurers stood around him. Some were crying. Typhenous wept openly. Revi brushed at angry tears.

Both Ceria and Yvlon were crying, and Erin thought that Ksmvr and Jelaqua might have if they could. Moore closed his eyes and Seborn stared silently at Ulrien.

No one said anything. Not Halrac, not Typhenous, not Revi. They had been like this all night. After Ryoka had appeared out of nowhere and told them that both Ikriss and Regrika were gone, they’d demanded questions, argued. Halrac had to be restrained by both Moore and Jelaqua from grabbing Ryoka.

Now they were quiet. The Gnolls finished paying their last respects. Erin, Lyonette, and Mrsha were last. They had known Brunkr, each in their own way.

Lyonette was first. She walked over to Brunkr, tears dripping into the snow. She knelt next to the body and bowed her head. Mrsha walked up next to her, clumsily, on two feet. She buried her head into the shroud and moaned. It was the only sound Erin had ever heard her make besides barking and crying.

After forever, a few minutes, Lyonette pulled at Mrsha. The Gnoll tried to hold on, but the girl gently made her let go. Erin stepped up, last. She looked down at Brunkr.

“I—”

She had no words. Erin fiddled with her hands, and placed something on the ground next to Brunkr. It was a flower, yellow, small. A faerie’s flower. It was the only flower she could find. Erin wiped at her face and stepped back.

“Is there anyone who wishes to speak? If so, now is the time.”

Krshia called out. The Gnoll’s eyelids were puffy and her voice was hoarse from howling. The Gnolls had called out after hearing what Regrika had done. They had called her traitor, and howled until they could not any longer.

Now they were silent. No one spoke, so Krshia took a torch from one of the Gnolls. She approached the shroud where Brunkr lay. On the other side, Halrac reached out and took a torch that Typhenous lit with magic. They walked up to the silent bodies and lowered the flames.

The shrouds lit. They were doused with oil and made to burn easily. Erin stared as the fire caught one edge of Brunkr’s shroud, and leapt from the torch onto the chest of Ulrien’s covering. The flames began to spread slowly, and then engulfed both bodies. Halrac and Krshia stepped slowly back from the blazes.

Cremation. It was the way Drakes did it, and some Gnolls and Humans. Buried bodies might come back unless treated properly. And burning made sure that their corpses could not be plundered. Gold-rank adventurers were stripped of their equipment and cremated for that reason; to avoid being despoiled by thieves.

Now Erin glanced at Griffon Hunt again. They had not said much as they prepared their friend. They had been so silent it hurt. She looked at Halrac, his face set, his jaw clenched. Typhenous, head bowed and Revi staring defiantly into the flames as tears streamed down her eyes. They had to say something.

Then Halrac moved. He reached for something. His bow. The people around him, adventurers who had known Ulrien, stood back as Halrac selected an arrow from his quiver. The arrow’s head shone with light, painful in the darkness.

Halrac put the arrow to his bow, aimed up, and loosed. A single shot, high, high up into the night. He put another arrow to his bow, drew, and loosed. The second arrow shot up and met the first.

There was a soundless explosion in the sky above. Erin shielded her eyes as the two magical arrows burst. Halrac reached for a third arrow, and Revi moved.

She had talismans in her hands. They glowed, and she threw them to the ground. Ghostly warriors rose, warriors and mages wearing glowing armor. She pointed, and they shot their weapons upwards. Revi raised a wand and shot crackling lightning into the sky as one of Halrac’s arrows exploded into a fireball, high above.

Typhenous raised his staff. Dancing missiles of light, arrows that left streaks through the air shot upwards. Hundreds of them. They crisscrossed the other spells and arrows. Typhenous pointed, and orbs of light rose, exploding high overhead.

For a moment, the three were the only ones filling the sky. Then Erin saw someone else move. Jelaqua raised something in her hands. It was a ball of liquid. She threw it up and the alchemist’s fire exploded, showering down burning fragments. Moore raised his staff and leaves shot into the air, catching fire and burning. Seborn threw something that turned into a cloud of dust that shimmered in the air.

They weren’t alone. Ceria shot ice up into the air in a stream of frozen vapors. Yvlon hurled something like what Jelaqua had thrown, only smaller. Pisces shot sparks, and Ksmvr shot an arrow from his quiver.

Around the gathering, other adventurers were doing the same. Everyone who had known Ulrien in passing or in person raised their weapons. Those who were mages shot spells up. Others used arrows, aiming away from the crowd. Those without either threw alchemist concoctions, or used artifacts.

The sky was filled with light and flashes. Explosions. Erin stared up. Fireworks filled the sky, in a world where they had never been invented. Because there was no need.

“Magic and might. Spells and tricks. Ammunition and weapons for him in the next life. A last goodbye, to show his enemies he is not forgotten. A tribute to who he was. A promise he will be avenged.”

Erin turned. Klbkch stood behind her with Xrn by his side. Neither Antinium raised their weapons. They were not adventurers. Neither was Erin. She stood in the silence until Halrac had fired his last shot, and the flames were dying down. There was little left of either body but ash.

What happened then? Erin couldn’t remember who was the first to step away, but she knew who was last. Halrac stood by Ulrien’s remains, and Krshia by Brunkr. The others went back to the city, to the inn.

That night Erin let Ishkr and Drassi serve the food, what she’d stockpiled. Wind blew against the hastily-repaired hole in the wall, and there weren’t enough tables or chairs, but her guests didn’t care. They sat on the ground or stood with plates and mugs in hand, somber, quiet.

She and Lyonette couldn’t do it. Drinks were free, as was food, and the people in her inn ate and talked quietly. They drank to remember, and then drank to forget.

That night, Erin let Mrsha have something to drink, and put a drop of faerie flower nectar in her drink. The Gnoll fell asleep in Lyonette’s arms, and then Lyonette fell asleep after Erin gave her a similar mug. Erin offered it to Halrac when he came in, but he shook his head and sat with his teammates, alone and silent.

Ryoka came in and sat in a corner, staring at the fire. Zel and Ilvriss never came in, and neither did Krshia or the Gnolls. They were elsewhere. In the silence, Erin watched as the bodies filling her inn slowly left through one of her two doors. In the end, it was just Ryoka and her.

Neither girl spoke. Erin walked over to the kitchen and lay down on the ground. She closed her eyes, too hurt to cry, in too much pain to sleep. Or so she thought. But sleep did come, black and quiet as oblivion.

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 32!]

[Skill – Inn: Reinforced Structure obtained!]

 

It was too much. Erin woke up and cried. Then she fell asleep again. The next day she went to Ryoka with the letter she’d found in her room.

 

—-

 

It was a bad dream. A nightmare, only when you woke up the next day, you realized that it was reality. And somehow, you kept going.

And paid your debts. The first was Erin. Ryoka sat in the inn. No one was around. It was silent. Just after dawn. The sky was clear and blue and it was warmer, but no one had come downstairs or upstairs.

Ryoka sat at a table. She hadn’t slept. She had woken up from the dream after meeting Teriarch. Now she just felt empty. Like she wasn’t here. She didn’t want to be here.

But Erin sat across from her. The other girl pushed a folded piece of parchment towards her.

“Why did you write it was all your fault?”

“It was. It is. Regrika and Ikriss came for me. Everyone they killed, Brunkr, Ulrien—Ivolethe. It was all to get at me.”

“Why?”

“It was one of my deliveries. I—saw something I shouldn’t have.”

“Just that? All of that—because you saw something?”

“Yes.”

“And why didn’t you tell me? What about Zel? Klbkch? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“They told me they’d kill you and everyone else if I tried.”

“They killed Brunkr anyways.”

“Yeah. That’s why I went for help.”

“From who?”

“I can’t say.”

“Teriarch.”

“I can’t say.”

“Can he really protect you?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I can’t tell for sure. I’m mostly sure, but—I can’t. And I can’t tell you or Halrac who ordered Regrika to come here, Erin. It’s too dangerous.”

“For a Gold-rank adventurer?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Krshia. And then…I’ll talk to Zel.”

“Do that. And then…Ryoka?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t come back. Leave. I don’t want you here. Not for a while. Not for a day, at least. Maybe more.”

“Okay.”

Ryoka got up slowly and walked out the door, conscious of Erin’s eyes on her back.

 

—-

 

“We’re leaving.”

That was all Halrac said in the morning, when he finally came down. He stood in front of Erin with the others. Typhenous, Revi, they were all packed. Well, packed…they had a bag of holding. Erin stared up at Halrac. His face was blank. But there was pain behind his eyes.

“You’re leaving?”

“Not the city. We’re staying. We might go—we don’t know. We don’t know if we’ll continue trying to enter the dungeon or…anything. But we can’t stay here.”

Revi said it as she looked around the room. Erin looked too. The blood was gone, but she could still see the spot where Ulrien had died. Halrac glanced at it and then away.

“That Ryoka Griffin still won’t tell us who Regrika Blackpaw really works for?”

“No. She wouldn’t tell me. I think she might tell Zel.”

“Fine. I’ll find out either way.”

The [Scout] turned. Erin longed to say something. She hesitated.

“I’m sorry.”

Halrac’s shoulders hunched. Typhenous looked at him and Erin and opened his mouth, and then shook his head. Only Revi stayed as the two began to walk towards the door.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry?”

The Stitch-Girl stared at Erin, a mix of hostility and grief in her eyes.

“You’re sorry? Because Ulrien’s dead? So what? It’s not going to help. Ulrien knew what he was suggesting when he offered to help you against a Named Adventurer. It was his choice. He died. And now our group has no leader.”

Erin stared at her. Revi looked away and wiped her eyes. She still hadn’t fixed the clumsy stitches that were keeping her together.

“Are you—are you going to break up?”

“Disband? Who knows?”

Revi shrugged.

“We’ll probably go to an inn and drink until we throw up for a week. And then? I don’t know. Ever since we came to this city, to this inn, it seems like nothing’s gone right. It was nice while it lasted, you know? I even liked this place. But it’s too much. This place is too much.”

She turned away. Erin watched her go. After a while, Jelaqua walked up. The Selphid scratched at the stitches around her head.

“Don’t mind Revi. She only meant half of what she said.”

“She’s right, though. I got Ulrien killed. Bad things always happen around my inn. Around me. This isn’t the first time.”

The Selphid shook her head.

“Bad things always happen. You think you’re special in that? I lost over half my party in another inn. Tragedy doesn’t care where it happens.”

Erin looked at her. Jelaqua offered her a crooked smile.

“Don’t mind the head. There’s nothing important in it, anyways.”

“Is your body okay? Seborn said you might have problems.”

“Seborn? Oh, right. Well, I went on a Rampage. It’s a Selphid thing. Breaks muscles, and I can’t heal them like you can. And I took damage…I need a new body. But I don’t think I can get one, so I’ll manage with this.”

Jelaqua shrugged. She’d broken bones in the fight, and talked about inserting iron rods to keep things in place. Erin only nodded.

“Will you stay?”

“Us? Yeah, sure. We can’t really leave. It’s hard finding another inn.”

“If you needed to, I could—”

“We’ll stay.”

The Selphid quietly rested a hand on Erin’s shoulder. The [Innkeeper] nodded. She wiped at her face. Jelaqua patted her on the shoulder as Erin cried.

“I won’t forget. Regrika. I won’t forget.”

“I know. I won’t either.”

“She told me she’d kill me. And Bird. And you all. Everyone. I won’t forget her. I’ll find her and someday…”

“I know. Come on. Let’s get you sitting down. Come on.”

 

—-

 

The second person that Ryoka told was Krshia. The Gnoll sat in her apartment. It was too empty without Brunkr in it. She looked at Ryoka.

“Who ordered Regrika?”

“I can’t say.”

“She is a traitor to our species. Tell me.”

“I can’t tell you, Krshia. It’s too dangerous. But believe me. Regrika’s not a proper Gnoll and she never was.”

Krshia stared at her. Her paws were clenched. Ryoka looked at her, waiting. If Krshia grabbed her, she wouldn’t resist.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d do it. I would have risked it earlier.”

The Gnoll nodded jerkily.

“And risked death for many. For me and my nephew as well. I see. It is not—there was no good choice. I understand that.”

“If you want to do anything to me. Hit me, tell me never to come back—”

“I do. But I will not. You are a friend to Gnolls, Ryoka.”

“Still?”

The young woman was surprised and guilty. Krshia nodded, head bowed.

“What you gave us is worth more than a single life. Worth more than the lives of many Gnolls, perhaps. It is a gift, and I know the value of it. But.”

She looked up. There were tears in her brown eyes.

“But Brunkr was my nephew, no? I helped raise him, I fed him, and spanked him, and watched him grow. I knew him. We are friends, Ryoka Griffin. That does not change. But I do not wish to see you for a while. May I ask that?”

“Of course.”

Ryoka got up. She hesitated as she walked over to the door. Krshia was looking around the room, sniffing, catching one last smell of Brunkr.

“I’ll try to avenge him. I’ll tell Zel Shivertail.”

“Do. But it will not bring him back.”

That was true. So Ryoka left. There was still howling in the city. And the message would spread to every city on the continent, every city where Gnolls lived. Traitor. Regrika Blackpaw was a traitor.

Gnolls killed other Gnolls. That was normal. They were like Humans in that respect. But they did not kill people like that. They did not kill Gnolls they’d shared a drink with on the same night, after going to their party. They did not kill unless there was a war, or a true quarrel, or in truly dire situations. In short, they did not murder each other. To do that was to abandon the ties that made them all Gnolls.

In that respect, they were unlike Humans.

 

—-

 

The third person she talked to was Zel Shivertail. On her insistence, she talked with him in a private room of the Tailless Thief, warded against any eavesdropping. Zel personally assured her that Ilvriss wouldn’t try to listen in, although that had taken a lot of arguing. She’d ended it herself.

“I won’t allow it! I demand to know what’s happening! Good Drakes are dead because of this! Children, families were burned by that traitor, Ikriss! If you won’t tell me I will cut it out of you now, Human! Who sent Regrika Blackpaw? Why did they want you? Why—”

Zel was holding Ilvriss back with all of his strength. Ryoka stared at the Drake as he screamed in the [General]’s grip. All of his attendants and Peslas, the [Innkeeper], were hiding. So Ryoka leaned forwards and whispered in his earhole.

“The Necromancer killed Periss. He sent Regrika and Ikriss to kill me. And he’ll send them to kill you if he knows you know. They’re undead.”

The Drake froze. He stared at Ryoka and went limp. He collapsed onto the ground and Zel walked away with Ryoka. He’d heard. Of course he’d heard. He was shaking.

But he was no idiot. He’d already figured it out.

“Bones and blood. Mana potions. That’s what Erin fed the two of them. And I could have sworn I saw something else when I was fighting Ikriss. An illusion. Halrac said the same thing about Regrika. I wouldn’t have come to the conclusion it was the Necromancer, but I knew they weren’t what they looked like.”

Ryoka nodded. Zel stared at her. His claws were quivering although he pressed them against the table. He was shaking.

“So. You’re sure?”

She nodded again.

“It’s Az’kerash. Those two were his servants. He has a lot more, and a castle hidden in the forest.”

The [General] inspected one claw, clearly trying to keep calm.

“We thought he was dead, you know. I killed him myself in the last Antinium War. Or so I thought.”

“I know. I read about it.”

“And you just happened to know because…?”

“Can’t say. I can tell you some things, but I’m in a similar situation with the person who got Az’kerash to back off.”

“Are you being threatened?”

“No. This is about honor. Respect. I can’t tell you who’s protecting me, but there is someone.”

“It must be someone…truly powerful.”

The Drake studied Ryoka. She nodded, her face blank.

“Pretty powerful.”

“But I can’t imagine Az’kerash would want anyone to know his secrets. Anyone living. That was why he sent those two after you, wasn’t it? If you really had your…benefactor negotiate a truce where you lived, aren’t you in danger by revealing his secret?”

Ryoka considered this and shrugged. She felt empty. Hollow. If Venitra appeared and tried to kill her right now—Ryoka would run. She wouldn’t give the undead the satisfaction of killing her. But she wouldn’t hide or cower any longer, either.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a higher power on my side now. And as for keeping his secrets—as far as I’m concerned, he stepped over the line when his servants started playing ‘this little piggy’ with my fingers. They killed Brunkr. If I can help you take him down, I will.”

“But Az’kerash thinks you’ll keep his secret?”

“I guess so. He might be that stupid. I think he tried to get my…protector to cast a spell on me. But it never happened. So here I am. Talking about him. Just like that.”

Zel began to smile slowly. He gripped the table firmly, and his shaking stopped.

“You mean the Necromancer doesn’t know that you’re allowed to talk about him?”

Ryoka studied him. The [General] had left claw marks on the table where he’d gripped it to steady himself. Now he looked like a hunter, someone who was plotting. His feverish energy had turned into something quieter. There was fury in his eyes, but calm, like fire on an ocean, waiting to reach the shore. A hunter slowly setting a trap for an enemy. She nodded.

“He’s not an idiot. And his servants might have powerful illusions, but they’re not subtle. He might suspect that someone’s put everything together.”

“But he still thinks his location is secret. Thanks to the deal you and this…higher power struck with him. A deal which you aren’t honoring and which isn’t being enforced.”

The [General]’s eyes glinted. He looked around the room, thinking.

“I wouldn’t doubt that he’ll send assassins after me and Ilvriss. We both get them as a matter of course anyways, but I can look into an escort. Ilvriss…might be tricky. But of all the things you could have said, the Necromancer might be best. He’s not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me.”

To her mild surprise, Zel gave Ryoka a reproving look.

“Ilvriss is many things. Hotheaded, arrogant—but not a fool. He cares for his people, if only them. And I think he might be willing to actually join forces with me on this. Me, and anyone else.”

He leaned over the table, intent on Ryoka.

“Who else knows about him? Your protector—”

“Can’t talk about him.”

“Yes. But could we count on him for help?”

Ryoka thought about this.

“No. No. I didn’t at first. It was desperation that made me go to him. Maybe he’d help, maybe not, but I think that if he really was trying to kill the Necromancer, he would have tried it already. Or told a lot of people.”

“True.”

Zel sighed.

“Who else, then? Is there anyone who might know about the Necromancer? Anyone I could talk to without spreading the secret and alerting the bastard?”

“Magnolia Reinhart.”

Ryoka answered immediately. She didn’t know for certain, but she was all but certain. Zel straightened.

Reinhart? Really?”

“Surprised? Isn’t she one of the most powerful people in the…world?”

“She is. And one of the most powerful on the continent. Which is why Ilvriss won’t be happy about that. You know, she’s considered one of the greatest threats to our people? If the Antinium were gone, the Five Families would be our biggest concern.”

“I think she hates the Antinium as much as you do. And Az’kerash too, probably.”

Ryoka watched Zel thinking. He stroked at his chin, absently picked slivers of wood from the table with his claws.

“Perhaps. It’s all making more sense. I received a letter from her a while back. I didn’t want to talk to her. Now I do.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk to her?”

Zel paused.

“I had a friend once. A mentor. He taught me most of what I know about commanding and he was…a good Drake. He was wary of Magnolia Reinhart when she was young. He cautioned me about her.”

“A friend? General Sserys?”

Zel glanced at Ryoka in surprise and then he grimaced.

“That’s the problem with being in the history books. Everyone knows too much. Yeah. Sserys was a brilliant [General]. He was a leader. When he spoke people put their tails in a line and followed orders. He could talk to all the city rulers and Lords and Ladies of the Wall. I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not him.”

“No, I mean, what made Sserys special? Was he just charismatic?”

“Charis…perhaps. He had his own way of leading. And when he gave orders, people listened, even people who hated him. More than that though, I think it was what he represented. His class.”

Ryoka frowned.

“His class? What do you mean? Wasn’t he a [General]? Or did he have a special class?”

The [General of the Line] looked surprised. He blinked at Ryoka.

“You didn’t know? The history books didn’t put that part in? Well, maybe they didn’t know. Yes, Sserys had a unique class. [Spear of the Drakes]. It means he was recognized as a leader for our entire species. He could give an order and any army across the continent would be bound to obey.”

Ryoka blinked at him. Zel smiled bitterly.

“He died before he gained a single Skill in the class. He’d leveled up once in it when the Antinium destroyed his army. He used to talk about what his first Skill might be, as if he was a hatchling getting his first class.”

The smile that ran across Zel’s face was fond and painful. Ryoka stared at him and felt a chill on her skin. She’d read both the first and second account of the Antinium Wars, but to meet someone who’d lived through both really put it home to her.

In her world there were politicians, heroic men and women, and yes, some people whose names were known throughout the world for good or bad. However, Ryoka would argue that they had few people who were living legends. But Zel had lived through the equivalent of two continental wars. He was a hero, someone who stood out from the rest because of his levels.

And here he sat across from her, resting his claws on a beat-up table. It really was something.

Of course, she’d met Teriarch too. She stood up. Zel looked at her.

“If there’s anything else you need to know, I’ll tell you what I can. But I can’t help beyond that. I’ve caused too much trouble for everyone already. And I can’t do anything. I’m not a fighter. I’m no hero.”

The Drake looked at her sympathetically and shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself for everything. You couldn’t have known what was going to unfold. You took a job and the Necromancer made you pay for it. But you couldn’t have known.”

“Maybe.”

Ryoka looked away. She gripped her arms tightly.

“Maybe you’re right. But it’s still my fault. Do you understand that?”

“Of course.”

 

—-

 

There were others to tell, and some of the meetings were painful. Others simply sad. Lyonette slapped Ryoka, and then fell into her arms, weeping. Mrsha bit Ryoka gently, crying, and then licked her and hugged her.

The Horns of Hammerad listened to Ryoka’s explanation of her guilt, not understanding, silent. Pisces’ eyes were shadowed. Ceria shook her head. Yvlon looked at Ryoka with something like understanding in her eyes. She understood Ryoka’s pain. Ksmvr just looked at Ryoka, uncomprehending.

The sun rose overhead. It was midday, and warm. The snow was melting outside, although it was still so deep that the water just froze into ice and created a crust on top of snow that was six or seven feet deep in some places, deeper in others. Much deeper.

Ryoka was packing. She took her belt pouch, her bag of holding, her backpack, and nothing else. There was nothing else to take. She walked towards the door to her inn and looked around for Erin.

The [Innkeeper] wasn’t there. But someone else sat at a table, staring around in mild bewilderment. Teriarch in his Human form stood up when Ryoka approached. She stared at him.

“I thought today might be more appropriate to speak. Shall we walk?”

They left the inn, walking atop the melting snow as if it were as solid as rock. Teriarch strode along, a vision of perfection, as Ryoka looked at him.

“Why are you here?”

“To apologize once more. I—perhaps only that. I do not know.”

The Dragon’s lined face was shadowed as he stared around Liscor and the quiet landscape. Ryoka looked at him.

“Just for that?”

“You were right. I owe you a debt. I asked you to send a letter to the Necromancer and did not think of the cost. For that I erred. And I am sorry. I would…ask your forgiveness.”

“Ask the dead for forgiveness, then.”

Ryoka turned away. Teriarch paused.

“If I could.”

There was genuine emotion in his eyes. Rather than look at it, Ryoka turned away. She stood on the snow, jumped up and down, to see if it would break under her enchanted weight. It didn’t.

In the silence, Teriarch looked around.

“It’s so bright. So full of life. I had forgotten what it was like.”

He whispered quietly. Ryoka glanced about and saw only a few birds flying through the sky, the snow, distant shapes on the city walls. She shook her head. After a while, Teriarch spoke again.

“I wished to tell you something else. I do not believe she is dead.”

Ryoka turned.

“Who? Ivolethe?”

“Yes.”

The Dragon nodded gravely. Ryoka felt her heart quicken. It was just ice that had broken. Ivolethe was more than just an animated bit of ice and frost.

“You mean that was only her physical form? She might come back? She—”

He shook his head and she fell silent.

“Her mental form was destroyed. But I do not believe her soul, her spirit was. Yes, I believe she is alive. Her King is not that cruel. And he does not have many subjects left, or so I understand.”

“Her King? You mean…the King of the Faeries.”

She couldn’t imagine someone like that. A faerie king? But Teriarch nodded.

“Yes. He has many names. I have never met him, nor anyone who has. But for as long as Frost Faeries have come here, there are rumors. He has many names. The Lord of the Glades. The Walker of the Forests. The Eldest. The fae have their King and they obey his laws.”

“Ivolethe didn’t.”

Ryoka choked on the words. Teriarch nodded again.

“He makes laws and his subjects play with them. That is natural. But to break them—she was punished. But not killed, I think. Just banished from this world.”

“For how long? A year? A month?”

Hope, and disappointment. Ryoka saw the answer before Teriarch spoke it.

“Forever? No, again, perhaps not. But a thousand years, ten thousand…it would not be a short amount of time. The fae do not think of time as we do. And their King would punish Ivolethe for her sins.”

“For so long?”

Ryoka felt tears in her eyes. Teriarch nodded.

“The punishment for those who grow too attached to the world is never to see what it will become. I do not know if it helps or not.”

“It does. A bit. Thank you.”

Ryoka wiped at her eyes. Teriarch nodded.

“As for the rest, I sensed no undead of Az’kerash’s make anywhere about the city. I believe you are safe, and that he will honor his word.”

“So it’s over? Just like that?”

A hint of anger began to stir in Ryoka’s chest. She turned towards Teriarch angrily.

“What did everyone die for, then? What was the purpose of them sacrificing themselves? Were they all just—just accidents? Ivolethe, Brunkr, Ulrien—”

People had died when Venitra unleashed her [Mists of Madness] spell in Celum. The Horns of Hammerad had helped knock out people, but there were still tales of tragedy, people murdering each other in the madness of the spell. Ikriss had destroyed buildings, set fire to them with people inside. Teriarch shook his head.

“I cannot say. They died fighting. Some died by accident. And there will be no resolution, no retribution for the crimes committed here. I would have crushed the undead mockery that intruded in my domain, but if I had, Az’kerash might not have left you or your friends alive.”

“So you’ll let him get away with it? Just like that?”

Ryoka turned to Teriarch, raising her voice. He looked at her, his two mismatched eyes sad and tired.

“What would you have me do? Retaliate? Destroy his castle, destroy one of his servants? Cremate an undead servant of his for every life taken? I do not know if I could, and if I did, it would surely mean war between the two of us.”

“And you don’t know if you can win, is that it?”

This time, the Dragon stared at Ryoka and she felt dwarfed by his presence. His voice was calm, deep, and old.

Yes.

She looked at him. He looked away.

“He is a gifted necromancer. And he has many spells and artifacts. More than that…he was not always an enemy of the living. You do not know his past. I do. I knew his triumph, his fall, his betrayal and wrath. I witnessed it all over the centuries. Who am I to judge him?”

“A Dragon. You’re a Dragon.”

“Yes. Does that confer any gift of reason to me? I think not. Once, my kind ruled Drakes like slaves and fought bitter wars with every nation on the globe. Were we right to do so then? I wonder. Az’kerash and I are not enemies. Nor are we friends. He does not interfere with me or those under my protection. And I…do the same.”

Ryoka turned away, disgusted. Teriarch looked at her. Then his head rose. He turned. And Ryoka heard something on the edge of hearing. She raised her head.

“No. Not now.”

It was a reverberation, a thump, an impact. A drum. It carried across the plains, reverberating. A single sound, which made the birds in the sky scatter, and the people on the walls of Liscor look up. And then it came again.

Doom.

It was a drumbeat. And then another. A steady booming rhythm began to sound. Ryoka turned to the walls of Liscor and heard the people there start to blow horns in alarm. And the drumbeats rolled on.

Doom. Doom.

The sound was a physical presence. The drumbeats rolled off the hills, a distant thunder. Both Teriarch and Ryoka turned. It was coming from the south. And as Ryoka’s chest constricted, she knew.

“The Goblin Lord.”

“Yes.”

She turned to him, desperate.

“Do something! His army’s coming here!

“He will pass by the city, I think.”

“It doesn’t matter! You have to do something! The Goblin Lord will destroy everything in his path! He’ll kill people! You have to—”

Again, Teriarch cut her off.

“What would you have me do? Burn them? Destroy their army?”

Yes!

“No.”

The Dragon shook his head as Ryoka stared at him. She punched at his chest and he caught her hand effortlessly. He let go of her gently. He looked wretched. And old.

“If I did, then what? One threat would be eliminated, yes. But what about next time? Goblins exist, Ryoka Griffin. So long as they live, there will be Goblin Lords, Goblin Kings. And monsters exist. Would you have me destroy all of them? Every creature that might threaten Human lives? What about Drakes? What if your species went to war, as you do?”

Ryoka opened her mouth. Teriarch went on.

“What then? Should I judge which side is right and destroy the other? Or seal them from attacking each other with a spell? I am no tyrant. But it seems that to save anyone, I must become one. No. If I move for one case, I should do the same for all. And I will not.”

“But they’re right here. In front of you! If you see something evil happening in front of you, what’s your excuse for not doing anything?”

Ryoka stared at Teriarch. He could stop it all. The Dragon looked back at her and shook his head again.

“Stop what evil? I see no evil.”

“The Goblins—”

“Are a people like your kind and mine. They are as innocent as any race. Perhaps more so than others. That they are considered monsters is no fault of theirs. How else would a species hated by all others survive, if not to become the thing they are hated for? No.”

“They killed. I saw them. They killed Mrsha’s tribe. They killed children.”

Ryoka sank to her knees in the snow. She was crying again. Teriarch bent over her. His hands were warm.

“Yes. And I am sorry.”

For a long time they stood there, an old Dragon and a young woman. One with all the power to change things and the other with nothing at all. Then Ryoka stood.

“I’m leaving.”

He was surprised.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere. Not here. Not with the Goblin Lord—”

“What about your friends? Those you want to protect?”

Ryoka shook her head. She felt so, so very empty.

“They don’t want me. Not right now. And I don’t deserve them. It feels like every time I get involved with them, they die. So…I’m leaving. I can’t do anything anyways. I’m too weak.”

She turned and began walking back towards the inn as the Goblin Lord’s drums beat on. Teriarch walked with her.

“Just like that? Where will you go? What will you do?”

“What I’m good at. Run. And I’ll do it somewhere far from here, where the only person I can get killed is myself. Somewhere where the wind blows strong. Far away.”

She felt the Dragon hesitate. He walked next to her, staring down at Ryoka. She stopped at the inn and looked inside. Erin was serving the Horns of Hammerad. Ryoka put her hand on the glass and turned away. Teriarch watched her walk over to the door and put her hand on it.

“You are going now?”

“Yeah. I’m going to go to Celum and…somewhere else. I know you don’t want to be seen. So—goodbye.”

She turned to him and held out a hand. Teriarch touched it gingerly. He took her hand and shook it.

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix things.”

“No.”

The Dragon’s gaze was distant. He looked into the inn and shook his head.

“It does not. But what else should I be?”

She had no response. Slowly, Teriarch stepped away. He bowed to her, his eyes deep, looking tired.

“I will not say we will not meet again, Ryoka Griffin. I only hope that it will be a better day when we do.”

He vanished. Ryoka bowed her head. A shadow suddenly covered the inn. She looked up, but saw nothing. Nothing but the sky, and a sudden breeze. The shadow travelled north, moving slowly, and then at incredible speed. Ryoka shook her head.

“Lazy invisibility spell.”

Then she went inside and said goodbye.

 

—-

 

In Az’kerash’s castle, ashes still filled the corridors. Black soot and melted rock heralded the Dragon’s fury. And in his private sanctum, the Necromancer expressed his displeasure in his own way.

“Venitra. You have failed me. Your decisions have led to this moment, and your mistakes have cost me dearly. You have lost my favor. You are no longer first among my servants.”

His words were calm, quiet, and struck the burnt and badly damaged woman kneeling before him. Venitra would have wept if she could. She bowed her head, despairing beyond words. Az’kerash turned away from her and to Ijvani. The black skeleton shuddered, trembling before her master’s wrath.

“Ijvani. You likewise have failed me. There is nothing more to say.”

She bowed her head, the blue flames in her eyes dimming until they were nearly extinguished. Az’kerash turned to the three other servants gathered here.

“Kerash, I give you my authority. Do not betray it.”

“Yes, master.”

The undead Gnoll stood tall. Az’kerash nodded. His eyes swept across his five servants and he shook his head.

“Perhaps it is time to add to your number. A new servant…perhaps. I will consider it. For now, there is much to do. Teriarch’s fury cost me a great deal of resources, not least of which is the scrolls of [Greater Teleport] that were incinerated in his fury. But that is the least of my concerns.”

He turned back to a map of the continent and his servants raised their heads, save for Ijvani and Venitra. Perril Chandler’s voice was musing, thoughtful.

“Ryoka Griffin is no longer a concern, or at least, one I cannot resolve. But Zel Shivertail and the Lord of the Wall…they may be a problem. So too might the Slayer and the Small Queen. I will take steps to remedy them. Perhaps my apprentice can deal with them. That is a concern. Information about my existence may spread. If so, I will take steps. If my discovery is unavoidable…”

He fell silent. His fingers drummed rapidly on the map. And then slowed. To everyone’s surprise, a smile slowly spread across Az’kerash’s face.

“But there is one unexpected boon. One, among all the loss.”

“What is that, master?”

Bea flinched when he turned to her. But the Necromancer just smiled.

“Why, my enemy of course. Teriarch, one of the greatest obstacles to my conquest has revealed his weakness. Another one, should I say. And it is Ryoka Griffin.”

“The Runner? But—”

The undead glanced at each other, remembering the Dragon’s wrathful fire and trembling at the memory. Az’kerash flicked his fingers dismissively.

“I will observe her. I will not interfere directly of course, but I will…hope that she survives.”

“Why, master?”

He smiled.

“Because she is Teriarch’s weakness, of course. And unlike Magnolia Reinhart, she is far less well protected. And he cares for her. Perhaps only enough to intercede. But in time, perhaps more? It matters, Bea, because Dragons have hides stronger than diamond, and hearts softer than snow.”

She looked up at him, uncomprehending. He bent, caressed her rotten face and kissed her gently. She shuddered, and the other servants looked at her with envy.

“It does not matter. Go, my servants. The time of my return is not yet. I have more to prepare. And it is a different sort of plague that falls upon the Humans and Drakes now.”

He turned his gaze back towards the map and smiled.

“Yes, a different sort. Goblins.”

 

—-

 

The sky was bright. The sun was out. The sky was blue. Frost Faeries flew overhead, streaming north. They left, and the skies warmed. Winter had ended. So the Winter Sprites, the fae, flew one last time, laughing and calling out high overhead.

But none of the faeries looked back. None looked down at the young woman who stared up at their number. Ryoka Griffin stood in the snow and then turned. She began walking, and fumbled at her side. She pulled out an iPhone, only slightly dented from a recent fall, and two ear buds. Slowly, she put them in her ears.

There was a moment of silence as Ryoka flicked through her list of songs. In the end, she decided on It’s Time by Imagine Dragons. She began jogging as the drums began to play.

Northwards. The gates of Celum were empty, and the sun was shining down on a muddy road. The entire world was ahead. Ryoka ran, slowly at first, and then picking up speed.

Ryoka!

Someone raced out of the gates after her. Erin Solstice ran after her friend and stopped. She cupped her hands and shouted.

Ryoka! Come back!

But it was too late. Ryoka’s head turned once, and Erin saw her smile for a second. Then her head turned ahead, and she picked up her pace. Erin shouted.

A single hand rose. Ryoka lifted it, and let it fall after a moment. She ran on, northwards, away. Erin stood in the melting snow, in the frozen dirt, and watched her friend run on and on. Until she was a distant speck on the horizon. And then…

And then she was gone. Ryoka Griffin disappeared, and Erin stood in the gates of Celum. Ryoka was gone.

And as she walked back towards Octavia’s shop and saw Lyonette and Mrsha hurrying through with their possessions, Erin stepped through the door to her inn. She heard shouting, saw Ishkr boarding up the windows from the outside, heard horn calls from Liscor’s walls, and the drums.

The undead were gone. Few knew they’d even been here, but they were gone. Ryoka was gone. Winter had ended, and the faeries had left. Brunkr was gone. Ulrien was gone. Griffon Hunt had left.

And Ryoka was gone. She might never come back. Erin sat in her inn and heard the drum beats. There was only one thing left now, wasn’t there? They had come at last. They were here, and they weren’t a pest any longer. They were here. Here.

Goblins.

 


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4.32 G

Goblins.

Goblins?

Goblins! Goblins, Goblins, Goblins!

Goblins.

Goblins.

The word was on everyone’s lips. From the Walled Cities to the Antinium Hives, from the tribal Gnoll camps to the Human cities like Invrisil, the news had flown on the warming winds. Goblins were back.

And this time there was a Goblin Lord.

For some, the news was just the conversation of the day. Those who were hundreds or thousands of miles away took comfort in their distance. So long as this Goblin Lord was dealt with swiftly, there would be no problem for them. Now, a Goblin King? That would be disastrous, which is why the leadership or command or someone in charge was doing something about the Goblin Lord.

Right?

People closer to the Goblin issue were less sanguine about the entire affair. They demanded, sometimes loudly, that something be done. Because the Goblins were a menace, a threat, a pest that had to be wiped out every few years. Only, unlike plagues of cockroaches, rats, mites or other vermin, Goblins were a lot more dangerous. And they became something truly frightening given half a chance.

No one gave them that chance. Armies were being raised. Humans, Drakes, and a few Gnoll Tribes began making preparations to end the threat before it had fully begun. The Goblin Lord had crushed two Drake armies; so four would be sent this time. Or six. Or eight. The Humans were already fielding huge forces of their own for the Goblin Lord if he marched north.

In no one’s mind was the idea of negotiating with the Goblins, or making peace. Or defeat. Goblins would do damage, but they would die. They would always die, and it was just a matter of the cost. Everyone knew that.

Strangely, so did the Goblins. In all the commotion about their species, few people gave thought to what the Goblins were actually thinking. Oh, there was all sorts of speculation and predictions about what the Goblin Lord might do, but what he as a thinking individual thought? None.

But in three parts of Izril, so late into the night that it was becoming day, three Goblins looked up. They all had a sense. A premonition.

Because, after all, they were all of the same species. Their fates were intertwined.

 

—-

 

The first was the Goblin Lord. He looked up as his armies marched past the city of Liscor. Around him, his Goblins cheered and whooped, sending arrows towards the walls until one of his lieutenants ordered them to stop wasting ammunition.

Silent watchers on the walls watched as the Goblins passed, not returning fire. They might have against a lesser host, but none dared provoke the flood of Goblins in black armor. The Goblin Lord’s army was tens of thousands strong and they marched across the plains. Northwards.

The Goblin Lord turned his head, seeing almost perfectly in the darkness. Liscor’s walls rose to his left. He sneered at them, at the Drakes hiding behind stone. But he did not order his army towards the walls. He had orders.

There was a structure on one of the hills closest to the city. An inn, a very odd one with some kind of tower. The Goblins shot flaming arrows at it, grumbling when the arrows failed to set the building aflame. Indeed, some of the arrows bounced off the glass windows, which was rather unusual. But it was too close to the city to loot, and was probably empty, anyways.

So the army marched on, northwards. The Goblin Lord sighed. He could sense them. His people. Goblins. He was coming to claim them, by blood if necessary. And if they refused to kneel? He would have their bodies, at least.

And they knew it.

 

—-

 

Garen Redfang stalked the halls of Tremborag’s mountain, sword in hand. A few of the Goblins from his tribe followed, the ones who hadn’t joined Rags. They hung back as Garen walked forwards, his red blade at the ready.

Ahead of him, Goblins got out of the way. Hobs, regular Goblins—when he had first arrived, they had treated him like any ordinary Hob or an inferior outsider. Several fatal duels had established his rank.

Garen was angry. He was always angry. He hated sitting in the mountain, hated that Rags had left and hated Tremborag. He and the Great Chieftain did not get along. But he acknowledged Tremborag’s might. And it was might they needed.

So the leader of the Redfang tribe walked. He could feel the Goblin Lord coming. Tremborag could too, which is probably why he was eating alone, roaring for females and wine. The fat Goblin had to know.

An end was coming. For Goblins. A crossroads. And though the Goblin Lord was meant to unify the tribes, Garen would never kneel to him. Never. So the Hobgoblin walked, restless. Waiting for the scent of blood on the warming winds. Waiting for war.

 

—-

 

And the last Goblin to look up and sense something on the wind was Rags. The small Goblin was listening to some of her Goblins having a farting competition and grimaced as Pyrite took the lead in a noisy—and smelly—way. She pulled her blankets over her head and growled to herself.

She couldn’t have said why she was restless. If she had to put words to it, it was probably the very smelly odors drifting on the wind towards her. In the end she sat up and shouted for the other Goblins to stop, or go somewhere else.

They did, grumbling. She was Chieftain, after all. Rags turned over in her blankets and tried to sleep. But she couldn’t. There was something on the wind. She sat up and glared at Pyrite. He shrugged apologetically.

Three Goblins, all of whom were linked. In some way, they were chosen. But what did it mean? What was their purpose? Did they have a purpose? The three sat, feeling restless and waiting. A faerie might have said their destinies drew closer, but there were none to watch and listen. Frost Faeries were leaving this world, and those that still remained did not watch Goblins. Never Goblins. They might cry if they did, and the fae did not like to weep for the past.

The next day dawned slowly. And for the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, it was an interesting day. It was always interesting when their small leader woke up. They woke up, yawning, searching for food or worms or bugs to eat, and looked around. Waiting. They didn’t have a purpose, like every other species. Theirs was only survival. Their Chieftain decided what to do.

And her name was Rags.

 

—-

 

His name was Pyrite. And he had bad gas. It might have been last night’s jumbled soup containing some slightly rotting Mothbear flesh. Or it could be the tree bark he’d been munching on, or the colony of black beetles and larvae a Goblin had dug up. Pyrite had gotten a handful of them and crunched the beetles down. Or maybe it was the soap?

The Hobgoblin sat by the embers of the fire as the day fought the night. It was that ghostly hour before true day, where the light had begun to illuminate the world. The hours before birds woke up, a ghostly moment where everything seemed asleep.

He farted. The Goblins around him groaned. One threw a rock. It bounced off Pyrite’s back and the Goblin shifted. Yes, it was probably the soap.

It was high quality stuff. The Hobgoblin looked down at the lump in his hands. The Flooded Waters tribe had stolen it from a caravan a day ago. It was bright blue, nearly perfectly clear the entire way through, and smelled of sandalwood and something else. Something…turquoise.

Smells were like colors to Pyrite. Smells were taste, color, feelings—the Goblin sniffed the soap he was holding appreciatively. He nibbled at it. It certainly didn’t taste as good as it smelled.

Pyrite would be the first to admit that he wasn’t that smart. He was just a former Goblin Chieftain of a small tribe that specialized in mining. Sure, they’d done a bit of smelting and attempted some armor crafting of their own to limited effect, but he considered himself a rather weak example of what a Chieftain could be. He wasn’t that smart about a lot of things.

For instance, he thought that soaps were a product of some plants, namely the ground up roots which, when combined with water, created a nice lather for people to use. Of course, that was some kinds of soap; it was also possible to mix leftover fat and oil with some ashes to create another variant of the stuff. That was probably what he tasted here. Pyrite’s palate detected traces of lye, which made sense since this was high-quality lye soap probably intended for the Human marketplace.

Of course, he could be completely mistaken. He wasn’t that smart. The Hobgoblin chewed thoughtfully, feeling the soap dissolve in a pleasant way in his mouth. He didn’t mind the taste. The Hob had eaten far worse things than soap. Huge insects, rocks, dirt, other dead Goblins…soap wasn’t a problem.

He didn’t need to eat the soap, strictly speaking. But if he didn’t, who would use it? Certainly not the other Goblins. Soap was a useless product to them by and large. It smelled good, but Goblins didn’t wash.

Rags did. She’d picked up the basics of hygiene somewhere and forced her Goblins to adopt a variation of it. But that was only to the extent where if a Goblin’s hands had a lot of ick stuck to them they had to swish it around in water or rub it off first. Washing each time with hot water and soap was something only other species did.

Of course, Rags might use one bar or two herself. Pyrite nibbled at a bit more soap as he thought. But she wouldn’t use much, and the other Goblins would probably cut it up, hoard the shiny fragments of soap until they got dirty, and then toss it when they got bored. Or eat it.

The last of the blue bar disappeared into Pyrite’s mouth. He grunted. This time he could definitely feel the pressure building. Yes, the soap was giving him gas. He’d heard that some kinds of soap used toxic plants, which presumably meant you weren’t supposed to eat them. But again, he was used to eating unhealthy things. He was a Goblin, and more than that, a Hobgoblin, one of the giants and leaders of his kind. He could eat almost anything.

And it was a habit for him to always chew something. Pyrite fished around in the wax bundle sitting in front of his crossed legs and came up with a red bar of soap. It was flecked with bits of yellow inside and it was semi-transparent and smelled spicy. He eyed it appreciatively and then took a bite.

He liked to eat. Eating was productive for him. It helped him build fat, and fat was important in case he fought or starved. Pyrite had no knowledge of the biological issues caused by excessive weight gain, and if he had, he wouldn’t have cared particularly much. His argument, if he’d been pressed to make it, would be simple.

Fat was important for Goblins, far more than for Humans or other races. That was because Goblins did not enjoy the security of a set food source by and large. Starvation was a facet of life, not an event to be avoided by most tribes. Additionally, Goblins had to fight for their lives on a regular basis.

Everything in the world wanted to kill them, and lacking armor that was specially crafted for their kind, a Goblin had to rely on their ability to dodge or survive something like an arrow hitting them. As Pyrite was definitely not shaped correctly for any kind of traditional armor, the layers of fat on his body were his only shield. Ergo, gaining weight was for him, a necessary task until it began to impede his movement or health in a dramatic way.

That was what he would have said if anyone asked him. But no one did. Pyrite was known to be a silent character of few words. And he wasn’t that smart.

The Hob had gotten through the red bar of soap and was looking for the pink one he’d spotted earlier when Rags woke up. He paused in the act of calculating how much the soap was worth—by his rough estimates, he’d probably eaten a few hundred gold pieces worth of the stuff, especially if it was going to be used by the nobility. The sun had risen high enough to illuminate the world and Rags was up. He could tell because she was shouting.

Up, up! Goblins stirred, groaning at the young Goblin’s voice. But they got up quickly; a slow Goblin was a dead Goblin, and faster still because they could smell food cooking.

Pyrite carefully bundled up the soap he’d been eating and lurched upright. His legs weren’t asleep though he’d been sitting for hours; he had taken care to adjust his position throughout the night and stretch them now and then. He moved quickly and slipped into the front of the line for one of the soup pots before the other Goblins could get there.

That was the beauty of Rags’ tribe. What elevated it above all others, save perhaps Tremborag’s Goblins. As the Goblins woke up and poked each other, feeling their empty stomachs grumble, there was already food. Because the [Cooks] and [Stirrers], the less advanced Goblin version of [Cook], had woken up an hour before the others and begun making food.

Organization. It was a foreign concept to most tribes. Pyrite’s belly grumbled as he sniffed the air and detected a good deal of flour, butter, and animal fats in today’s soup. Not much meat which was normal, but quite a good bit of the spices they’d stolen yesterday. The Goblins would eat well again.

And best of all, they didn’t have to eat their own dead. It was an unspoken thing among Goblins who rarely spoke anyways, but everyone knew that in times of hunger, meat was often the most plentiful food source around. But they didn’t relish that knowledge because that meant the meat they were eating was their own kind, chopped up, boiled, or sometimes eaten raw.

Of course, the Goblins ate it. But contrary to what other species might have assumed, not a single Goblin liked eating their fallen. It was something they did to survive. So given half a chance, dead Goblin would not be on the menu. Pyrite took a big bowl of soup appreciatively from the Goblin in charge of serving, sniffing it. Yes, there was nothing like non-meaty soup to raise his spirits for the day. Anyways, he liked fish more than red meat. Most Goblins did.

Rags was already sitting by her personal campfire as Pyrite approached. He didn’t bother with a spoon, but gently sipped at the bowl as he walked towards her. She was sitting on a log.

They were in a forest by a lake. It was, in fact, the same forest by the same lake they’d been camped at for quite a while. It was their semi-permanent home at this moment. For good reason.

The lake had fresh water so long as no Goblin had peed into it, and the forest had useful wood for fires, equipment, and so on. There was wildlife nearby, and the branches provided some protection from the snow and cold winds. That wouldn’t be an issue as the world continued to warm, but it had been one of the concerns that made Rags camp here.

And one last thing. The forest by the lake was placed near several smaller cities and towns. It was the perfect place to strike from. Already, the Flooded Waters Goblins had raided several caravans on the road and plundered a few farms.

Nonviolently. That was to say, the Goblins came in, aimed crossbows, chased the Humans away and didn’t kill anyone unless they were attacked first. It was a good system. And it had made their little tribe rich on the spoils, even if what they got was sometimes less useful, like soap.

“Pyrite.”

Rags was sitting on her log. Pyrite sat in the dirt, noting that she’d already gotten halfway through her bowl. One of the perks of being Chieftain was that she didn’t have to line up. That was right and proper. He grunted at her, but said nothing. She eyed him.

She was probably holding a grudge from last night. Pyrite still felt gassy, but held it in as he ate. Rags looked at him, and then around her bustling camp.

“Last night. Anything happened?”

She still pronounced the words with difficulty, but her ability to speak in the common tongue was far better than it had been. She was a quick learner. It had taken Pyrite years to learn how to speak, and that was with a dedicated teacher. He shook his head.

“Silent, Chieftain.”

That was all he said throughout breakfast. When he’d finished his bowl of soup, Pyrite put it by the fire to be picked up by one of the Goblins on bowl-picking-up duty and opened the satchel of soaps again. He selected the pink one and Rags edged upwind from him.

Why didn’t the soaps make his farts smell good? It was a mystery. Pyrite sniffed the soap. Some kind of perfume. Too cloying for his tastes. He began to nibble it anyways.

In a few minutes, a Goblin passed by their fire. He picked up the bowl Pyrite had put on the ground and the one Rags tossed at him. He wandered off with the stack of bowls, bringing them towards a Goblin who was filling up more bowls with soup for Goblins in line.

Pyrite watched the Goblin go off. He must have had the duty to pick up empty bowls for the day. And the Goblin pouring soup had that duty as well. No matter how many times he saw it, the Hobgoblin was always impressed. Because the fact that those two Goblins had woken up and remembered what they were supposed to do was a sign that Rags was a great Chieftain.

She had brought organization and systems to this tribe. She and she alone had done that. No other tribe save for Tremborag’s had implemented daily work rosters, much less a rotating duty schedule. And Tremborag’s tribe had only developed such systems through the efforts of many, many Hobgoblins and out of sheer necessity. But Rags had come up with it all on her own. With her head.

She was a genius. The other Goblins knew it. It wasn’t that they used that word lightly; most of them didn’t know what that word meant at all. But it was clear that Rags thought where other Goblins didn’t. She’d taught them how to make crossbows, created a unit of Goblins who used the deadly twenty-foot-long pikes made out of wood and scrap metal, and found a way to scavenge and steal enough food each day so that they didn’t have to eat their own.

And she was so young. Pyrite glanced at Rags. Yes, young. He wasn’t sure how young and she had never said, if she even knew, but she was clearly outstanding. She was like he was, in fact. Extraordinary. Pyrite only wondered why she hadn’t become a Hob yet.

The system was simple among Goblins and universally understood. If you were special, you’d turn into a Hob. That meant getting bigger in some way, stronger, and generally, smarter. Hobs were natural leaders, material for Chieftains, and savage fighters. They could stand toe-to-toe with the average Silver-ranked adventurer and were smart enough to use tactics in battle or implement their Chieftain’s orders with finesse.

Rags wasn’t a Hob. She should be. But she wasn’t. It was one of the puzzles Pyrite was working on in his head. He had a few. He thought about many things, but didn’t have solid answers for a lot of them because he wasn’t as smart as Rags. He wondered why Rags wasn’t a Hob, first off.

He wondered how magic worked and if he could teach himself some. He hadn’t found a spellbook yet, but he had hopes of convincing Noears to teach him when the Goblin had time.

He thought about the last Goblin King, and why he had died. Pyrite wondered why the Goblin King, Velan, had been known as Velan the Kind. He wondered what that Goblin King had known, what he had thought.

Pyrite sometimes questioned what the stars were. They hung in the sky at night. But why only at night? And why were some different colors? What did they mean? Also, why did their positions change with the seasons? He’d tried mapping them over the years, but he’d given up. Not enough parchment to be scavenged.

He wanted to know what Rhir was like. Goblins knew of it as a place where death was kinder than living. But what was it like? And what was Chandrar like, or Baleros, or Terandria? Most Goblins had never heard of those continents, but Pyrite had.

And how had Tremborag turned into the giant form he used to slaughter those Gold-rank adventurers in battle? Pyrite had seen him do that once before, when he was young and still living in the mountain. Before he’d run away. How had he done that? Could other Hobs do the same?

Exactly what was the thing Garen Redfang had shown Tremborag in secret, the thing that had convinced the Great Chieftain to ally with him and Rags’ tribe? Pyrite had seen them talking with it. It had looked like a key, and both knew what it was. What did it unlock?

And what—

Pyrite farted. He blinked, and felt a bit of dirt hit him in the side of the head. He looked up and saw Rags poised to throw. She showered him in dirt and Pyrite closed his eyes. She edged around the fire and he sighed.

These were just idle thoughts. He had many of them. Pyrite sometimes wondered if he thought too much. Probably. But it was good to think, and for Rags’ tribe to have systems that made sense.

Already her Goblins had learned to fight in a different way, in formation with the aforementioned pikes. They had adopted crossbows for use alongside their slings, and had begun to train in their off time thanks to the Redfang Goblins. They had begun to learn different things.

They were growing smarter. It might not apply to every Goblin, but as a whole, the intelligence of the tribe had risen notably from the average tribe. Pyrite knew that; his tribe had been competent enough, being able to mine and sort out minerals from rocks when he’d shown them, but he’d still had to direct his Goblins and manage them constantly. These Goblins had begun to think about what they should do in a given situation.

And they were the same Goblins. But smarter. Yes, smarter. Pyrite had seen a Goblin who’d been in his tribe figure out how to start a fire. And Pyrite had been shocked, because when he’d been in his tribe, the said Goblin had injured himself twice by sticking his hand into a fire and screaming when it burned.

But that was to be expected. You see, Goblins stole everything. And what they couldn’t steal, they copied. And what all the Goblins in Rags’ tribe were stealing from her was intelligence.

Pyrite paused. Stealing might not be the best word, but it was appropriate. Perhaps…the huge Hobgoblin’s forehead wrinkled with concentration. Goblins had no word for it, but the word ‘borrowing’ sprang to mind. It was an unfamiliar concept. Teaching? Perhaps teaching was it.

By and large, Goblins were only as good as their Chieftain. They learned from example, and so a tribe became molded after their Chieftain. Their best qualities were passed down, which was how Garen Redfang’s tribe had become so mighty, and how Rags’ tribe was learning to think.

It was a beautiful, wonderful thing. And it made Pyrite think on some nights that he’d made the right choice. To stick by Rags instead of abandon her in the mountain. Because she could lead the tribes. She could become the Chieftain they needed. She might become a Lord. She was special.

The sun was rising. The Goblins chattered or ate silently. Rags got a second bowl of soup. And in Pyrite’s mind, a few words joined together in his head.

 

The wretched few gather;

Under her command.

Her back they follow after;

She alone knows the plan:

To live and strive and struggle;

And claim a Goblin’s land.

So we fight and travel;

Until our final stand.

 

Pyrite’s nose wrinkled. Where had that come from? That was…odd. He’d heard similar words before, sung out loud by Humans shortly before his tribe had leapt out and slaughtered them. But why had he thought them?

They fit together, in a way he liked. Still, it wasn’t that good. The entire thing was too simple, like he was.

Still, there was promise in them. ‘Claim a Goblin’s land’ had a nice ring to it. With a bit of work, and more fancy words, it might be worth saying aloud. Pyrite considered writing it down for a second and then thought better of the idea. There was no point.

Besides, he couldn’t write.

 

—-

 

Time passed. Pyrite finished another bar of soap and gave up on eating the rest because Rags kept throwing things at him every time he farted. He wrapped the soap up in wax paper and fished around in a little bag he kept at his hip. He pulled out something else to eat.

It was a rock. Rags stared at Pyrite as he put one of the smooth stones he’d taken from the lake’s bed into his mouth. It was hard, dirty from the pack, and had a bit of moss on it. He began to crunch it into pieces.

Smooth rocks were fun to eat. There was something satisfying about savoring their texture and then crunching them up into dust. Of course, they weren’t good to eat too much of, so Pyrite switched from the stones to thick slabs of bark taken from the trees when he got bored.

In time, other Goblins approached the fire. They were all important, and Rags and Pyrite greeted them with grunts, shoving over to make room around the fire. In time, all the Goblins that needed to be present were, and they looked at Rags expectantly.

They were Noears the Goblin [Mage], Poisonbite, a skirmisher and raid leader who liked to poison her daggers, Redscar, the former Chieftain of the Rockfall Tribe, and…Greybeard.

Pyrite eyed them all as they sat around the fire, saying little but speaking volumes with their actions. Goblin politics were complex, and each one represented a powerful voice in her tribe. Each one was important.

Noears and Poisonbite were obvious. They were normal Goblins, not Hobs, but they represented Tremborag’s faction that had broken away to join Rags. Noears was a [Mage], a rarity among Goblins and he could throw lightning. That made him special. As for Poisonbite, she was a good leader and fighter, and that mattered because other Hobs had let her represent them.

Between them, they represented a solid portion of Rags’ tribe, but it was the scarred warrior who sat on his haunches next to them who was perhaps the most influential figure besides Pyrite and Rags. Redscar represented the whole of the former Redfang tribe, the elite warriors that had united under Garen Redfang and then left to follow Rags. He was a fierce warrior and the one Rags listened to often in combat.

Next to him, the Rockfall Tribe Chieftain sat with a second bowl of soup in her hands. She was the Goblin who represented all the other tribes. She wasn’t exceptional in any way, but she was a good shot with the longbow she carried and she had a place here because the other former tribes wanted one of their own to be heard by Rags.

And the last was Greybeard. Pyrite included him in the group of counselors to Rags because the old Hobgoblin wandered over often. He liked to chatter during such sessions, but Rags put up with him despite that. That was smart.

Pyrite nodded to Greybeard and offered him some bark. The old Goblin laughed and sat next to Pyrite, warming his feet by the fire. He had a white beard and he was older than any other Goblin that Pyrite had ever met. By far.

Across the fire, Redscar was eying Greybeard. Pyrite could tell the other Goblin was wondering why Greybeard was here, but he said nothing since Rags did not. Pyrite knew Greybeard should be here. He was important. Very important.

He’d solved part of the mystery of Greybeard long ago. The rest Pyrite had been content to wait and find out later. He wondered if Rags would notice Greybeard for what he was first, or if he would tell her.

So. The other Goblins sat around the fire and waited for Rags to speak. Each one was a powerful lieutenant who could speak to her without fear. They all had their own opinions and desires, and so they came each morning to talk and sometimes argue and persuade Rags to listen to them.

They were not like the Hob factions under Tremborag. Not. But they were still representatives of different ideologies within Rags’ tribe. It had to be that way, but the key was that they did not squabble for power. They had a Chieftain, that was that. There was no…ranking between them.

Goblins were.

Today’s strategy meeting was about what to do today. Pyrite listened.

“Should raid more caravans. More food. More steel. Good steel.”

Poisonbite sat forwards at the fire, looking eager. Of course, she had been used to raiding for supplies since that was her old job in Tremborag’s mountain. She liked the way Rags did things. Outnumber the caravans, scare them away, and best of all, you didn’t have to risk getting hurt. You just scared the Humans and let them run.

Should find better place. Too much same spot is bad. Go south.

A dissenting opinion came from Redscar. He crossed his arms, looking annoyed. His posture spoke as much as his words. His opinion was clear. He wanted to find a more defensible location. Actually, he wanted to go back to his home in the High Passes. The Redfang tribe clearly wanted an actual fight, not raiding, and they were growing antsy with inaction.

“South? Towards Goblin Lord? Yes. Lots of fighting there. Bad fighting! Or want to hide?”

A cackling laugh came from Greybeard as he gobbled down another bowl of soup. Everyone stared at him, and Rags turned to Noears.

“Not Goblin Lord. You. You said there is another tribe. Where?”

She had a map. Noears squatted by it, scratching at the holes in his head where his ears had been. He pointed.

“There, Chieftain. The Undercrawler tribe. They dig.”

“For stones?”

Pyrite sat up, intrigued. His love of mining had set his tribe apart from the rest. He liked shiny rocks, even if eating them didn’t agree with him. Noears shook his head.

“Just dig. Eats lots of bugs.”

Rags studied the map. Pyrite saw that they were a half a day’s march from the Undercrawler Tribe’s location. Half a day with Rags’ [Fleet Foot] skill, that was. She nodded.

“Good. Could use diggers.”

All the Goblins stared at her. Poisonbite scratched her head.

“Why, Chieftain?”

Rags scowled as if it was obvious.

“Good for digging! Dig holes for traps. Dig places to pee. Dig hole to toss stupid Goblins into!”

“Oh.”

Pyriate nodded. He’d come up with the same conclusion himself. Rags pointed at the map, and then looked around the fire. She chewed her lip before giving orders.

“Find Undercrawler Tribe. Steal more food. Find better place. Go now.”

Redscar smiled, satisfied, and the other Goblins nodded. Poisonbite didn’t look too upset. Rags had outlined their strategy, which translated into Pyrite’s mind, meant first of all marching towards the Undercrawler tribe, no doubt to recruit them if possible. Rags had assimilated a few local tribes and she was clearly trying to increase her tribe.

Additionally, she’d also specified the need to raid for more food as a concern, which meant she was still focused on building up their supplies. That meant they’d hit a caravan on the road if they found one, although she clearly didn’t think that was likely. Pyrite didn’t either; word had spread about the marauding Goblins and only an idiot would take to the roads where they were nearby. Then again, idiots were plentiful.

Lastly, they were heading south and scouting for a second place to build their camp if they decided to head south. A good place to sleep and strike from. All things considered, she’d appeased everyone’s wishes and set some good, open-ended objectives for her tribe to pursue in lieu of better ones. Of course, she hadn’t said all that out loud but they’d all gotten that from her posture.

That was their mission for the day. The other Goblins nodded, and Pyrite began to execute Rags’ orders. He was her second-in-command and thus expedited the process. He walked over to a Goblin loitering around, licking her empty bowl of soup and poked her.

She looked at him. Pyrite grunted.

Go that way. All.

He pointed southeast, in the vague direction Rags had specified. The female Goblin nodded. She wandered off with her bowl, and poked another Goblin. She repeated more or less what Pyrite had said, then she and the Goblin she’d poked went off to find more Goblins to poke.

That was how the Goblins worked. True, they could have used a horn call or some other system, but Goblins were a social bunch. As soon as they realized something was happening, the other Goblins began to move with the rest, even if they didn’t know exactly what it was they were doing.

Within twenty minutes, all the thousands of Goblins in Rags’ tribe had packed what needed to be packed, lined up by the groups Rags had painstakingly assigned them to, and were marching away from their camp. It would have brought tears to the eyes of some military commanders, but it was normal for the Goblins. They didn’t waste time since they didn’t usually have time to waste.

 

—-

 

The march out of the forest was swift. It was a small forest, for all the trees were very tall and wide. The Goblins began to cross into the relative open, sticking to hills, other stretches of rougher terrain, but not trying for too much stealth. Their advantage was the speed of their march and the fact that they were too big for most threats.

They crossed a road and scared a City Runner out of his mind. He ran away screaming and some of the Goblins raised their crossbows, laughing. They were shouted at by the Hobs in charge of their group and Rags. No killing Humans. Or Drakes. Or other species, if they could help it, really.

She had a soft spot for Humans, though. Her tribe had killed very few of them in the time that Pyrite had been with them, and she’d been only too willing to liberate the ones kept captive in Tremborag’s mountain. She’d met a Human, once, it was rumored. A strange Human who lived around Liscor and fed the Goblins and Rags often.

Pyrite would have loved to meet her. He’d never met a Human who hadn’t tried to kill him. His first memory of a Human was being stabbed by a farmer with a pitchfork on a raid. That day, the [Farmer] and his helpers had been too high-level and too many. They’d slaughtered the Goblins who’d come to steal eggs and chickens. Pyrite had crawled away in the mud and nearly bled to death.

Memories. The Hob walked along, munching on bark. It didn’t bother him to remember. Not more than it did to know that the Goblins had come back the next night and slaughtered the entire farm. That was how it was. Death was a Goblin’s life. There was nothing they could expect beyond that.

But they should. Pyrite’s hand clenched and crushed the bit of bark. He stared at the fragments in his hand, and gave up eating for the moment. Instead, he increased his walking pace and moved past other Goblins towards a pair of Goblins riding Carn Wolves and arguing hotly. Rags was shouting at Redscar as Pyrite approached.

“Will not fight. Pointless. Waste of Goblin lives!”

The warrior bared his teeth at Rags.

Must fight. Not strong if not fight. Death means stronger Goblins who survive.

“This means Goblins don’t die and win.”

Rags pulled out her black crossbow meaningfully. It was huge, and Redscar nodded grudgingly. But he pointed to the weapon.

One. Many Goblins. Is not enough.

The other Goblins had copied the design, but there was no making something of the same quality as the Dwarf-made bow that Rags had found. She scowled, but couldn’t come up with a good response.

His turn. Pyrite grunted and both smaller Goblins looked at him.

“Fight what?”

The Redfang leader grinned up at him.

Eater Goats.

“Eater Goats?”

The name of the monster was unfamiliar to Pyrite. Redfang nodded.

Big herd in High Passes. Will fight. Eats Carn Wolves. Good fight. Makes tribe strong.

Eater Goats? And they ate Carn Wolves? Pyrite was familiar with the huge red wolves that the Redfang Tribe rode. And he wanted to train the new Goblins by making them fight those goats? He really was crazy.

“Stupid.”

Rags muttered the words, but Pyrite could see she was mulling the idea over. Her tribe was filled with Goblins, but only a few were elite warriors. Tremborag’s Goblins had quite a lot of battle-ready Hobs among them, and the Goblin Lord’s army had well-equipped Goblins of their own. Apart from her Redfang elites, Rags lacked the same kind of fighting force. Pyrite was about to ask Redscar exactly how many Goblins survived an encounter with Eater Goats when they heard a Goblin cry from the front.

Instantly, all three Goblins raced to the front of the line, argument forgotten. They saw a Goblin pointing and turned left, saw a tree.

And then saw what hung from it. They found the Undercrawler tribe too late. Humans had gotten there first.

A single tree had grown from the rocky hillside where the Undercrawler tribe had burrowed into caves and around rock. It was old, and bore no fruit. But something hung from it now. Awful rotten fruits, swaying in the breeze.

Bodies hung from the tree. Dark shapes, half-eaten by birds some of them. Most untouched in the cold. The rest were piled around the tree, or lay where they had fallen.

Goblin bodies.

Pyrite’s foot crunched in the snow. He stepped towards the tree, looking up. Hung bodies. And the rest—he saw Goblins fallen, most of them—

Most unarmed. Pyrite looked around as the rest of Rags’ tribe halted and more Goblins entered the site of the massacre. They stared around. They could see what had happened.

Goblins fought. Goblins fell. But see how they fell? Most had wounds on their backs. Few had weapons. They hadn’t been fighting. This was a slaughter. And most had died in the first attack. The rest—

Had been hung. Pyrite stared up at the ancient tree, branches carrying the swaying bodies. Hung. What was the purpose? He couldn’t understand it. Humans killed Goblins. But hang them?

“A warning. In case other Goblins come.”

Redscar stared up at the tree, jaw clenched, hand on his sword. Rags had dismounted. She pushed her Carn Wolf’s head away from the body it was sniffing and looked around.

Death. It wasn’t the first time Pyrite had seen it. But the destroyed tribe hurt his heart. He’d seen it too many times. He tried to push the feeling down, until he saw the message carved into the tree.

“What is this?”

Rags stared at the words. Pyrite stared too, but he couldn’t read. She could though, a little. And so could Noears. She called him over and the Goblin approached. The [Mage]’s face was silent as he stared at the words.

“What?”

Rags and the others stared at him. Noears spoke slowly.

“What happens to Goblins. What happens to filth.”

For a while, Rags stared at the words carved into the bark. Then she put a hand to the tree’s trunk. Her hand glowed, and the bark began to smolder and ignite under her palm. Her face was—Pyrite turned away. He stared up at the body and then saw something.

A hand. Twitching. Was it just the wind? No. Pyrite watched and saw the hand moving again. One of the bodies overhead was still moving. One was still alive. Pyrite’s eyes went wide. He grabbed the steel axe at his side and raised it. Too short. The Goblin that was still moving was very small and hung higher than he could reach.

“You!”

Pyrite turned and barked. A Goblin looked up at him. Pyrite pointed.

Cut!

The other Goblins saw the twitching Goblin. They crowded around the tree and several Goblins were thrown up. They clung to the bark and began to climb towards the branch the Goblin was hanging from.

Pyrite stood below the Goblin and stared up. The one that was alive was no more than a child.

He was still alive. The Goblins were too small, too light to hang properly. The rope had failed to break his neck, and so the child had suffocated here. Pyrite caught him as a Goblin cut the rope and cradled him in his arms. The Goblin gasped and choked.

Dying.

“Here.”

Rags appeared with a potion. She threw it and Pyrite caught the small vial. He stared at her for a moment. Any other Chieftain wouldn’t waste a potion on a single Goblin. He wasn’t sure he would. She glared at him.

No time to question. Pyrite carefully uncorked the vial and poured it sparingly onto the child’s throat. The small Goblin began to shudder.

The healing potion began to reduce the swelling around his neck, cure the puffy skin around his face. But he was so cold and small. Pyrite held him. The Goblin child was gasping, but his eyes were closing.

“Don’t sleep. Open eyes.”

Pyrite spoke to him. The Goblin gasped, and Pyrite slapped his face gently. He couldn’t sleep. If he did, he would die. Healing potions only cured so much. If the body was out of energy, they died.

The child’s eyes began to close. Pyrite roared at him.

“Stay open!”

An eye opened. Two crimson eyes looked into Pyrite’s. He cradled the child and saw Rags approaching. Pyrite lowered the child and Rags stood over him.

Somehow, the Goblin recognized Rags as a Chieftain. He gurgled, choked. Rags knelt by him.

Who did?

She spoke in the Goblin tongue. The child gurgled, coughed. His eyes were flickering. Rags knelt and Pyrite poured more healing potion on his neck. Rags bent her head by the child’s.

“Who? Tell me. Who?”

A whisper. The Goblin reached out and Rags grabbed his hand. She bent over him as Pyrite felt the child growing colder. He shouted for a blanket, a fire.

The hand went limp in Rags’ hand. The child’s lips stopped moving. He closed his eyes. Pyrite grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Roughly. The Goblin’s head bounced, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Open!”

He couldn’t sleep. If he did, the healing would—Pyrite felt someone grab his arm. He realized the child was cold. Very cold. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Rockfall Chieftain was holding him. She shook her head.

Slowly, Pyrite let go of the small Goblin. He put him on the ground and stood up. The empty potion bottle dropped from his hand. Then Pyrite slowly bent and picked it up. Not good to waste—waste—

He looked around. The other bodies hung from the tree. They lay on the ground, silent, unmoving. Rags stood in the snow, looking around. Her Goblins were looking at her.

Her eyes were bleak when they fixed on Pyrite. She looked past him and at the Rockfall Chieftain instead. She nodded to the Hob.

“Burn tree. Leave rest.”

She turned away. Pyrite stood in the snow until the tree went up in flames. The bodies burned and fell, and he placed the Goblin child on the pyre and left.

For the council of war.

 

—-

 

There was a Human town nearby. A large one, with guards and walls. It had probably been the one to send the adventurers after the Undercrawler tribe, but it wasn’t certain. The Goblins were split.

Half wanted to destroy the town. The other half…didn’t see the point. Tremborag’s former Goblins were among the latter, surprisingly. They were all for slaughter, but they’d agreed with Rags’ non-violence policy when it came to Humans. Don’t hurt them, and they weren’t such a large threat.

Redscar and the Rockfall Chieftain were for vengeance. So was Pyrite. But he sat in silence, waiting, watching Rags. She kept staring at her hand, the hand she’d held the child’s with.

She did not kill Humans. She liked them. At last, the Goblins stopped quarrelling and fell silent. Looking at her. There was no proof. Anyone could have sent the adventurers. They could have come from anywhere. But it was the town, Pyrite was sure. They had asked, and a group had come to slaughter the tribe.

But there was no proof. And everyone was watching Rags, now. Did she side with the Humans? The Undercrawler tribe had surely raided the town or nearby villages and farms for food when they were hungry. Maybe they’d killed some Humans who’d been alone. Maybe. Probably.

That was life. But in the end Rags had looked up and spoken.

“We attack.”

An hour later, the Goblins were within sight of the town. They marched on it. Quietly.

At first, the few guards on the walls didn’t seem to realize what they were seeing. But as Goblins appeared in the distance, marching towards the ten foot high walls, they raised the alarms. Pyrite saw people appearing on the walls in the distance, raising bows. There were a lot of soldiers at the gates.

He didn’t care. Rags raised her arm, and crossbows snapped up. Goblins began to throw rocks from slings and loose bolts into the air. The defenders returned fire, but they had only a few bows, and Hobs with their own weapons picked them off one at a time.

The gates opened, and an armored group of riders rode out. They began to race around the Goblins, only to find a wall of terribly long pikes swinging in to face them. The Goblin pikes charged, and the riders had to retreat. Two were too slow and their mounts were impaled by the charging Goblins. The rest fled back into the gates.

Pyrite marched behind the Goblins with pikes, hearing the thunk of crossbows firing, hearing a scream as a Goblin was hit by an arrow. A [Mage] blasted Goblins from the battlements for a moment before Noears hit him with lightning and arrows struck the mage from twenty bows.

The gates were thick and heavy, meant to withstand a monster attack. Pyrite and eight Hobs grabbed a battering ram that Rags had ordered built and slammed it into the gates. It took three hits before the wood began to splinter. The Goblins behind them pushed, and the wood broke.

The Goblins streamed into the city with a howl, meeting the defenders in a scrum at the gates. The Humans were numerous. They screamed in fury, defending their homes. The Goblins howled and rushed them.

Pyrite was first into the fray. He charged into a man with a sword and felt the sword bite into his stomach. But the Human hadn’t expected Pyrite to run into the blade. The Hob grabbed the screaming man and struck him once with the axe.

He was wearing a helmet, but the Human died anyways under the crushing blow. Pyrite picked him up and heaved the man back towards his friends. The armored corpse knocked over several Humans and the smaller Goblins swarmed them.

Blood and sweat and heat. The cold and the burning cut in his stomach were distant sensations to Pyrite. He strode forwards, and saw a man with a heavy mace bashing down a Hob. He was an adventurer; his mace shone and he had a shield that was deflecting every weapon that came at him. Pyrite charged towards him and the adventurer turned.

Silver-rank, probably. He was confident, trusting in his shield to protect him. The adventurer turned from the Hob and shouted.

“Come on, you damn Goblins! Fight me!”

He raised his shield and Pyrite’s axe crashed into it. The shield didn’t break, and the adventurer barely staggered. He lashed out with his mace. It had a spiked head and tore away part of Pyrite’s stomach. The Hob grunted, stepped back.

“Come on, come on! What are you waiting for?”

The Human snarled as he lashed out at Pyrite. The Hob had no shield and blocked with his axe. He was hit in his arm, and again in his chest. Both times the mace came away bloody, but Pyrite said not a word.

He fought silent. Where the other Hobs and Goblins around him shrieked in fear and battle fury and howled as their friends and family bled and died, Pyrite hacked and cut and sometimes dodged in a void of sound.

It bothered the Human. Pyrite’s expression never changed. He just stared at his opponent as the Human cursed at him. He swung his mace and Pyrite knocked it back with his own axe. He swung, and again the magical shield came up, taking his blow.

Stalemate. The Human’s friends were dying, but he was helping hold the line. He raised his mace and Pyrite paused. He looked past the Human and spoke in a level, normal voice.

“What’s that?”

He pointed. The Human’s head instinctively turned. Too late, it snapped back. This time his shield was too low. Pyrite buried the axe in the Human’s shoulder, grabbed the screaming Human’s mace, and buried it in his head. He stepped back, breathing hard as the line of warriors broke without the adventurer to hold it.

“Idiot.”

He wrenched his axe free and walked past the Human. It was surprising how many times that worked. But no one expected a Hobgoblin to say anything in their language and so sometimes they looked, or just hesitated for a moment. A moment was all Pyrite needed.

The rest of the Humans began to crumble once the Goblins got past the gates. Rags’ tribe outnumbered the Humans far too greatly, and her tactics were superior to theirs. She charged her pikes into the Humans while her crossbows hammered them. Pyrite didn’t fight another Human; the combination of the pikes and Redfang warriors waiting behind them was an impenetrable wall that the Humans defenders couldn’t break through.

They found the majority of the townsfolk clustered in the square. They’d tried to flee through the opposite gates, but a second force of Goblins from the rear had blocked their escape. Poisonbite and her warriors had cut down several of the Humans, but they stopped when Rags strode towards them.

“Hold.”

The Humans stared at the small Chieftain with horror and fear. She looked at them. One of the Humans spat—the others dragged him back, afraid of her. But they hated her, and the other Goblins. Pyrite saw it in their eyes. Rags stared at them and then turned to him.

“Bring me rope.”

The Humans stirred. Some cried out in horror. Others began to beg. Pyrite stared at Rags and then got her the rope. He didn’t know what she was going to do.

She hung the bodies from the houses. Not live ones, but the dead Humans. When Pyrite heard her orders he felt relieved. Relieved because she wasn’t retaliating in kind? The Humans would have hung them all. He thought about that as he oversaw the Goblins clambering on the rooftops.

They hung the dead adventurer and guards from the rooftops, a grim mockery of what had come before. Then Rags pointed, and Goblins streamed into buildings, forcing out screaming Humans, coming out with grain, barrels of goods, sacks and objects like hammers, shears, buckets, pans.

They looted the town for an hour and left. They took everything they could grab and carry. Food, supplies—

The Humans tried to resist once. A man tried to stop them from taking some jewelry, saying that it was his wife’s. Pyrite thought of the dead child and broke his jaw and arm.

The Flooded Waters tribe left the town in ruins. Both gates were broken, their defenders slaughtered. But they left the people alive. Poisonbite had argued against it, and so had Redscar. They didn’t want to leave witnesses.

Rags didn’t care. Pyrite had seen her looking at the Humans, looking at children, and, for some reason, a young woman with brown hair. She’d forbidden the Goblins from touching them.

So they’d left. There was no celebration as the Goblins marched back towards their camp, laden with their spoils. Not this time.

 

—-

 

It was a silent camp that ate and sat around the lake. Pyrite washed his wounds in the water, watching the dried blood float into the lake. It hurt, but he didn’t want a healing potion. That was a waste.

The mood was too quiet around camp. Goblins sat around, poking with sticks at the ground, not doing much of anything. They should have been celebrating. They’d won a battle. But what they’d seen bothered them.

It bothered Rags. And Pyrite. And because their Chieftain was silent, the Goblins learned from her. Pyrite stared at a young Goblin, practically no more than a child, staring moodily at the lake. He felt that shouldn’t be so. They had to smile. If they didn’t smile, what was the point of being alive?

After some thought, Pyrite approached the small Goblin. He poked him. The Goblin looked up. Pyrite nodded to the lake.

“Can swim?”

The Goblin stared at him, and then nodded cautiously. Pyrite smiled.

“Good.”

Then he seized the Goblin, lifted him up, and threw him across the water. The small Goblin flew across the lake, screaming until he splashed into the water.

Every Goblin head in the vicinity had turned the instant Pyrite had seen the Goblin. They stared at him, afraid he was angry. They watched the Goblin splash down, spluttering, and then swim towards the edge. Pyrite smiled again.

“Next?”

He looked at some of the small Goblins, the children. They edged away from him. Then a brave young female Goblin stepped forwards. She shrieked as he lifted her, and then tossed her into the air.

She flew far. Pyrite was a Hob and she was very light. The other Goblins watched with open-mouths as the Goblin child cannonballed into the water. Half seemed perplexed, but the other half caught on.

Pyrite threw the Goblin. Throwing was bad. It hurt if you hit the ground. But what if you landed in the water? In that case—

The next child went screaming into the lake, but he was laughing when he climbed out. And then other Goblins approached. Pyrite hurled an adult into the water and as the Goblin climbed out he shouted at the other Goblins, grinning and miming flapping his wings. Then they all wanted to try.

 

—-

 

Rags found Pyrite and a group of over twenty Hobs hurling Goblins into water. The sound had drawn every Goblin in camp, and the Hobs seemed to be enjoying the activity. They were competing to see who could throw Goblins the furthest, highest, or make them puke as they spun into the lake.

Pyrite turned, sweating in the cold, bleeding slightly from his stomach where his wounds had opened up, to see Rags standing with arms folded. She stared pointedly at his stomach.

“Pointless.”

He shrugged. She was very smart sometimes, but not all the time.

“Fun, Chieftain.”

She looked past him as a screaming Goblin cartwheeled into the water, much to the entertainment of every other Goblin watching. She shook her head.

“Stupid.”

She turned to go. Pyrite grabbed her. Rags struggled, shouted, but it was too late. He heaved, and his Chieftain went flying.

She was very light. The other Goblins stopped and stared as they saw their Chieftain arc high into the sky before crashing into the water. The entire time, Rags’ eyes were locked on Pyrite’s face.

She glared at him the entire time she was flying, until she hit the water. That was rather impressive, actually. Rags swam out of the lake quickly, unlike the other floundering Goblins. That surprised Pyrite until he thought about it for a moment. Of course. The Flooded Waters tribe was good at swimming.

That night, Goblins played in the water, laughing, some drowning until they were fished out. But they were laughing. The water was very cold, but they didn’t care. It was something new. And that night, Pyrite sat by his fire, wet, cold, bleeding a bit, but better.

Around him, Goblins were sleeping. Pyrite was still up. He was always awake during the nights. He’d had a few good hours of sleep earlier, and it was important for him to be up while Rags slept. Just in case. As the fires dimmed and Goblins began snoring around him, Pyrite stared into the flames.

And spoke. Quietly, giving voice to words in his chest.

 

“We are not monsters yet;

But we do not forget;

We are lost, outcasts all.

I caught him too late. His sigh—

A shudder. Last goodbye.

Time passes, cities rise and nations fall;

And yet they will always hate us all.

Goblins. Why do they hate us so?

Why does the wind blow?

I suppose I will never know.”

 

He paused, but no one had heard him. Pyrite whispered the words a few more times. Not bad. But not good. He’d used ‘all’ twice, and he wasn’t sure about the second to last line. Why does the wind blow? A bit too silly, he felt. But it had promise.

Pyrite thought the rhyming at the end of the lines was important. But he wasn’t sure. It sounded pleasing to his ears, though. He wondered if other species had something like this. Songs? No, this was different.

He sat, and slowly fished out a burnt out coal from the fire. It was still very hot. He bit into it anyways, and chewed slowly as the night ended and the sun began to rise. This was how he lived. Day by day, hour by hour. Sometimes he despaired. Other times he laughed.

But always, he dreamed of a day where Goblins would live freely. He looked south and added one more thought to the list in his head. He wondered if there was a way for Goblins to live in peace with other races.

Probably not. But he waited for Rags to wake. To wake, and show them, show all Goblins she was worthy of being a Chieftain. Of being a Goblin Lord.

Of someday, perhaps…

Being a King.

 

—-

 

The night ended. Rags woke up, this time without a bad smell in her nose. She yawned as her camp began to stir with the dawn, and spotted a familiar shape. Pyrite, the former Gold Stone Chieftain, sat by a fire, chewing on something. She grunted, pleased he hadn’t fallen asleep. But then, he never did.

He was dependable, like that. Rags got up, stretching, and saw Pyrite’s head drift towards her, and then back to the fire. She shook her head as she wandered over to where the Redfang warriors were already training for the morning.

Some days Rags wondered what Pyrite was thinking. The huge Hobgoblin sat in front of the fire, chewing calmly, staring into the flames. He was always so calm. And he never seemed bothered by anything.

He was delightfully simple, Rags concluded. He could think deeply at times, but by and large he was uncomplicated and straightforward. She envied him for his narrow view of the world. It wasn’t easy being her. Not easy at all. She walked away, and began thinking of what to do next. Time to lead her tribe again. Life was hard.

But she was up to the challenge. And behind her, the Gold Stone Chieftain sat and chewed, and thought.

Then he farted.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.02 C

I have a confession to make. When I first came to this world, I was excited. I thought I could be someone else. They told me I could be a hero. But it turned out that people don’t change that easily. Cowards are still cowards. And I was a coward.

But then I was afraid when I learned that people could change. People could change entirely, and that scared me as much as not changing. Then, I was frightened of what I might become.

Now I know the truth. People don’t change so easily. They can, but what this world does isn’t change us. Rather, it shows us who we are. Heroes. Cowards.

And monsters. And I am all three. They call me a hero, I know I am a coward, and I have a monster in my soul. The devil dances in the mirror and laughs. I call his name.

Tom.

 

—-

 

“Tom? Hey Tom, you’ve got snow in your hair.”

A tentative voice wakes me up from my thoughts. I pull myself up on my horse and brush at my head. I don’t feel any wet. And when I find what’s stuck there, I realize it isn’t snow. It’s a flower petal. White, beautiful, fallen from high overhead.

White petals. They float down softly among the sounds of people cheering from the rooftops of houses. I look to my left, the little petal in my hands. Richard grins at me and tugs the hat on his head a bit higher. It should be silly to wear a cowboy hat over armor, but I have to admit, Richard pulls the Stetson off quite well. Maybe it’s because he’s also mounted.

Nothing like a cowboy [Knight] to get the crowds going. I flick the petal towards him as my own horse plods along the paved street.

“Nice crowd.”

“You should smile and wave at them. They’re cheering for you as well.”

“Mm. That’s because they don’t know me.”

Richard shakes his head. I sigh, but obligingly wave a hand upwards. A few more people add their voices to the cheering. It’s a small crowd, really. A thousand people in a city built to hold far more than that. But they gather, and around me, the others are waving, blowing kisses. They’re glad to be here. And as the petals float down, I admit, so am I.

Petals. They’re whiter than snow. In Rhir, snowfall is cold and wet. And often—tainted. Grey, or sometimes black, by whatever curse lies upon the land. It’s said the black snow is a product of the blighted lands themselves, and the people avoid touching it where it falls.

Not that that’s a problem here. I look up, and up, my eyes travelling across sky bridges, made of wood and stone, buildings which reach up like small skyscrapers, layers of houses, shops, and more packed into one place. It’s like and unlike a city from my world in so many ways. The height is there, yes, but the aerial walkways and ramparts? No.

“New York City looked like this, once, you know.”

“Really?”

I look back at Richard. He nods.

“Keith told me. He’s into architecture.”

“Engineering major. Right.”

It’s funny, I’d forgotten. But of course, Keith would have been a freshman in Pennsylvania. Lehigh University. It’s so strange. I never went to college, but I can’t imagine being that certain about what I’d want to do with my life that early. I didn’t know what I wanted when I was taken, that’s for sure.

“So New York looked like this a while back? Why’d they stop?”

“I don’t know. Construction costs? People falling? You should ask him.”

I glance back down the line of people on horseback, catch sight of Keith. I hesitate, shake my head.

“Nah. I’m not that curious.”

“Come on, Tom.”

“Nah. But I will go for a walk up there sometime. Looks like fun. So long as you don’t slip.”

“Yeah. Emily’s going to hate it, though.”

“Oh? Why?”

“She gets vertigo something fierce. Maybe we can get a room on the ground floor, do you think?”

“Not sure. I guess that depends on the impression we make. Hey, I’m going to ride ahead, okay?”

“Alright, then.”

I gently nudge the horse I’m riding on with my heels. The brown creature grudgingly accelerates a bit while Richard slows his to hang back with the others. He makes it look so easy. He sits on his stallion like they’ve known each other for years. I can barely get my mare to stop.

Alone again. I know Richard’s trying to be nice and talk to me, but I don’t need it. I keep my horse more or less between the group from my world, the twenty or so Americans who were summoned to this world, and our escort. Soldiers ride ahead and behind me, armor gleaming, but showing evidence of battle. The people cheer us all the harder because of it.

We are heroes. And some of us are [Heroes]. I’m not.

Not anymore. I gave that up with everything else months ago. Now I’m just Tom. Thomas, if you’re my mom. And I’m riding through the city as petals fall onto my shoulders and get caught in my hair. I look up again.

And the city takes my breath away.

So beautiful. The tangle of buildings and pathways through the sky really are a sight unique to this world. There are bridges large enough for horses to ride across, and for wagons to roll through! A city climbing to the sky. And why not? The people live close together, behind walls. Why not build a city like this, in this continent of ceaseless war?

This is Rhir. And this is the heart of the kingdom, the shield city known as Paranfer, whose walls have stood for thousands of years. But even here, behind the four great walls built by generations of the inhabitants, safety is not always guaranteed. As I look up, I see evidence of that in the form of watch towers, manned even in the capital city.

And of course, we passed through the six successive outer walls of the city and the seventh, being built as we rode in. Each wall is taller than the last, and of course, patrolled by guards. I’m told that with each new wall, a new layer of housing is added to the ones beneath. I wonder how the architecture can handle it? The foundations of each building must be hundreds of feet deep. Or enchanted.

Probably enchanted.

In this sprawling, tightly-knit overgrowth of civilization, it’s possible to walk up six stories and walk with the covered roofs of the city shielding you from the corrupted rain or snow that might pour down without warning, or venture far, far beneath, to the streets and gutters where the sewers run black, depositing their contents into the sea.

Apparently people live down there, in the sewers. The magical pollution does something to them. But whatever dangers the contamination might pose, it still runs into the sea. And there it flows west and north. Towards the edge of the world.

Beyond Rhir, there is no world. A few islands perhaps, and oceanic depths no one has explored. But beyond that? The end of the world. A great abyss from which no one returns. The world is flat, and you can sail right off it. Rhir sits at the edge of the world—so do the islanders, a group of strange foreigners who clash with Minotaurs and sometimes sail towards civilization.

Or so I’ve been told. I know only what other people tell me about this world. I have never left this continent, not in the months I’ve been here. And I’ve only ever seen this city once before.

My heart stirs as I watch the petals floating down. The people are still cheering above, waiting along the route of our procession. Not a lot of them, but some. They’re shouting, crying out the rallying call of Rhir.

“The Walls stand!”

“The Blighted King sits upon his throne!”

“To the ends of the world and back! Rhir! The last war! The endless war!”

Fierce shouts, from men, women, and children alike. There’s no doubt in their voices, no sense of embarrassment for what they say. Each one is filled with burning pride in who they are, love for their country.

Patriots. It’s an odd thought. I feel a chill and look towards the palace rising above the rest of the city. It is gigantic, apparently taller than any other such building in the world. It was designed by Dwarfs, added to year after year, and made to never be taken. Yes. Rhir might be blighted, afflicted by dark magic and attacked by strange new monsters year after year. Yes, the Demon King waits and sends his armies forth to bring down the walls.

But it is great for that reason. Because Rhir will not fall. It alone boasts the most skilled and deadly warriors from all races. The kingdom has ancient treasures, unyielding protectors, and its [King] is known throughout the world. All nations know of Rhir, and if the horns call, they send their armies. For if Rhir falls, the world is next.

…Or so I’m told. It sounds to me like Rhir is isolated, cut off from the rest of the world by the battle only the people here will fight. But to the people, their struggle is pride and purpose.

Another petal floats down. It’s truly beautiful, and I’m glad to see it. I’ve had enough of grey and black snow, or worse, red snow. I reach up as it flutters towards my face.

This petal is soft and cool, chilled by the air, but warming, like the weather. I catch it and sniff at it. The smell is sweet, vanishingly faint, and melancholy. Just as soon as I sniff, I sneeze. I wipe at my nose and feel my skin itching. I quickly brush the petal off and note that my skin is already turning red.

“Great. I think I’m allergic to that.”

Why can’t I have nice things? I sigh. I ride on, and hear a little voice.

Maybe because you’re not a nice person. Or maybe it’s genetics. Either way, you’d better hope you don’t inhale one of those or you might die of anaphylactic shock. Now, how funny would that be? There’s no EpiPen in this world. Go on, sniff another and see how fast your throat closes up.

It’s not a nice thought. I ignore it and sigh.

Come on, you can’t ignore me. Or rather, you. Is it me or you? Both? It’s like a thought you can’t ignore. Or a song. Remember the one about badgers?

“Goddamnit.”

The voice is back. I’m afraid it’ll plague me all day this time. My voice, to be exact. No one else’s. Nothing to be worried about. It’s just a voice. In my head. Everyone has a little voice in their head, right?

It doesn’t make me crazy. Even though I am insane. But [Lesser Insanity] isn’t…isn’t…

Fun? Entertaining? Totally batshit crazy? Where were you going with that one?

Let’s try this again.

Hi. My name is Tom. I’m a Level 28 [Clown]. Only, I’m retired. You’d never know it to look at me, as I ride through the streets of Rhir with an escort of soldiers and my friends. I look normal. Just a guy in slightly worn clothing, slightly overweight, but not as heavy as I used to be—I lost weight. I have scars you can’t see, and a funny walk. But that’s all. I’m white, American, and as bland as you can be.

I don’t wear the face paint any longer. I don’t color my nose red, or paint my face whiter than it usually is. I don’t juggle, do tricks, or anything remotely funny if I can help it. I’ve given up being a [Clown]. I really have.

And I’m not insane. I’m not. Not entirely. Not yet.

Keep telling yourself that.

“Okay, maybe Richard was right.”

I gently pull on the reins of my horse. She freezes, and I nearly topple off her. I groan, turn her around, and walk her back. Towards the others.

There they are, twenty of them. Not all clustered up at once of course; they’re riding in a procession, so it’s two to four abreast, all moving slowly down the street. Not the widest of streets, either, and not one lined by cheering people, you’ll note. This is one of the entry streets to Paranfer, and as such it’s meant to be kept empty of all traffic except those going this way. The general citizenry stays above.

I was riding at the head of our little procession, but now I head back. There are four people there. Richard, our own southern cowboy [Knight], the leader of our ragtag group. Emily, another leader, beloved, a [Hydromancer]. And next to them Keith, a [Blacksmith] who wants to find out if there is an [Engineer] class, and Chole. Chole’s a [Nurse].

“Tom!”

Richard breaks off from talking with Chole and the others at once. They all fall silent as I awkwardly guide my horse over to them. I see Emily actually pull her horse back a bit. That’s fine. Understandable, even.

“Hey Richard, guess what? Turns out I’m allergic to the pretty flowers.”

“Well, that ain’t good. At least we’re not being showered by the stuff, then.”

Richard shakes his head. I turn my horse and fall in with him. Emily hesitates, but it’s Chole who backs up until she’s behind us. I ride next to Richard, pretending not to notice the way Keith stares at me. Of course, Richard acts like nothing’s amiss. He’s considerate like that.

“Reckon we’ll be in the main part of the city soon. It’s a big place, isn’t it? I didn’t see much of it the first time we were here, but we’ll be going through a bigger section soon, with a larger escort.”

“Are they actually going to throw a parade for us? I thought all of this was what we were going to get.”

Emily waves a hand up at the balconies overhead. A girl cheers down at her, which doesn’t in turn cheer her up. She wanted a parade, and we barely got that. I don’t care. Keith looks as skeptical as Richard and I feel.

“I don’t know. We’re not exactly in favor, are we? It’s only ‘cause you and Richard are over Level 30 that we’re getting acknowledged at all, right? For fighting Demons and monsters. Well, that and…”

He glances sideways at me. I ignore the look and hunch my shoulders.

How can you ignore a look and respond to it? Just say it out loud, Tom. We’re getting invited back to the capital because you killed a bunch of innocent people. Wait, I mean, the Demons killed the innocent people and you killed them. That makes you a hero! Right?

Richard clears his throat.

“So long as we can get behind some actual walls for a spell, I’m grateful. And if the Blighted King wants to see us, that’s fine. So long as we can impress his majesty, that is.”

He’s looking at me now, too. I look up and meet his eyes.

“I’m done, Richard. I told you that.”

He nods. Emily doesn’t look convinced. Keith opens his mouth and Richard speaks.

“Look, we’re here.”

Our street opens and takes us into a grand plaza. One of many, but grand nonetheless. It’s large enough to hold thousands of people, or at least, make us feel tiny as we enter it on horseback.

“Alright, we’re here! Off the horses!”

As we enter the square, our leader calls out and I gladly slide from my saddle. I hear one of our number, Eddy, grumbling as we do.

“Why can’t we ride to the palace? I can see it from here!”

“If you can see it, you can walk to it. Besides, some roads are foot traffic only. Stop complaining.”

Vincent calls out as he helps Chole off her horse. Eddy mutters, but doesn’t respond outright. He grumbled when we had to ride as well, since he wasn’t used to riding in the first place. I guess he got used to it.

Now we’re in the plaza, I look around. There are many roads entering here, and the ground has some kind of spiral pattern to it. The colored bricks make me feel as though I’m being drawn to the center.

“Pretty.”

I say it to no one. Unfortunately, someone responds.

As lovely as a whirlpool. Do you think it’s a spell? It might be. Anger the wrong person and you’ll be sucked into the ground in the center, there. Right by the man selling daggers with the stall.

Why do I think like this? I sigh, take my mind off the idea of magical traps, and loiter with the rest of my group in the absent-minded sort of way crowds do when they’re waiting for someone to tell them what to do next.

“Oh, look. Beggars!”

A soft cry comes up from one of the other girls. I look and see Cynthia pointing with dismay at a girl with a bowl sitting around the edge of the plaza. She’s young. Can’t be more then eight, perhaps. The attention of my group is drawn instantly to her, and her situation.

“We should give her something.”

“Why? Look, she’s probably fed—”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, but if you give her money, what about everyone else? Look how many there are.”

“But she’s—”

“Tom, toss me a coin, would you?”

Richard settles the matter before it can turn into another argument. He raises a hand as he walks over to the girl, who looks up hopefully. I sigh and dig around in a pouch at my waist.

There’s a good twenty feet of distance between me and Richard, and it’s growing each time he takes a step. Still, that doesn’t matter.

I have a Skill.

You’ve got lots of skills, Tommy boy. You just don’t use them.

Ignore that. I have a good Skill. Not like the—others. The ones I received that night.

Oh, happy memories.

[Lesser Insanity]. [Horrific Laughter]. [Devil’s Luck]. [Greater Pain Tolerance]. And…[Weapon Proficiency: Knives]. Those are the skills I received on the day when I went crazy. When I had a breakdown and slaughtered a group of Demon soldiers.

Correction: when you acted heroically. That’s why you leveled, right? You were a hero! Sorry, I mean, [Hero]!

Ignore it. Ignore…since then I’ve leveled up four more times. I learned a few cool skills. The first is [Unerring Throw], which allows me to hit any target I aim at, so long as what I’m aiming at doesn’t dodge or block, or if the throw’s physically impossible for me.

Cue me tossing the silver coin to Richard, over the heads of everyone else. He catches it in one gauntleted hand and offers it to the kid. He kneels down with her and Cynthia and a few others go over. I stand back, counting up the coins we have now.

Some gold, some silver…one less. Not a lot; not if we’re buying all the gear everyone wants. But why don’t I think that’ll stop Cynthia from demanding more coins for every child beggar we have? I sigh.

You don’t really care.

I don’t. It’s true. But it is my job to manage the coin. I guess I can be okay with handing it out whenever anyone asks. Because that’s my job in this group. Some people are leaders, like Richard and Emily, others have opinions like Eddy who knows a lot about games, and others…why do I feel like this is the student council and I’m back in High School? Maybe because I have a position very similar to that here.

Treasurer. Actually, I’m more like a glorified purse. I keep the money Richard and the others are given, and give it out only when everyone votes we use it. Or when Richard says. I also help make sure everyone gets food for the night, manage our supplies of potions and so on…it’s not an important job. I do it because I won’t fight. I refuse to fight.

I had enough of it after the night when Wilen died.

Squashy, squashy. Troll goes stompy. And little Tom goes crazy.

For a second I debate stabbing myself. Right in the eye, or the side. Would that make the voice go away?

Try it and find out! One stab and everyone’ll believe there’s a voice in your head! Why not?

I hate you so much. Hate me. I know you’re not real.

“…Tom! Tom! Get out of the way!”

A voice calls out. I look up, and realize someone’s right on top of me. A scaly, orange face, glinting chainmail, a spear grasped by a claw-like hand—a lizard-guy is bearing down on top of me! Scratch that, a lot of lizard guys, marching in tight formation!

He’s about to walk into me. I twist out of the way, gracefully for a guy my size. One step, and the huge lizard man misses me by a fraction of a millimeter. His buddies march past as well as I step away.

That’s the second skill I learned. [Flawless Dodge]. It only works when I’m ready for what’s coming at me, and I can’t do it every time. But I feel pretty spry whenever it works.

Company, halt! Stop running over civilians, you thick-scaled idiots!”

A voice shouts, and the lizard people stop instantly. They turn like a single unit, and I see another one striding towards me. She has black scales, a narked expression on her face, and a plumed helmet. Clearly an officer.

Or an enthusiastic cosplayer.

“Sorry about that. This lot is trained to walk over anyone in the way, nevermind that we’re guests here. In a Human city.”

She addresses me and her soldiers with a glare probably meant for them. Then she turns as Richard strides over. She glances at me, and then nods at him. Yeah, that’s a fair assessment. He is wearing armor and he looks in charge.

“Are you the group known as the, uh…‘Americans’? Sorry we’re late.”

She pronounces the word oddly. Richard nods, extends a hand to shake. It’s odd being called Americans, especially since America’s a big place. Two continents, rather than one country. But hell, I guess America means the United States, not anywhere else.

Makes sense.

And I mean, what else were we supposed to call ourselves when we were asked who we were? Anyways, Richard is used to the awkwardness.

“Yes Ma’am. We’re the Americans. And you are?”

She grasps his hand firmly. I note her claws, although Richard is wearing a gauntlet. She’s a lizard! A giant lizard person! With a tail! And she’s clearly a she. There’s just something about her size, voice, and physique that tells me definitely that she’s female while the soldier who nearly ran into me is male. She’s humanoid enough in that respect.

“Cirille Bitterclaw, at your service. I’m the sorry [Commander] of this lot.”

“Richard Davenport, Ma’am. A pleasure.”

Cirille blinks a bit at being called ‘Ma’am’. It’s customary to call people ‘Miss’ or ‘Mister’ in this world unless they have a formal title, but Richard just can’t get over calling people Sir or Ma’am no matter how many times he’s corrected.

“You’re our escort today?”

Emily comes over, Cirille nods briskly and indicates a large road her and the other lizards just walked down.

“That’s right, Miss. We’re your honorary guard. We’ll be walking you about two miles to the palace.”

“What? All of you?”

The lizard woman smiles wryly.

“That’s right. We’re dressed up for a little celebration, as you can see. There will be flowers, cheering—even if no one says who you are. There’s people in this city who’ll cheer a rolling barrel if it has an escort.”

I snort quietly. So much for our heroic return. What did Emily expect? We got kicked out of here the first time we arrived.

When we first came to Rhir, when we came to this world, we were welcomed with celebrations by the King himself and all the court. We were feasted, given parades…until they realized we weren’t actual heroes, but lost kids who couldn’t swing a sword properly. Then they shipped us out to die.

They brought us back because some of us proved we could fight.

And some of us slaughtered a bunch of Demons. Let’s not forget that.

…But I guess they’re not rolling out the red carpet for us this time, unless these lizards are meant to be more important than Rhir’s soldiers? Nah.

Cirille says pretty much the same thing to Richard as her soldiers line up on either side of us, looking bored and disinterested.

“Us? We’re not locals, Miss. We’re one of the foreign companies sent here on duty to assist the Blighted King. Sometimes that means escorting people around. Every day. Not the bigwigs, though. Us being here means you’re important enough for an escort, but not enough for a full parade. They’d give you an escort of their own [Knights] and so on if you were. We get stuck marching for the lesser dignitaries and officials. Shall we?”

Richard nods. Our group forms up more or less in a line, and I see Cynthia and some of the others staring nervously at the lizard soldiers on either side. Oh no. My stomach clenches. This better not be like the incident with the Selphid soldier.

Aaah! Zombie! Burn the unholy thing! Don’t let it touch me! And then there was Emily washing her hands after shaking the soldier’s hand in plain view. Good times. Who says racism is dead? Or is it speciesism?

Richard must be thinking the same thing. He coughs and addresses Cirille before she gives the order to march.

“Pardon me for bringing this up, Ma’am, but we’ve never actually met someone from your…species before. Are you a, uh, liz—”

The entire group of soldiers seems to freeze for a second. Cirille cuts Richard off before he can continue.

“We’re Drakes, sir. Drakes. Different from Lizardfolk. Very different. If you haven’t seen any of those b—those other soldiers from Baleros, I imagine it’s an easy mistake to make. But we’re different.”

He nods, gingerly.

“My apologies, Miss Cirille.”

“Taken. Let’s move out, you lot! Slowly!”

And so we do. I linger near Richard, letting him do the talking as we march down out of the plaza and down one of the big roads leading to the palace ahead. Sure enough, there are people waving and cheering as we go by. I’m more interested in the conversation, though.

“That’s right. I was assigned to Rhir with my company. We got the short straw, depending on how you look at it. All the other parts of our army were assigned to the front or to patrol various spots, but they needed someone to look shiny and didn’t want to waste their own soldiers on the job.”

“Oh? Is that normal?”

“Pretty much. Every nation has to send an army to support Rhir. If it were all-out war, I’d be under the command of an actual [General] and there would be at least two Drake armies here. But it’s not, so our lot gets to patrol and go claw-to-claw with those Demon bastards on the front for fun. It’s part of the old treaties, you know.”

Richard nods. He knows, and I do too. Rhir is at war. It has been for thousands of years, apparently. Right now the Blighted King, the sole ruler of the continent, is battling the Demon King, who is the leader of…the continent. But of Demons and monsters, so apparently he’s not acknowledged as an actual king.

Bit weird, that. Why call him a king, then?

Anyways, the Demons and monsters that come from the corrupted part of the continent are so dangerous that four walls were built to hold them back, and there’s almost always fighting somewhere or other. The Blighted Kingdom gets aid from the rest of the world to hold the Demons back, apparently in the form of soldiers as well.

I eye Cirille. She’s a Drake? Does that mean she’s related to Dragons as opposed to…well, whatever a Lizardperson is related to? Unlike the rest of her soldiers, her armor is open at the back to let two vestigial wings out. They’re folded up neatly and rather small. She notices me looking and smiles. Toothily.

“Oldblood. Don’t mind the wings; they’re for show. I can’t get off the ground, but apparently that means I’m special enough to get chosen for a year’s service in this hellhole.”

“Oh. Uh. I’m Tom.”

“Pleased. I don’t get to talk to the people I’m marching with that often. Usually they’re too important. You a warrior?”

“Nope. Not me. I—no.”

She blinks at me.

“Alright, then.”

Smooth, Tom. Nice going. The one person who thinks you’re not crazy and you tip her off in five seconds. Is that a Skill, too?

I hate the voice in my head.

Talking to voices, Tom. First sign of madness.

But I’m not insane. I’m not. The voice is…a voice. A figment of my imagination. Nothing more.

Only an insane person would have to tell himself he’s sane.

“Or a really sane person would say that. Because only sane people check to make sure they’re not insane.”

“What did you say, Tom?”

Ahead of me, Emily stops waving, looking slightly—I stop muttering under my breath and try to smile at her. Not hugely, not creepily wide or anything else like that. A small, slight smile.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

Aha. Look at her face. She doesn’t think that’s normal!

Everyone talks to themselves. Introverts probably do it more than extroverts, and Emily’s definitely the latter. But everyone does do it. That doesn’t make me any crazier for acknowledging that.

So you say. Keep telling yourself that.

Shut up, me.

Time to explain again. Hi, I’m Tom.

You did that already.

Shut up, shut up! I’m Tom. And I’m not insane. I can’t be. I just…it’s not a voice in my head. Or rather, it’s just another part of me. That’s the trick, you see? I have to understand that. If I don’t, I’m schizophrenic, or paranoid.

Or insane.

But the voice is me. It’s a bad joke, as if I’m playing devil’s advocate with everything I do. It’s overthinking things, putting words to an imaginary personality. But there’s only me in here.

Keep telling yourself that. Did I say that already?

Isn’t it fun? I sigh and slap myself, which makes one of the Drake [Soldiers] walking with me eye me oddly. I ignore him.

If it’s not a voice in my head, then what? I think about that every day. If it’s not a voice…

It started the day after the others found me surrounded by Demon corpses, drenched in blood, laughing my head off and nearly dying of blood loss. I swore I’d never be a [Clown] again, never fight. Not when I saw and remembered what I’d done. I let the crazy out. I went insane. And it’s been my choice to not do it again. Because it is me that did all those terrible things, that slaughtered those soldiers. Not anyone else.

Not a monster, you mean.

Exactly. It’s me. Not anything else. And because I know that, I won’t go crazy.

Unless you already are. Keep telling yourself I’m just a voice, Tom. But we both know the truth. You’re crazy. And the smile you show everyone else, the little act? It’s wearing thin, day after day. You lost it the day Wilen died. And all your ‘friends’ are waiting for the day you snap again.

Including me.

 

—-

 

I don’t see much of the city during the march. I’m busy humming loudly in my head. But I do catch up with Cirille as she tells Richard about some of the capital’s highlights.

“If you’ve got time, head down towards the port area. That’s where most of us foreigners hang out off-duty. The Baleros and Chandrar companies are already headed towards the Fourth Wall, and I don’t envy them, but the Terandrians still have a detachment hanging about.”

“Terandrians?”

“Humans like you. Sorry, I assumed—are you from Baleros or Chandrar, then?”

“No, we’re from further away than that.”

“Really? Where, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I don’t get to hear how Richard talks his way out of this one. I hear a shout as we pass through another set of gates, from up ahead. Cirille, Richard, and I step forwards quickly and see Cynthia running backwards, face white and pale.

“A Demon!

Richard and I instantly freeze. My heart begins to pound. A Demon? Here? In the city? It can’t be. But Richard’s hand is already on his sword and my own demon begins whispering in my head. Yet it’s Cirille who doesn’t panic. She grips Richard before he can draw his blade.

“Hold up. I think I know what the problem is.”

She leads quickly past the suddenly wary Drakes, and we pass by a stretch of…what I can only call displays of enemy prisoners. There are cages, small, cramped, and hung from massive chains or put on platforms for passersby to stare at. And they hold something to remind the people living in the city who to hate.

Demons.

They have horns, dark skin which is purple in many cases, but their appearances can be as mutated and different depending on which Demon it is. Some might pass for Human…if you ignore a third eye or extra limb. But they are Demons, sworn to kill all the people of Rhir.

And one is sitting in an iron cage ahead of us. He’s the only one; the other cages are empty, although I can see bloodstains dried in several. Not many Demons get captured alive, apparently. And this one’s just sitting there, a good distance away from our procession. Only Cynthia would freak out that much over seeing one, but then, no one in our group is happy to see them.

They slaughtered us. Over two thirds of our groups died in one night when we were sent to the front lines. Even seeing one now makes me afraid. But he is behind bars.

“It’s just one Demon, Cynthia. Don’t scream.”

Richard admonishes Cynthia, who’s gone into hysterics. Behind us, one of the Drakes mutters something uncomplimentary about Humans. Cirille shuts him up. I keep staring.

This Demon has bright yellow eyes, two curved horns like a ram, and fur. Normal, human feet, though, which is odd. Four toes, four fingers. He’s…weird.

“Stay back. That’s one of the captives they just brought in. A Fearless.”

Cirille orders her soldiers and the rest of us on, but she stays, eying the Demon in the cage. I look at her. Some of the crowd that was cheering our passing has broken away and is jeering and shouting at him. They look angry. Some have rocks.

“What’s a Fearless? Why is he here?”

The Drake shrugs.

“Search me. It’s one of the things you Humans do. Sorry, I mean, the people of the Blighted Kingdom do. They like reminding themselves what the enemy looks like, I guess. Drakes, we just kill our enemies. But it’s worth memorizing these guys. Know what a Fearless is?”

“No.”

One of the people in front, a young woman, hurls a stone. It glances off the bars of the cage. A bad throw. But more start throwing stones. The Fearless sits there, not moving an inch. A rock strikes his shoulder, drawing a bit of blood. The crowd cheers. But the Demon doesn’t look afraid. Not at all. A look of irritation flashes over his face and he covers his face with one hand.

“Fearless are a type of Demon. They have a class. Well, I say class, but it’s more like an addition to their normal class. [Fearless Warrior], [Fearless Mage], get it? And the class does exactly what you’d think. They can’t feel fear. Not at all.”

I stare at the Demon. He’s got scars all over his body, beneath the fur. From the look of it, he’s been stoned before. Badly. But when the hail of rocks subsides a bit, he lowers his hand and stares around, and his eyes do indeed contain no fear.

That makes the crowd lose some of their rage. If the Demon was defiant, or raging at them, they might have kept going. But this Fearless…it’s one thing to master your fear. But another to have none. It’s…unnatural.

I can see it in the way the Demon moves, the way he looks around. He’s wary of the rocks, of being blinded or hurt. He doesn’t like the pain. But he doesn’t fear it either. And he doesn’t fear death. The Fearless stares around, watchful, calculating.

Then he looks at me. He stares at me and Cirille. She glares at him. I shudder and look away. We walk away as the Fearless sits in his cage, rejoining the procession.

You and he are the same. Don’t deny it.

Ignore the voice. I turn to Cirille as we catch up with the others. Richard’s ahead, trying to get Cynthia to calm down before she has a panic attack.

“So that’s a type of Demon? There are lots of them like him?”

“Dead gods, I hope not.”

Cirille shudders, her tail twitching as she walks briskly ahead of me.

“They’re more like shock troopers. Each one’s a dangerous fighter who’s not afraid to die, and they’ll charge through killing grounds if they have to. They’re not idiots, but they’re willing to die to take you with them. The Demon King uses them when he wants to win. I don’t know how many people that one killed, but I’d rather see him dead than in a cage.”

We pass by a street that looks like it leads to some kind of fantastical bazaar, and then one devoted entirely to food. I stare at a cut of dark grey meat and point it out to Cirille. She looks sideways at it and one of the soldiers at the back of the parade mutters. She shakes her head.

“Demon meat.”

“Demon—”

I break off, not wanting to startle my companions ahead of me. Cirille looks uneasy and shakes her head before lowering her voice.

“They eat Demons here. I don’t like it, but that’s how it works. See the fellow buying? That’s one of the [Flesh Reapers]. Don’t bother them.”

I see a hooded figure with long, long arms reaching for a dripping package from the stony-faced [Butcher].

Mm. Tasty. Try some. I’m sure you could get a sample.

I shudder and hurry on.

In the end, our parade reaches the gates of the palace without more incident. I pretty much tune out the cheering. It might be meant for me, but I can’t find any pleasure in it.

Would it help if they were screaming?

And I’m—distracted. I always am. Cirille sees us off at the gates as the Drake [Soldiers] stand at attention. One of them yawns widely until the guy next to her elbows her in the side.

“Here we are. I might see you inside at the banquet tonight. Anyone with any kind of nobility or a title gets invited. Look for the Drakes if you want to find me.”

She nods, and Richard shakes her hand again. She walks past me, and the Drakes depart. The rest of us stare up at the gate. It’s massive, and beyond it, a huge courtyard leads up to the palace of the Blighted King. A staircase stretches from the courtyard to the palace gates, and the citadel rises higher, so high it feels like it’s touching the clouds.

We stayed here, once. We will again. This time, I wonder if we’re wiser, or if the Blighted King will see more of what he wants in us. I don’t know. And I am afraid.

He scares me. Being here scares me. But what scares me most is the little voice I can’t get rid of. It whispers as we walk through the gates.

Welcome home.

 

—-

 

His name is Nereshal. With a name like that, he should be tall, lean, with a strong face, perhaps an Egyptian-style nose, long and sharp, and piercing features. He’s not. Instead, he’s rather short, slightly overweight, although not as heavy as I am, and his nose isn’t nearly that pronounced.

But his eyes are piercing. They have the cold, detached look I’ve seen before, in the eyes of the soldiers escorting us. The eyes of someone who’s seen war. And he wears dark grey robes lined with silver that don’t quite hide the scars on his arms and left hand.

He lectures us as he leads us through the palace on a tour.

“You may recall the rules for staying here from your previous visits, but it is my duty to remind you of the laws of the Kingdom. Specifically, about magic.”

We pass by countless rooms, meant for sleeping, eating, training, planning battle, or just as diversions. Rooms filled with treasures, a room full of huge, floor-to-wall mirrors without a single flaw, a room filled with bright lights that hover around randomly—countless wonders, treasures of the Blighted King. His palace is rich, even if the people who live on the edges of his Kingdom can barely eat.

We pass all of it by as Nereshal lectures us. He points to a glowing light the size of my head, placed just above head height in the corridor we’re walking down. Without it, the enclosed palace would be dark as night. There are few windows, and the passageways throughout the place are a labyrinth unto themselves, especially given how large the palace is. It could hold several lesser castles easily.

“Mage lights. By law, no outdoor area in Paranfer may be dark at night. To prevent assassins and spies from entering the city as well as crime. That goes for within the palace as well. They are impossible to disrupt by accident, but note that tampering with them is a crime.”

“Like failing to present arms when ordered, obeying a guard, yeah, yeah, what’s not a crime around here?”

Nereshal stops abruptly and turns to Eddy. I groan and Richard glares at him. Eddy raises his hands.

“What? I’m just saying.”

He never knows when to shut up. Now Nereshal stares at him, and Eddy’s grin slips a bit.

“Okay, it’s serious.”

“You do not seem to understand that. You are guests of his majesty, not arrogant [Princes]. You do not have the authority to order around servants. And I am no servant.”

“I just—”

“Be silent.”

Nereshal’s hand reaches out. He doesn’t tap Eddy, but whatever Eddy was about to say is cut off. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen. He tries to speak, I know he does. His mouth begins to close, incredibly slowly. Panicked, Eddy’s hands feel at his mouth, quickly searching around his face.

“What did you do to him?”

Richard interposes himself between Nereshal and Eddy, looking concerned and angry. The [Mage] glances at Richard.

“I slowed the passage of time around his mouth. It will wear off. And he will learn to mind his manners here.”

There’s a pause as everyone stares at him. Vincent’s voice raises in disbelief.

“You’re a time mage?

“I thought time magic was impossible!”

Emily, our highest-level [Mage], stares at Nereshal. So do I. I don’t remember him from our first time here, but then, it was a blur to me. Nereshal nods coldly.

“Lesser [Mages] may believe so. But the magic of time is another form of power, and the Blighted Kingdom demands all forms of magic in its defense.”

“What can you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Richard looks at Nereshal, once it becomes clear that Eddy’s mouth is the only thing affected. The [Mage] strides onwards, speaking quickly and precisely.

“I can speed up a flight of arrows or slow an enemy’s charge. I can hasten a weather front moving in, or slow the collapse of a wall. But I remain here for my most important duty.”

“Which is?”

He glances over his shoulder with those cold eyes.

“Preventing the aging of the Blighted King. So he may rule a month, a year, a decade longer. Until I am released from my duties here, I also act as his steward. Take heed of my warnings. If you are found violating any of the laws, the guards who patrol may not wait for explanations. And if you survive that, I will administer a fitting punishment.”

No one has much to say about that. I glance around the group. I’m at the back, since everyone else gets nervous when they stand next to me. We’re definitely not getting treated like we did before. Which might be a good thing.

“Are there any other rules we might break by accident, Sir?”

Richard speaks to Nereshal as he leads us to our rooms, a series of individual bedrooms in a far wing of the palace. The [Mage] considers this.

“I note that two of you seem to have become to be decent [Mages] in the time since your last stay here. Do any of you know any form of teleportation spell? I caution you not to try casting the spell while staying here.”

“No. No one knows the spell. Why?”

Nereshal gestures to one of the walls. In parts of the castle, the stones are rough and thick, and the corridors narrow. In others, they’re wide open and sweeping, a sign of polished craftsmanship. But everywhere I can feel a faint tingle that makes me feel as though there’s serious magic here.

Or it’s just in your head.

“Teleportation magic is strictly prohibited around the castle. It is also impossible. An enchantment prohibits teleportation magic of any kind around the castle and city itself. I doubt there are many rules you will break by accident, but remember what I have said.”

He eyes Eddy and his fingers twitch. Eddy gasps as his jaw finally closes, and he keeps his mouth shut, looking pale. The [Mage] turns towards Richard.

“Your presence is requested at tonight’s feast. Clothing will be sent to your rooms. There will be a selection. Shortly thereafter, servants will appear to guide you to the banquet hall.”

“Right.”

Richard hesitates. He looks at Nereshal.

“Should we…prepare? Will we be expected to bow, or…?”

“Deference is expected. Etiquette is not. Your last visit made that clear. However, you may be expected to stand before his majesty, in which case you will speak with respect.”

“What does he—what does his majesty want with us?”

“To appraise your worth.”

A single line, cold and indelicate as the winter we lived through. The [Mage] looks at Richard, and then at Emily.

“I am told two of your number reached Level 30. That is a marker of respect in our kingdom, and you will be accorded its due so long as you protect the realm. You have changed since you were ordered to the front. That is good. As for the other reason why his majesty ordered your return…”

His eyes linger on me. I feel a pang of fear in my chest.

“His majesty is interested in confirming the rumors of your success for his own eyes. I trust he will not be disappointed.”

His eyes stare right through me. I look away, as the whispering in my head grows louder. The Blighted King knows about me? Of course he does. And he’s expecting a hero. Or maybe just a warrior.

I think he’ll be disappointed. I hope he will be.

 

—-

 

The banquet is the kind of thing you’d see in a fantasy movie. Big. Magical. And in a room so large and ornate, it can hold a thousand or more diners. Thousands? I’m no good with counting.

And there’s so much to see! Rich nobles sit at long tables, talking with foreign dignitaries of various species. I can see Drakes, the similar yet very different Lizardfolk, strange armored people whose heads seemed to detach like the Headless Horseman…creatures I recognize, like Centaurs and Minotaurs. There’s a Minotaur in a suit, chatting with some huge, furry creature that reminds me a bit of Chewbacca crossed with a dog. A Gnoll, apparently.

Some sit, others stand and talk, like they’re at a cocktail party for the rich and powerful. Wait, that’s what this is, isn’t it? There’s music, entertainment for the kids from mages and more conventional sources—even a guy in a bright outfit, doing pratfalls to amuse a cluster of children. They’re all dressed like royalty.

Especially the royalty. The Blighted King and his Queen sit at one end of the room, at a table with a chair that’s practically a throne in itself. But it isn’t the throne; I’ve seen the throne and that thing is scary. This chair is merely ornate and golden.

The room hums with energy, and projects the kind of richness and power that makes me tremble in my boots. I don’t belong here. Not me, a kid born of a working class family. But I tremble for other reasons when I look at the Blighted King from afar.

“You may conduct your affairs for the feast as you wish. His majesty only requests that you stay within his presence until you are summoned or given leave to go.”

One of the lesser [Chamberlains] serving underneath Nereshal speaks to our stunned group. We, the children from another world, stare at him, and then hesitantly step into the room. We’ve been here before. We were feasted at the Blighted King’s own table, once. But that was a lifetime ago, when the world was still magical.

When we were still all [Heroes]. I’m not. I gave it up and lost the class when I refused to fight, to answer the people’s calls. Richard still has it. So does Emily and a few others. But they’re not real heroes.

Some of the warriors sitting at the table look like heroes, though. They wear shining armor, and those who are dressed for pleasure rather than war still move with unnatural grace. The Blighted King has [Knights] and champions of countless classes of his own. I see Richard looking nervous. He was allowed to keep his sword—a mark of respect, I guess, but I doubt he’d draw it under any situation.

There are guards at the Blighted King’s table, watchful figures, not all of whom carry swords. Several of them glanced at us when we were announced. Several of them glanced at me.

So did the King. It was just a flick of the eyes before he turned away, but it confirmed what we all knew. He’ll want to speak with us. The thought makes some, like Cynthia, afraid to join the feast. Others, like Richard, are made of sterner stuff.

“Come on, let’s join the feast.”

He says it, but no one moves. The [Chamberlain] coughs gently. But no one wants to walk out into that magnificent display and attract any attention for themselves.

I could. Perhaps. But the urging in my mind might make that a bad idea. Part of me wants to stride out there, shout, laugh and cartwheel if I can even pull that off, and make a spectacle. To clown in short. To lose control.

Make them laugh, Tom. Let go for a second. You know you want to.

Nope. I’m not making the first move. But someone has to. A woman dressed all in red sweeps by our group, glass in hand. She looks…melancholy. And determined to hide it. She has a presence that makes half the guys and girls in our group go weak at the knees. Mine are fine.

You’d go weak at the knees if she stabbed you. Or you stabbed her.

You’d never see the blood, as bright as her gown is. I bite the inside of my lip. Emily squeaks.

“Who is that?

The [Chamberlain], looking put upon, gently prods Vincent forwards a bit and speaks softly.

“That is [Lady] Theras. If you would like to enter and speak with her, please understand she is in mourning, hence the red dress.”

“Red? Why, what does that mean?”

Everyone looks at the [Chamberlain]. He pauses awkwardly, clearly not wanting to say, and then realizes he has to. He clears his throat again.

“Miscarriage. [Lady] Theras and her sister, the [Lady] Zekryia, both lost their children unexpectedly three months ago. They have been in mourning ever since.”

“Oh.”

Instantly, most of us shuffled our feet and look at our dress shoes. Eddy chooses this moment to speak. He’d been doing great after meeting Nereshal.

“So they wear red if they’re in mourning. After three months?”

“This is correct. Sir.”

“Weird.”

“What’s weird about that, Eddy?”

Emily and a few girls turn to stare at Eddy. He grimaces.

“It’s just that I didn’t think they’d be so open about it, you know? And it’s been three months…”

“So? What’s wrong with that? Why can’t she be open about it?”

Chole glares at him. Eddy shrugs helplessly. He seems to realize he’s put his foot in it again.

“I dunno. It’s weird, right?”

He looks around. I try not to meet his eye.

“It’s not her fault.”

He shrinks back a bit from Chole’s glare.

“Well, yeah, but…”

He doesn’t have more than that. Uncomfortable, he looks away. I mentally shake my head. Where were you going with that one, Eddy?

He must not like dead babies. At least they’re quieter than live ones, right?

After another second, Chole turns away from Eddy and walks over to [Lady] Theras. She starts talking to the woman, and the surprised older lady sets down her drink to talk with her. That’s the cue for our group to break up.

We enter the banquet. And it swallows us. In a few minutes, I find myself at a table. We’re sitting with Cirille, since she’s the only one we recognized. She and a couple of Drakes seem only too happy to have company to talk to. And there’s quite a bit of food for me to distract myself by eating.

Jellied fruits, sweet breads, cuts of meat dripping with blood and finely grilled, vegetables of every shape and color…the wrong thing for anyone on a diet. Since I’ve lost at least thirty pounds from not wanting to eat, I don’t care and dig in anyways. Beside me, Cirille is talking to Keith about something called the Walled Cities, and a problem with some species called the Antinium. And apparently there’s a problem with a…Goblin Lord?

I’m only half listening. Food is one of the things that usually grants me a reprieve, but I’m—struggling. With myself. I have a selection of spoons to use, and one of them, one with an edged front, like a spork, has caught my eye.

Go on. Pick up the spoon.

I stare at it. I want to. I can see myself picking up the spoon, and then gouging Keith’s eye out. Or my own. A spoon. What a convenient weapon. But everything’s convenient when you use it right.

Wrong. Use it wrong. It’s just a thought.

Take it.

I stare at my right hand. It doesn’t move. I deliberately raise it, take the spoon, and dip it into my soup. I chose soup to start with. It’s delicious. I barely taste it.

You are insane.

“‘Mnot.”

“What, Tom?”

Keith looks over. He sat himself so that Cirille was between him and me. I shake my head and he looks…nervous. That annoys me.

All of the guys and girls can’t stand to be around me anymore. Not after the village. I know what they saw. Of course I do! But can’t they pretend? Can’t they—at least Richard tries. The rest jump if I so much as sneeze. Cynthia won’t be in the same room with me.

A [Clown]. I chose the class on a lark, because I thought—

I thought this might happen. But I didn’t expect it to happen like this. I thought I might be able to get powers.

You wanted to be an insane clown and didn’t want the insanity? Hah! That is a good joke. Now stab Keith in his treacherous little eye. Go on. You picked up the spoon, didn’t you?

God, maybe I am insane. I keep having the same thoughts, over and over in my head. Isn’t that the first sign of insanity?

That’s not insanity, you idiot.

Yes it is. Einstein said that. I think.

Across the table, Richard is talking with Emily. She’s flirting. I think he might be as well. Or perhaps he’s oblivious. They’re a couple, at least in some sense of the word, but it’s not official. If there is an official. I don’t think they’ve had sex yet. News would spread quickly in our tight knit circle.

Lonely Tom. Why don’t you try your luck? I’m sure Emily would get to love you. If you held a knife to her throat. Why bother with that? Just kill her. Throw the spoon.

[Unerring Throw]. How hard could I toss it?

Just a thought. They’re just…thoughts. They pass by, and it doesn’t mean I’ll act on them. But does everyone have these murderous ideas? I have to distract myself. I push the bowl back and put the spoon in it, probably committing a major breach of etiquette.

“Hey, so what’s this I’m hearing about a war with the Goblins?”

Cirille turns towards me. Across from her, a Drake with red scales slams his fist onto the table, making my bowl of soup jump.

“It’s a crime, that’s what! Garusa Weatherfur and Thrissiam Blackwing are dead! Two of our finest [Generals] and over twenty thousand good Gnolls and Drakes, gone, and for what? Because those bickering bastards couldn’t field a larger army? We could have sent three times that number! And I heard that vital intelligence wasn’t even passed on to them! The Goblin Lord uses undead, and no one thought to pass off that tidbit to either [General]! Some [Mage] bastard or low-level [Scribe] thought it wasn’t important information when it came from Zel Shivertail himself!

He grabs a goblet and drains it, ignoring the looks he was getting from further up and down the table. The Drake raises his voice, cutting above the local babble of voices.

“It’s bloody infighting that’s killing us, when we should be cutting the Goblin Lord off at the knees and then banding together against those blasted Humans—not you lot, the ones from the north—or the Antinium! We don’t have time to spend infighting. Hah, I’m beginning to see why Shivertail doesn’t spend his time in politics if all the eggheads back home can’t defeat a damn Goblin!”

His companions try to placate the angry Drake. I’m pleased. This is a good distraction.

“It sounds like they’re not that competent.”

“You’re telling me?”

The Drake turns one bloodshot eye to me. I can sense his tail lashing the ground angrily underneath the table.

“Every year we send an army to pound the Humans, and every year they send one down to the Blood Fields. We tear each other apart, killing thousands like clockwork, then march on back and say what a glorious victory we had! On both sides! Either invade and start tearing down cities or make peace already! Don’t waste our soldiers’ lives when there’s real wars to be fought!”

His speech got voices of approval from some of the other Drakes at the table. Cirille rolled her eyes and twitched her wings as if she’d heard the same griping many times before. I nod, trying to keep the Drake talking. It slips out before I can help it.

“Yeah, exactly. That’s insane. Insanity’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right? That’s the definition of it, anyways.”

I freeze. I didn’t mean to ask. It was just a thought in my head! I sense every head, every person from my world, stop talking and turn to look at me. They stare. There’s fear in some eyes.

“Yeah, well you’d know, right Tom?”

Eddy says that. Good old Eddy, breaking the sudden silence. The others laugh, a bit too loudly. Cirille rolls her eyes and flicks her tail.

“Tell that to my superiors. They’re happy enough to send a few thousand soldiers over here to get combat experience, never mind the losses.”

“That’s different. That’s…that’s important. This war has to be won. Can’t expect to make peace with Demons. Not those bastards. Lost a detachment to the Fearless the other day. Crazy bastards ran right onto my [Pikemen].”

The Drake who’d been so angry slumps into his chair morosely. Talk turns elsewhere. I relax a bit, only to shoot up when I sense Keith poking me. I turn.

“What?”

“Tom, that’s just a myth. Einstein never said that.”

“Said? Said what?”

“Insanity. You know, doing the same thing over and over? That’s not the actual definition, you know.”

My blood runs cold.

“What? No it is.”

He shakes his head.

“People assume Einstein said it, but that’s just a myth. Trust me, my professor loved to talk about laws. Insanity isn’t a real medical condition. It’s a legal term. It means…well, it’s a defense people used. If you’re insane you can’t be held responsible for breaking the law. Medically, it doesn’t really exist anymore. It doesn’t make sense.”

That’s not the definition. I was wrong. And he—I—

I was wrong.

Keith nods towards me, helpful, oblivious. I stare at him with a grin frozen on my face until I realize what I’m doing. I turn back, staring at my cooled bowl of soup and not seeing it. Inside my chest, my heart’s suddenly beating all too fast.

How did he know? No—I must have known. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. I must have known and subconsciously—

It’s me in here. Just me. And the voice is just a voice.

Are you crazy? Or am I real? Am I something else? How would I know that, Tom? Who am I?

Who are you?

I sit in my chair, sit, as the world greys out around me. It must be me. It has to be me. I went crazy back then and I might be crazy now. But I can’t let it be anyone else. Even if it is. Because if I don’t take responsibility for my actions, I really will go crazy. I’ll use that as an excuse. It’s always been me. If it’s not—

Then who’s in here with me?

“Tom? Tom!

Someone’s hissing at me, shaking me. I look up. I was sitting for so long that I didn’t notice the room go silent. I didn’t hear, and I didn’t realize everyone around me was standing up. I look around and see Richard shaking my shoulder, face pale.

I look up, and at the head of the room, the Blighted King is on his feet. He is staring towards our table, towards us. And his eyes are locked on me.

Slowly, I rise. By his side, the [Chronomancer], the mage Nereshal beckons. We slowly leave our table and file towards the Blighted King. I stare at him.

I am afraid. But not of him. I break out into a cold sweat as I approach him, one of the most powerful men in the world, the one who summoned us here. Not because of his presence, not because of the armed guards who stand next to him, or his stare that weighs us like ants. I do not fear him.

But there is someone laughing in my head. And I am terribly afraid that person isn’t me.

 


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1.03 C

The Blighted King has a presence. It weighs down on me as I walk forwards. The silent feasting hall is too long, and the few of us have to walk past the watching guests, hearts pounding.

And as we approach the front of the room, I feel it. The King sits at his table, next to a tall woman who dwarfs him with her stature. But he is like a rock, too heavy. His very existence weighs us down, makes me feel—

Gassy?

I can remember the first time I stood in front of him. Then it was like being crushed as he looked at us. Now, it is different.

Around me, the others shudder. I see Emily’s face go pale, Keith start sweating, Cynthia’s eyes roll wildly in her head, and Richard clench his jaw. They are being crushed. I walk, feeling my shoulders ache. It’s…heavy.

That’s all.

We stop, in a ragged line in the steps leading up to the raised area where he is seated. The King looks down at us. We meet again.

There is no love in his gaze, no sense of familiarity. He weighs us with eyes that seem like scales, measuring our worth. Most of us stare at our feet, or at some other part of the room. Some are shaking. I look at the Blighted King. I can’t be afraid of him. Not like I was.

Does that make me strange? I’m certainly alone from the others. I can feel it, but I can’t help it. Fear’s another one of those things I lost. I’m not afraid of people with swords. I’m not happy about being stabbed, but they can’t scare me.

I scare me.

“So. The heroes of prophecy return. Diminished.”

The Blighted King speaks at last. His voice echoes through the chamber. It’s not grand. It’s not particularly wise. It’s just an old man’s voice, tired. I stare at him and see few grey hairs in his beard. But he is old. He sounds like it. I wonder how long Nereshal has been keeping him young.

Here sits a monster. Ageless. And here stands a monster. Can he see it in you, Tom? Or is this King as worthless as the land he rules?

The King’s eyes flick towards me for a second, and then towards Richard and Emily.

“We have been told that two of your number have reached Level 30. A commendable achievement in such a short time.”

“Miraculous.”

The whisper comes from the Blighted Queen. She’s younger than the King, but her towering height makes her seem older. I stare at her. She can’t be more than thirty, while he…

“But so many have been lost. We sent over sixty of you to do battle against the Demons. Now less than a third remain.”

“That wasn’t our fault! We told you, we’re not warriors. We—”

Emily raises her voice and chokes as the Blighted King’s gaze falls on her. He nods, once.

“So you have said. But some of you are warriors. The rest have seen the threat which imperils our nation. Nay, the very world itself. Would you hide behind walls my people have died for, deny your purpose still?”

“Not me. I’ll fight. But we can’t all be held to the same standard, your Majesty.”

This time it’s Richard who speaks. The Blighted King weighs his words and nods.

“One has reached Level 30 in three months. A [Knight] he stands, sworn against darkness. Yet no [Lord] or [Lady] has given him a title. Another, a [Mage] of water has taught herself. Miraculous feats, as our lady says.”

The Blighted King looks across our group, at frightened faces. He pauses.

“You will have a place in our halls, and your companions food and my protection so long as you hold back the scourge of darkness. But we have heard of one more. A champion who defended our people. A warrior who slew a Demon raiding party single-handed.”

His eyes move to me. I feel a chill.

“You. Step forwards.”

I can see Richard and Emily both staring at me, worried, out of the corners of their eyes. I take a step forwards and sense the eyes of everyone in the hall on me. Oh boy.

Want me to tell them a joke? How about a magic trick?

My lips twitch. I try not to smile. I don’t feel afraid. Rather, in this moment as the Blighted King stares at me, some strange, perverse side of me wants to fart, or laugh. He’s so serious. Everyone is. They hang on his words. Whereas I—

Get the joke.

The hilarity vanishes. I feel cold. No, it’s not funny. The Blighted King certainly doesn’t find me amusing. He frowns.

“We recall thee from before. Who art thou? What is your class? [Warrior]? [Mage]? [Rogue]?”

“None of those, your Majesty. I’m—I’m a [Clown]. Not a fighter, actually.”

He stares at me. I hear Cynthia begin to giggle, a mad, hysterical cackle which cuts off quickly. The King looks confused.

“What class is this?”

“One from our world, your Highness. Tom is an—an entertainer. Someone who makes people laugh. Clowns aren’t fighters. They’re…”

Emily trails off, unable to explain what I am. The King exchanges a slow glance with his Queen. I can sense people’s eyes fixed on my back. I know I look ordinary. I don’t have my face paint on, or a rubber nose or the oversized shoes I made. I’m not juggling or wearing a silly grin. I have nothing to prove I have a funny class in any way.

You have me. You always have me.

“An entertainer? How did you slay a war band of Demons, then? Speak.”

He looks at me and I feel heavier. That’s all. And perhaps it’s the devil in my chest, but I don’t want to answer. So I shrug.

“Luck, I guess. Your Majesty. I don’t know how exactly. But that’s what us summoned heroes are supposed to do, right? I got…lucky. But I am no warrior. Sorry about that.”

I hear a hiss and see Richard wince. The Blighted King fixes me with a look that tells me he’s annoyed.

“So you claim. But if thou art an entertainer, prove it.”

“What?”

He leans back in his chair that’s like and unlike a throne and gestures.

“Perform, [Clown]. Show the court the tricks of your profession. Make us laugh.”

Oh boy. Now everyone’s staring at me, and I suddenly find myself on the spot. I glance around uncertainly and see Richard giving me a pale-faced look. Emily’s standing back and half of the others are trying to pretend they don’t know me.

I don’t have my makeup, my props—but I can tell there’s no point protesting or making excuses. So I sigh and flick my wrist. A bright red ball, stuffed with dried beans to make it round, appears in my hand. I hear a murmur and someone at the head table sits up.

My heart isn’t pounding. I feel embarrassed and sure I’m about to make an idiot out of myself, but I’m not afraid. Why? Why not?

No, this is normal. It’s because I’ve seen worse than this. Far worse. What’s a few minutes of humiliation?

I hold the red ball up, and I sense a thousand pairs of eyes on me. Now I do smile, at the ludicrous nature of this. I’m no famous performer. I’m self-taught, and badly at that! I couldn’t make a bunch of village kids laugh. But here I am, about to perform before the Blighted King. Okay, that is funny.

Wilen, this is for you. Red ball in hand, I flick my other hand and a blue one appears. I hear a soft gasp, from the Blighted King’s table, but nowhere else.

That’s right. I can make things appear and disappear at will. I can also make objects vanish, pull the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick with objects too large to hide. Because I have a pocket space.

It’s two Skills, actually. [Sleight of Hand] and [Trick Space]. One allows me to do stupid tricks like you’d see card magicians do if I had a deck of cards, and the other gives me an invisible space around my body I can pull objects out of and put into. I keep three balls there. The third comes out, yellow and worn.

A second gasp. Who’s making that sound? For the first time I wrench my gaze away from the Blighted King and to his left. I see a young woman, not more than…sixteen perhaps, sitting tall at his side, wearing a sparkling circlet made of dark metal. And sitting next to her, on a cushion to let her actually reach her plate on the table—

A young girl. A [Princess], no doubt. Her dress is bright green and white, and she’s very pretty in that way kids are. Her eyes are wide as they fix on the balls in my hand. A child. I saw her laughing at the guy doing pratfalls earlier. I give her a small bow. Hope this entertains you at least, kid.

It’s not. You suck.

Shut up. I begin tossing the balls up in the air, juggling them quickly. It’s hard to do three balls at once. I know that tells you how much I suck, but I had to practice a long time to get to that level. [Sleight of Hand] doesn’t work with juggling and I don’t have a Skill.

I really need one. At least [Unerring Throw] lets me decide where the balls come down. Hey, I might be able to do four balls this way! Too bad I don’t have four balls.

The room watches me juggle, and I see the young [Princess] brighten and nearly clap her hands as I start juggling the balls high into the air. The older girl, another [Princess] probably, stops her. Everyone watches as I juggle.

And watches.

And watches…

After a few seconds they realize that’s all I’m going to do. Yes, that’s right. I can feel the Blighted King’s gaze boring into me. What? Do you want me to do pins? I can juggle pins too, but my act has been pratfalls, juggling, and terrible jokes. And I think that if I tried to trip over his table, I’d be skewered.

So I’m giving him a terrible performance. I was planning on just juggling until he stopped me, but then it happens. I hear a sound.

♪Doo doo doodle do do doo doo doot~♫

Oh god. The music. It’s been too long since I heard it play. I could live for the rest of my life without it. I sense a shift when it goes off, and hear a muffled sound from the others standing around me. The rest of the room just stares, uncomprehending.

Clown music. Silly, stupid. It fills the grand room, playing stupidly. Only with a twist. There’s laughter, too. Someone’s laughing.

And it’s not anyone in this room. I nearly drop a ball, making it vanish before tossing it back up in the air as the laughter plays with the music. There’s a spectral audience now, laughing voices, as if I really am at a circus.

That’s not what scares me, though. I hear one of the voices laughing. And it’s my own. It laughs and laughs, until I stop juggling.

This time, the silence is different. I make all three balls vanish and bow silently. The [Princess] looks vaguely entertained. Everyone else does not. But the music. Ah, the music. I look sideways and see Richard staring at me with a pale face.

Everyone, all of the other young men and women from my world are giving me the same look. They remember. And the music scares them.

That doesn’t escape the attention of the Blighted King. He stares at me, and then at the others. How much does he actually know about what I did? He waits, until he realizes I’m not doing anything else.

“Continue, [Clown].”

“Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”

“That?”

His eyebrows raise. He looks incredulous. I nod, waiting for him to tell me I’m a fraud or whatever. I don’t want to hear that sound ever again. But then someone else bellows into the silence.

Ridiculous!

The word makes me jump. I see Richard jump, Emily turn white—Cynthia screams, predictably. A flash of color brushes against me to my left, and someone pushes me out of the way.

Not roughly, not hard, but with force, so I go sprawling onto the floor. I look up and see a face full of outrage, a splash of yellow and red, and…blue?

A man wearing a silly costume is staring at me. A small man, so a small costume, but one decorated with so many eye-catching colors it’s almost painful to look at. I say almost, because the effect makes him ridiculous, rather than completely annoying. And his face is screwed up with a look of comical outrage.

Buffoon! Imbecile! You think a poor performance like that is worthy of the Blighted King, ruler of all he surveys, terror of the royal banquet, especially the poultry pies? How dare you, sir. Poor performances are my business!”

I try to get up, and he kicks my legs out from under me. I roll, and he throws himself on me with a cry of rage.

“What? Get off. Who are—”

There’s a chuckle, a current of mirth through the room. The man stops beating me gently with his fists and gets up, looking indignant. He bows to the Blighted King.

“Sire, I beg to show this interloper the true meaning of comedy! A hero’s one thing, but a [Clown]? I’d let a warrior take my place any day with thanks, but there can be only one fool here, and that is I, the Fool!”

He strikes an arrogant pose, managing somehow to bump me over a third time with a hip. For such a small guy, he’s got so much force behind him! And it doesn’t hurt when he hit me. Not at all.

The Blighted King doesn’t exactly smile, but his lips do twitch.

“Fool. You wish to perform?”

“Absolutely, your Majesty! A [Fool] is ten times, nay a thousand times more pitiful than a [Clown], yet twice his equal, as I shall now prove! Observe my juggling, if you would, dear guests of the court!”

His voice is like a stage announcer’s, only he doesn’t need a microphone. The Fool turns, all eyes on him, and flourishes. He produces a colorful ball from somewhere like I did, only this one’s higher quality and shines in the light. He tosses it up—and six more follow it.

Six. So seven are in the air at once. I hear a gasp, and then the Fool juggles them into a double weave, his hands moving so quickly I can barely see them. He bumps me again as I try to step back to give him room, and then seems to concentrate.

“Lords and ladies, men and women, little girls who are up past their bedtime, this is what a [Fool] does! He juggles, he dances—”

The Fool spins around, catching the balls and juggling them as he twirls. He glares at me as he stops, his voice ringing.

“And he is the font of dignity, not like some sad [Clown]! How dare you, sir!”

He turns away, and then farts with a noise that can’t be real. I hear a peal of laughter from the [Princess] and surprised laughs from around the room. But I’m not in a position to laugh myself. The smell is real. I stumble backwards, coughing.

“Oh god. It stinks.”

And now there’s more laughter. I gag a bit as the Fool who’s also a [Fool] continues juggling, and then turns to me again, full of more fake wrath.

“You’re clearly trying to seek my job! My job! What will I do if my King casts me out? I should duel you right now for the dishonor of it! Have at thee!

And then he starts bouncing the balls off my face as he juggles. The entire hall roars with laughter. I hold still. Contrary to what I’d hoped, the balls are made of rough leather and they hurt quite a bit, since he has to throw them hard enough to bounce back.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Hey, that was my nose.”

It’s easy to play along with him. He’s an expert. My deadpan commentary makes the young [Princess] nearly fall over in a fit of giggles. The Fool grins widely at me and then turns, catching the last of the balls.

“A [Fool]’s master to none and ridiculed by all, but a [Clown]!? There’s no room for two idiots in Rhir! I challenge you for the top position on the bottom, sir! En garde!”

He catches all the balls, bounces the last one off his left hip into my face, and then charges. Halfway towards me, he stumbles on nothing, slips, and crashes into both of us, sending me to the ground again.

“Ow.”

The Fool groans loudly, and then gets up, swinging at me and missing. He’s a master. A serious master of comedic timing, and he manages to move about me and take advantage of my presence to make everything funnier. In a few moments I’m lying on top of him, and he’s gasping for life, pulling himself away, and then charging at me with a goblet of wine that he somehow manages to get all over me before slipping in a puddle and knocking himself out on the floor.

The hall roars with laughter by the time he’s done. I’m drenched in wine, bits of food, and the shreds of my dignity. Not that I had any left to begin with.

I wipe a few stinging drops of wine out of my eyes as the [Fool] retreats, still making fists at me. At the head table, the youngest [Princess] is red-faced and nearly in tears with laughter. Even the Blighted King seems happier—although he never laughed once. He gestures towards the Fool with a nod.

“Clearly amusing. Fool, you are as always diverting in times of crisis. Thomas the [Clown]…we offer you thanks for the entertainment as well.”

His face says that I’m a freshly squeezed turd that he found on his dinner plate. The Blighted King looks away from me and at Richard and the others. He seems to sigh.

“Very well. We shall ask for a demonstration of your Skills later, Sir Richard, and of you, Lady Emily. Be welcome in our palace until then. We hope you will not betray the hopes we place on you, brave heroes from another world.”

And like that it’s over. The Blighted King motions and I trudge back to my seat with the rest of my group. Conversation resumes, mostly laughter at my expense or speculation as people eye us. The Blighted King turns to his wife and they exchange a few quiet words in their seats.

I sit down, conscious of every eye on me. Cirille gives me an odd look, and then offers me a cloth to wipe my face with. I accept it, get most of the wine off, and notice Richard and the others looking at me. I smile crookedly.

“Yeah, they’re going to kick us out tomorrow. Maybe tonight.”

 

—-

 

I’m wrong about that. I usually am, which is a relief in this case. Especially to the others. Nereshal doesn’t guide us back to our rooms after the banquet himself; rather, the [Chamberlain] provides us with a few servants to show us the way.

Everyone’s relieved to know we have a roof over our heads for the night. Indeed, separate rooms for all of us, no matter how small, is a luxury we’ve missed the entire winter. Some of the girls look so relieved to have a private space I think they could cry. We guys are obviously too stoic for that, of course.

There’s a lot of chatter about what the Blighted King wants, as well. Richard’s room and Emily’s are the largest, so over ten of us end up crammed into there. I listen as they begin talking, arguing, really.

“Do you think we can stay here forever?”

“Maybe you guys can if you get other classes, but I bet he’ll make those of us with combat classes go fight soon enough.”

“I’m fine with that. I just want a break.”

“I think we can get at least a week or two.”

Richard says that firmly, as he sits next to Emily. She’s fiddling with a laptop. It’s not hers. It belonged to a girl who died. I think her name was Rachel?

Reyanne. You don’t remember her face, do you?

Anyways. The laptop glows with power. Emily’s got it playing a song in the background. I don’t recognize the lyrics—it’s some kind of Spanish song, I think. Rachel—Reyanne had different tastes.

The laptop’s one of our treasures. We don’t have that many electronics between us all. Some were lost when we were attacked. Others were stolen, lost…and we didn’t realize we could [Repair] them until later. Now everyone shares electronics, except for Emily who gets the laptop at all times.

Music, movies…I’ve watched the entire fifth season Red vs Blue that Eddy had on his Android phone at least sixteen times by now. We all cling to what we have left.

But it’s the iPhone that Richard carries that really matters. He stares at it, speaking out loud.

“I’d rather talk to the others again if I can, no matter how risky it is. But I haven’t gotten a call from [BlackMage] again, and I have no idea how to call him back.”

“Can we ask one of the mages here for help? They might know the people at Wistram.”

Cynthia looks desperate. Richard pauses before shaking his head.

“Too risky.”

“But—”

“We can’t necessarily trust them. What if they take away the iPhone? No, we’ve got to keep this secret, especially since the Blighted King doesn’t seem to know about the others. If we can get in contact with them, meet up or get help—”

“A way off this continent, you mean?”

Everyone looks at Vincent. Richard nods.

“I think this is our best opportunity. I was talking with Cirille—”

“She’s freakish. Unnatural.”

“Shut up, Cynthia. She’s a Drake, not a monster.”

“Keith—listen, she told me we can pay to send [Message] spells, or send letters. I’m not saying we should do that, because we’ll probably be spied on. But if Emily can learn to use the spell, or we can find a way to locate some of the others…”

“You think we can? What if the Blighted King…”

“He doesn’t need us. Richard and Emily are the only Level 30 people here.”

“Yeah, but they hit that in three months. It takes decades for normal people to do the same. No way he’ll let any of us go now he knows we can level like that.”

“So we’re prisoners?”

“Not if we cooperate. We’re more like allies, but we need to be cautious—”

I sigh. It’s always like this. I can’t be here. I brush at my sticky hair and decide I need a bath, and time alone. I get up and go to the door.

“You okay, Tom?”

The voices stop. Richards’s looking at me. I smile.

“Just fine.”

“That performance back there—”

“Hey, it was a one time thing. I don’t think the Blighted King cares about me. And I’m done with clowning about.”

No one laughs. Some of them still look afraid of me. I turn.

“I’m going to take a bath. Let me know if you decide anything tomorrow.”

I leave the room, hearing the buzz of conversation spring up as I shut the door. My friends.

Are they really? Or do you think they’re talking about you? Hah. You know they are. How much do they trust you, Tom? How many more times will they let you wonder before they decide to kill the scary clown before he snaps?

The voice. I stumble away towards my room. There’s nothing like a private bath there of course, but there’s a water pitcher, and I’m not willing to go looking around at night. My room is small, but on the level of a hotel in some respects. There’s no window, no balcony, but there is a chamber pot, and a bed that’s worthy of any four-star hotel. That alone makes up for the rest.

I could have done without the mirror, though. There’s a large one above a dresser, another sign that this world has its form of riches. Fabrics are as high-quality as any you’d find in our world, and usually made of real materials rather than fake ones. Okay, plumbing isn’t always consistent, but I know for a fact there are actual toilets elsewhere in the castle, and you can’t beat the craftsmanship on the dressers.

But the mirror. It’s not perfect; there are some flaws in the glass, tiny bubbles, but it reflects too much. I stare at myself. I look thin. I would have killed to lose this much weight before.

You did!

It shows too much of me. It reminds me of too much. I stare at my reflection. At my eyes.

“Are you real?”

No one answers. This mirror…slowly, I pull things out of thin air and put them on the dresser. I might as well. I pull out a greasy tin, another, smaller one, two huge shoes, and a colorful costume.

My props.

I stare at them. Oversized shoes, unfunny costume, and the face paint, white and red and black. Actually, for the black around my eyes I just use ground up charcoal. My tools of the trade.

I leave them there. I won’t touch them again. Ever. I turn away, and then notice something. My costume’s torn.

“Oh, right. I never got it fixed. Not since…”

Since the night. I gently unfold bits of the bright, clumsily stitched material. Cynthia made that for me, back before I scared her so much she couldn’t sleep with me around. I pull at the sleeves and get a horrible surprise.

Blood. A huge splash of it across the front of the costume, and more dried and soaked into the legs. I drop the costume in horror and back away.

“No.”

I never washed it either. And now the voice in my head taunts me.

Afraid of a little blood? Why? You bathed in it when you got angry at those poor Demons. Remember how the lieutenant screamed when the horses were stampeding all over her? Remember the pain?

My breath comes quicker. I turn.

I can’t stay here. Not in this room. I hurry out the door, but the voice follows me.

 

—-

 

It’s worst at night. At night, I can’t escape it. In the daytime, I can distract myself, or tell myself that it’s just me, just a mental disorder rearing its ugly head.

But at night, the shadows creep in, and I find sleep elusive, peace impossible. So I prowl through the castle, silent, taunted by my own thoughts.

I walk the brightly lit corridors, staring at the lights, trying not to meet the eyes of the occasional patrolling guards I meet down the empty corridors. They stare at me without much fondness.

They know who I am, at least. Hell, they probably saw me the first time when I was being escorted out with the others. Yup, here’s your [Hero], guys and gals. Me. Tom the unfunny [Clown].

Only, you know you can be funny if you try.

Never. I shake my head as I enter one of the rooms Nereshal showed us earlier. It caught my eye—a room full of mirrors.

Perhaps there is some masochistic part of me, some part that loves to torture myself. But this room is where I come to. Huge, wall-to-wall mirrors cover all but the doorway, reflecting my image a thousand times. I stare around.

“Alright. Here I am. Here you are. Come on. If you’re real…come out.”

I have to do this. I can’t live in uncertainty forever. The voice in my head—I keep telling myself it’s just me. Just me, trying to rationalize my insanity, what I went through.

But what if it’s not?

These are the dark thoughts I have at night, the suspicions I can’t push away without daylight. My fears.

I went insane. I went crazy and killed people. That much the others believe. That I know happened. And I’m sure it was me. Mostly sure. But, the thought whispers, what if it wasn’t me?

What if the [Lesser Insanity] condition isn’t some part of me, but something else? The madness—I can remember laughing as I stabbed the Demon lieutenant. I can remember the pain. Gods, the pain. But I also remember how I felt.

It wasn’t me.

But it was.

But it wasn’t. In the darkness, I feel certain. In that moment, when I held Wilen, I didn’t care. I reached out, and let something in. Something dark. Did I open the door somehow?

Did you? Or is it just you? Are you holding me back? Or am I just an excuse, Tom?

“Go away.”

I stare at the mirror ahead of me. There’s a feeling in my head, a bit of madness. I can feel it worming its way around. I know the mirror is just a reflection of me. It shows my clothing, stained, and my face, tired, my eyes a bit bloodshot. Me in perfect detail. I know that’s all it is.

But something tells me that’s not all. Something tells me there’s something else staring back behind the glass. What?

“Who are you?”

Who are you?

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. Hear you. My shadows move when I don’t look. My eyes—”

Normal eyes. But if I look away, do they keep staring? I try it. Turning my head and looking back quickly. But the mirror me reflects perfectly each time. I grit my teeth.

“Move, damn you. If you’re going to play tricks on me—”

I reach out and touch the glass. I stare into my reflection’s eyes, daring it to move, to twitch even a second. Tom stares back, pallid, sleep-deprived, wide-eyed. He grins at me.

I stop smiling. So does my reflection. Damn it, it’s all in my head.

All? Are you sure?

It has to be. I take my hand away, noting with guilt that I’ve smudged the mirror. I try to polish it, but just spread the oils from my palm around.

“I hate you. If you’re there, I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

You? You and what madness?

Laughter. The voice isn’t the worst. The voice sounds like me at times, a bit crazy, darker, but still what I’d think. The voice only scares me at times. But it’s when I feel like laughing, like punching the glass until my hand is full of shards that I’m afraid.

It would be so easy. So easy to push the glass deep. What would it feel like if it hit bone? I make a fist, staring at my stupid expression. My eyes.

“Well, I expected to be alone, but I suppose I was a fool for thinking that. More proof that I’m good at my job, then.”

A voice. I whirl, and see a short man in colorful clothing. The Fool. He walks into the room with a brisk step. He’s got a bottle in hand and a cup. He nods at me, not smiling, but not frowning, either.

“Mister [Clown]. I didn’t think to see you tonight.”

“Ah. You’re…”

He puts the bottle and cup in the ground and gives me a dramatic bow.

“A [Fool], at your service, sir. And you may call me Fool—everyone else does. I perform at the Blighted King’s court. I hope you didn’t take too much offense at my little performance?”

“What? No. I—it bailed me out. Thanks.”

“We funny men should stick together. Only, you’re fairly unfunny as such people go. Are you truly a [Clown], Mister…?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m Tom. Thomas, but you can call me Tom.”

The Fool takes my hand and shakes it with a surprisingly firm grip. He’s not nearly as dramatic as he was in the banquet hall earlier, but there’s still a sense of performing as he indicates the mirror behind me.

“Come to admire yourself in the room of mirrors? It’s a rare person who likes to spend time here. I confess, that’s why I came alone.”

“Sorry about that. I can leave if you want—”

“Nonsense. There’s more than enough space for two idiots, or at least one [Fool] and a [Clown]. Besides, company is pleasant, and if you’ve a mind to share it, I wouldn’t take it amiss. I’m never alone here as you can tell.”

He nods to his reflections. I smile a bit.

“Sure. What are you doing here?”

“Drinking. Of course! A bottle of wine, a cup…would you like one?”

“A cup? Sure, but if there’s only one—”

He hands me a second cup, already filled with wine. I stare at it and blink at him. The Fool grins.

“Well?”

Gingerly I sip at the cup. Then I frown. I tilt the cup towards my lips, but no liquid comes out. I can see it, red and deep in the cup! I tilt it further, and then on a hunch, upend the cup. Nothing comes out. I stare at the Fool and he grins.

“A little trick. I apologize, but the joke’s only good once, so I do it to everyone I meet. That’s a fake cup, you see?”

“I do. But how do you get the liquid…?”

“Oh, I copied this cup, of course.”

The Fool hands me a second cup, identical to the first, only the wine sloshes about in this one. He takes the first cup back and tosses it to the ground. It breaks into pieces which dissolve into nothing.

“It’s a Skill of mine, to copy things. They last a while too, if handled gently. Good for pranks and trickery. Not for much else. But then, you’d know about such Skills, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would. I am a [Clown], by the way. Just a bad one. I’m only Level 28.”

The Fool’s eyebrows rise.

“And yet you had no levels when you first came here. I’d say that’s astonishing by any standards. A shame you can’t perform as well. Your juggling act was painful to watch.”

“Sorry.”

He claps me on the back. I slosh some of the wine.

“Nonsense! Again, nonsense, so I suppose it must be tomfoolery! Stop apologizing and don’t mind the spill. Servants will catch it. If not, bugs. What you need is practice. A week or so and you’ll have the court rolling at your feet. Who knows, you might get his dour Majesty to smile!”

“You mean the Blighted King? I’ll pass. I’m done with being a [Clown].”

“Ah. Not much of a warrior you said?”

“Not much. Sorry. I—I guess you know all about us.”

The Fool shrugs. He takes a sip from the wine bottle, letting it slosh into his mouth from high above. He doesn’t spill a drop, which is impressive.

“The whole court knows I daresay, and much of the kingdom. We had such hopes. Alas, prophecy is not what it’s rumored to be.”

“About that. Are we really the destined heroes that are supposed to save Rhir from the blight and the Demon King? No one’s really mentioned that.”

“Well, that’s what the spells says. Summons heroes destined to glory and all that. I don’t know much about it, but the Blighted King and his advisers seemed to think that meant you were fairly competent.”

“Hah.”

“That’s what I thought! But I was wise enough not to make a joke about it. How his Majesty raged when he heard of what happened to you.”

Somehow, I find myself sitting with the Fool, drinking from my cup as he fills it and drinks himself. He tells me about the Blighted King and his role at court.

“One must have a [Fool]. Actually, I lie. One mustn’t at all, even if one is a [King]. My class is rare enough, and there’s scant work for a [Fool] in hungry villages. I was lucky enough to catch his Majesty’s eye one day, and I have served here for over a decade.”

“A decade? Really? Wow. I thought [Fools] were supposed to be part of a court. Like it was a hereditary thing, or something.”

“Hah! Fools breeding more fools! What a world that would be! I’m afraid that Rhir at least doesn’t see the need for a line of my ilk. Although if I met a lovely lady…alas, they go for heroes of the realm, not idiots juggling balls.”

“You’d think the more balls the merrier, right?”

He chokes on his wine, coughs, and laughs.

“So Tom the [Clown] has a joke in him after all! A bit crass, though. I wouldn’t dare repeat it at court.”

“Oh come on. It’s funny.”

The Fool grows serious.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for the young [Princess]. You noted her at the table, I hope. Her and the other [Princess], of course. They are our King’s daughters.”

“I saw. She looks young.”

“She’s the daughter of the current Blighted Queen. Alas, her sister, whom we call her Highness Isodore, is the daughter of the previous Blighted Queen.”

“So there’s been more than one?”

“You hadn’t heard? Of course not. Yes, there have been two Blighted Queens. Three, if you count the one who died before marriage. The Blighted King has seen his wives die one by one during his reign.”

“That…sucks.”

“An understatement, which is why I am so sorely needed at his court. Not that the Blighted King laughs, mind you. But I keep the [Princess] and others amused, so I earn my keep. I also endeavor to stay away from lewd jokes or more intimate comedy unless I know she’s asleep.”

“That’s nice of you.”

The Fool shakes his head. He smiles sadly.

“The [Princess] has a hard life without me adding to it, Mister Tom.”

“Just Tom, please.”

“Very well. I’m surprised, to be honest that you took a class so odd as a [Clown]. What do you do, exactly, if it’s not make people laugh?”

“Make them feel uncomfortable, I suppose. And laugh at how weird I am.”

“Like a [Fool]! But surely there’s more of a difference. What makes a [Clown] different from a [Fool]?”

“I dunno. Face paint? I wear oversized shoes, have a big red nose, use balloons…”

“What?”

“Uh—it’s a round floaty thing.”

He stares at me. I shrug. I’m pleasantly sloshed by now and feeling…decent for once. I try describing it to him and he shakes his head.

“Loud, noisy, and can fly? I’d use one myself if I had such a thing. I make do with throwing squirrels and cats in the meantime. But surely there’s more to it than that.”

I sigh.

“I don’t know. Clowns come in all different shapes and sizes. I guess [Fools] are like that too. For instance, I don’t see you wearing a jingling cap with bells on.”

“That’s a requirement for being a [Fool]?”

“I mean, that’s what I think of. Why don’t you have one of those?”

He gives me a look.

“I’m a [Fool], not an idiot. There are times when a Fool should be seen and not heard, or not seen or heard at all. Were I to go around dinging like some bell, I’d be evicted from the royal presence within the hour.”

He paused.

“Perhaps the day if the youngest [Princess] were to object.”

“She really likes you, huh?”

“I’m her sole form of entertainment on some days, and it can be dreary being locked up in the palace. She never enters the city without an escort and seldom at that.”

“Why? Is it so dangerous here? I thought the capital—”

He waves a hand and refills my goblet.

“Oh, it’s safer than any other part of Rhir and safe for all but royalty I imagine. Yet the [Princess] must be careful, or she’ll end up like her brothers and sisters.”

“I thought she only had a sister. Or—”

“She had others.”

Like an idiot, I stare at the Fool blankly.

“What happened to them, then? Where are they?”

His voice is flat.

“Dead.”

I sober up a bit.

“Oh. I’m s—I thought it was a family of four—”

“The majesties royal had a household of seven, once, unfunny Tom. Two older sons and another daughter three years older than the young [Princess]. All of them died. The brothers in battle, and the daughter in bed. A plague, sent by the Demons it was thought. Assassins killed the last Queen, and the one before that.”

“Oh.”

The Fool nods. He isn’t smiling now. He stares at his reflection in one of the mirrors.

“Now the [Princess] and her young highness Isodore are watched like sheep by lions, while their father and mother strive to make their kingdom safe for all but their enemies. A touching tale, isn’t it?”

I nod and sip from his wine flask. Did one of the mirror images of me just wink? Nope. Just my imagination. Again.

“For a [Fool], you’re awfully well-informed. And you seem important.”

“Shouldn’t I be? I am a royal jester, a prince of laughter. Shouldn’t I be known and heard, but never minded in court? I can walk around and people talk as if I don’t exist. Which I don’t mind, incidentally.”

The Fool gets up and does a cartwheel, laughing, half in mirth, half in a kind of despair I recognize. He turns to me.

“You’re no [Clown] you say, but if you’re not that, what are you? In denial, I should imagine.”

“No, no—you wouldn’t like to see me when I’m a [Clown]. Really.”

“How should I see you, then?”

“Just as Tom. Tom, the unfunny, who could use a refill of your wine, if you’ve got any left, Fool. I don’t suppose you can copy the wine bottle? Or do you have access to more wine we could find?”

He stares at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a person who wanted to befriend me, Tom. Are you that bored, or am I that good company?”

“Neither. But us unfunny people should stick together, right?”

I grin at him, and feel happy for a tiny bit. The Fool blinks at me, and then laughs. Of all the people I’ve met today, his laughter is the only one I’ve needed. And it heals something. That night I pass out in my room, drunk, but sane.

And a bit happy.

 

—-

 

The next day, I’m too hung over to have breakfast, and barely have a lunch with the others. I keep rubbing my head and groaning, and when they decide to go out to explore the city, I beg off.

“God, Tom. How much did you drink last night?”

“And where can I get some?”

Emily glares at me while Eddy edges over. I shake my head.

“Ask the Fool.”

“Him? Where’d you meet him?”

“We raided the kitchens. There’s a lot. Good…ow, my head hurts.”

“I think Tom’s going to rest. Alright, let’s go the rest of you. We have a budget, remember, but we’ll make sure everyone has some coin. Tom, can you give us the money if you’re staying behind?”

“Sure. Here.”

I toss the pouch at Richard and stumble away to my rooms. After two more hours, I feel able to function normally, so I finally get up and stumble out of the palace.

I get lost six times along the way. The corridors are a complete maze to me, and they’re apparently meant to be that way. No invading army can enter that easily. Unfortunately, that means I have to bother person after person to find my way out.

I get all the way to the courtyard when I realize I have no money, no real desire to see the sights, and no idea why I’m here. I stare glumly around the huge open area leading up to the castle.

“Man, this place is big.”

You could march an army through here. Heck, that’s probably the point. There are three gates leading into the courtyard, which head up to the double doors up a flight of steps. The wall around the courtyard is high, but the space itself is so big that it doesn’t feel enclosed at all.

It’s quite nice, actually. There’s a fountain and lots of water over there, some greenery over there, very nice stonework underfoot…and that’s all I’ve got.

You really need a hobby. Like stabbing people.

“Shush. I was in a good mood before you showed up.”

You should turn around. Someone’s standing behind you.

“I said shush.”

“Can you really not do anything but juggle? Father says you have hidden depths.”

That voice is real. I nearly jump out of my skin as I whirl around. A young girl wearing a violet dress takes a step back. She stares up at me. I blink down at the youngest [Princess] of the Blighted Kingdom.

“Uh. What?”

She stares at me. I stare back. She points at my chest.

“Can you do a backflip? The Fool can.”

“What? I—probably not , your majesty.”

I probably can, actually. If it’s part of my [Flawless Dodge] routine or…heck, I learned how to do an okay cartwheel. But I’m not certain why the [Princess] is here, and I’m busy looking around for the guards that should be around her.

There’s no one in the courtyard. The [Princess] stares at me and speaks matter-of-factly.

“If you don’t know how, the Fool can teach you. He wouldn’t teach me, but he could teach you and I could watch.”

“Okay? If I see him, I’ll ask.”

“He’s over there. You can ask now.”

She points. I turn around. Now how did I miss the Fool? Oh, right. He’s not wearing his eye-catching costume.

A little man wearing nondescript clothing is standing about sixty feet away, walking about the courtyard absentmindedly. He has something in his hands. It looks like…a scroll.

He’s speaking to the air with the scroll unfurled. The [Princess] and I stare at him. Then she looks at me.

“Are you going to ask or not?”

She’s pushy. I step over to the Fool, more because I have nothing else to do than any desire to do backflips. He spots us as we approach and rolls up his scroll. He stares at me and then the [Princess] with a furrowed brow.

“I knew we had fun last night, but this much? And what are you doing in the company of the Princess, Mister Tom?”

“She appeared out of nowhere. She wants me to ask you to teach her how to do backflips?”

What?

The Fool’s eyes widen and he does a standing backflip, pretending to be aghast. The [Princess] claps her hands together, laughing. The Fool obliges her, and then peers at me.

“I’m surprised she spoke to you. Our little Princess speaks to few people.”

“He’s funny. So are you.”

The Princess informs the Fool in the same decisive voice. He raises his eyebrows at her, and then turns to me.

“Well, that’s interesting. I suppose you’d better entertain her yourself, Mister Tom. Go on, do a backflip.”

“What? No! I’ve never done one before.”

“It’s not hard. Go on. If you break your neck, it’ll be twice as amusing, I promise.”

I back up and raise my hands as the two pester me. In desperation, I point to the scroll the Fool tucked into his belt.

“What was that about? Were you talking to someone?”

“That’s a magic scroll. For talking to people.”

The [Princess] peeks at the Fool’s belt. He dances back, and wags a finger at her.

“Ah, ah! That’s mine, [Princess]. And as for who I was talking to…would you believe the love of my heart?”

He looks at us hopefully. I stare at him. The Fool scowls and bounces one of his juggling balls off my head. The [Princess] giggles. Then the Fool looks at her. There’s something parental about the way he does it.

“As delighted as I am to see you, you and I both know you shouldn’t be out here alone, young Miss. Why have you wandered off?”

The young girl immediately loses her smile. She scuffs at the ground with a shoe.

“Father sent the soldiers away. All of them. I don’t like that.”

The Fool stiffens. I look at him, confused.

“What?”

He looks gravely at me.

“That was a secret, my inquisitive friend. A state secret, so pretend you didn’t hear it if you know what’s best. Your Highness, you know you shouldn’t speak of such things. I understand you’re worried, but all will be well.”

She doesn’t look convinced. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, so I draw the Fool away. He tosses her one of his juggling balls to keep her company as he whispers in my ear.

“What the young Princess is referring to is a strategic decision the [King] came up with two days ago. With the exception of a few foreign regiments and the king’s own guard, every soldier has been deployed to the Fourth Wall. In preparation for an upcoming battle.”

“Sounds serious.”

He grimaces.

“No more than any battle is in Rhir. But it is a tactical decision. And one that cannot be shared, you understand? No one knows about this, save for the King and his advisors. And me, of course.”

“You?”

“Because of her.”

He nods at the Princess.

“Oh.”

The Fool’s eyes are sad as he looks at the young girl. She’s dropped the ball and bends down to get it. Then she catches herself and does some kind of curtsey instead. She snatches the ball back up, and begins tossing it up again.

“If she says something, Mister Tom, it’s because she’s worried. The [Princess] understands war, I’m afraid. And his Majesty, the wise and tragic King of the Blighted Kingdom…does not understand how much his children hear, I am afraid.”

“Oh.”

“Quite. Now, do help me get her back to the castle.”

He leads me back, pretending to scold me out loud.

“I keep telling you, broken bones are a sign of comedy, young Tom. We’ll make a proper [Fool] of you yet. If not that, I’m sure you’ll be a fine [Idiot]. And you should not be wandering around unattended, your royal highness.”

He pretends to be stern. The [Princess] frowns and stamps a foot.

“I don’t like my guards. I left them.”

“And it is a fine joke to leave an escort of trained warriors behind by yourself. But I see someone’s not amused by your tricks.”

He turns and points. I turn. How do I not see people coming up from behind? Now I see another young woman, the same one who was sitting by the Blighted King yesterday.

“Your Highness.”

The Fool bows to Princess Isodore. I do too, clumsily. She stares at me and the Fool, giving me a frown, the Fool an exasperated look, and the young Princess a stern one.

“Where have you been? Your guards are searching for you in a panic. Nereshal was about to scry around for you!”

“He can’t scry me if I’m wearing this!”

The young Princess raises a ring triumphantly. She’s wearing two. Isodore glares at her half-sister.

“He can comb the area, and he will if you don’t come back. And if he does, he’ll be angry and Father will know about it.”

“I don’t want to go back! I want to learn to backflip!”

The [Princess] hides behind the Fool and me like any kid her age. Only she’s royalty and Isodore’s not alone. A group of men and women in armor rush out of the open palace doors after Isodore. I gulp, and Isodore glares at her sister.

“Come on. You have to go back.”

“I will go with her Highness, if she wishes.”

The Fool interjects, and the [Princess] brightens. But Isodore holds up a hand.

“I’m sorry, Fool, but my sister can’t be hand-held the entire time. Nor will your presence calm Nereshal. I think it would make things worse, to be honest. Come, Erille. Do you want to get the Fool in trouble?”

“No.”

Reluctantly, Princess Erille comes out from behind the Fool. She stares longingly at me and him, and Isodore gives us another look. She stares at me for a second with a look I recognize.

“You will excuse me, Sir Thomas. And you, Fool. Come, Erille.”

The two Princesses turn and meet up with their escort who surround them in a second. I watch them walk slowly back to the palace and turn to the Fool. He’s still staring at Erille’s back. Sadly. At last he shakes himself and looks at me.

“Isodore doesn’t seem to like you, Sir Thomas.”

He says the name mockingly. I sigh.

“She saw us when we were first here, I bet. She probably thinks I’m a fraud.”

The Fool nods.

“Oh, the whole kingdom did. I daresay that my role was made useless for a fortnight after you arrived. So many jokes were told—one merely had to wave around a Goblin’s head for the courtiers to roll around laughing!”

Then he pauses.

“But I suppose there might be more to it than disappointment.”

“How do you mean?”

He looks at me, cocking his head to one side, standing on one leg, seemingly back to his good spirits or pretending to be at least.

“You were abed and I was out and about, performing at breakfast, so you must have missed today’s gossip. It was about you. You claim to be naught but a former [Clown], but there have been rumors this morning about you, Tom.”

“Oh no. Really?”

I can’t imagine who started the rumors. But maybe Emily, or Cynthia, or Eddy, that bastard? It’s possible…the Fool nods.

“The court and his Majesty have heard you’re more than you seemed, Mister Unfunny Tom. I hear you can be quite amusing. And deadly. Her Highness may have heard the same.”

He turns back to look at Isodore and Erille. They’re still walking across the courtyard. Man is it big. And they can’t exactly move fast in their ballroom style dresses.

“Don’t mind her. She fears so many; one more is hardly her fault. As for Erille…”

He trails as he stares at the young Princess. She’s happily occupied as she tosses the ball the Fool gave her up and tries to catch it before it lands. She never gave it back, and I don’t think the Fool would ever ask.

It’s not hard to imagine what’s there. A Fool who’s more friend and father than her actual father, and a kid trapped in a castle. And the other Princess—Isodore looks back and then turns instantly when she sees me staring at her.

I look away.

“I’m no one, Fool. No one special.”

“So you say, Tom.”

He leaves me there, and I wander back towards the palace, feeling disconsolate. But I realize something as I walk through the corridors. Something interesting. And maybe hopeful.

Whenever I’m with the Fool, I can’t hear the voice in my head. I don’t know why that is. Maybe he’s just that entertaining, or just that nice a guy that I don’t want to kill him. Or maybe it’s something else?

 

—-

 

That night we have another banquet. And for once, I’m feeling good enough to eat a lot. We sit with the Drakes again, but there’s more of a sense of inclusion this time. We are at least in some respects now guests, and aside from a lot of bad jokes aimed at me, everything’s great.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t more tests. This time, it’s Richard and Emily’s turn, but they at least seem up to the task. Emily performs several spells in front of the court, raising a wave of water out of the ground, creating a perfect sphere that she rolls across the floor. I can tell Princess Erille would love to chase after it, but she’s stuck at the high table.

Then it’s Richard’s turn. Today, I get more of a sense of who sits in the Blighted King’s castle. Among the more important guests who sit closer to the head of the hall are groups of what I can only call the Blighted King’s champions. Rugged men, women, and representatives of other species, most wearing shining armor, magical equipment, and holding an air of power around them.

There’s a Minotaur with black fur, a half-Elf man with a staff that stands on its own when he’s not holding it, a pale Selphid with two greatswords resting by his table, and a whole bevy of [Knights] and warriors who look like they’d fit in any grand story of knights and honor.

They’re all high-level, and as the feast begins, several of them get up to engage in duels. They use real armor, but wooden weapons, and they strike, parry, block and dodge like the coolest movie action scene I’ve ever seen.

Cooler, because they move faster than an actor does with choreographed moves. I see one warrior wearing chainmail leap over a man with a wooden spear and slash at his head. Too bad that the instant his feet touch the ground, the spear warrior vaults over to him with the spear as a pole and kicks his lights out.

Richard is called to spar the spear wielder after that. I hear my friends cheering as he gets up, wiping his hands and taking the practice sword offered to him. The spear wielder touches his blunt spear tip against the wooden sword and then begins dashing at Richard, spear jabbing at him in a blur. He whirls his spear and it lashes Richard from all sides, a hail of lightning-fast blows.

“Holy crap.”

I can’t believe Richard can defend against any of that, but he actually manages to parry several strikes and attack back. He ends up defeated, but he does so well apparently that there’s a round of applause for him afterwards.

I see Richard stagger back as the spear wielder offers him a hand up. The old woman claps him on the shoulders and leads him towards the table with the other champions to cheers from my table. I watch Richard talking with the others with a familiar camaraderie.

Jealous?

“No. Richard deserves that. He fought hard and earned it.”

I hear a mocking laugh in my head, but someone replies out loud as well.

“Sir Richard is a skilled warrior, worthy of his [Knight] class. Since he has reached Level 30, he is considered a peer of the realm in many respects. All those with a level higher than 30 are honored in various ways by the crown.”

I find a man standing at my side, holding a goblet of wine and looking politely at me. He looks…familiar. He has dark skin, a scar over his temple, and the look of someone who knows how to use a weapon. He nods at me.

“Sir Thomas. I am pleased to meet you. I missed the chance this morning.”

“Um. Hi.”

He speaks as if we should know each other. He looks towards the next duel, between a [Mage] and a man with a bow who keeps shooting at the shimmering field around the mage as he dodges.

“Such displays are common. Rhir has a number of tournaments hosted year round, and offers coin to anyone willing to teach or display their skills from around the world. Martial prowess is prized here above all else.”

“When you’re at war, I guess that’s how it has to be, huh?”

I look toward the Blighted King.

“Can he fight? The King?”

The man shakes his head.

“His Majesty is not known for his abilities on the field of battle, which is not to say he does not appear there if the need is dire. On the other hand, her Majesty is at least as skilled a warrior as they are. She was known for her prowess with a mace before she married the King.”

“I can believe that.”

She looks like someone who knows how to fight. On cue, I hear a voice.

I wonder if she could block you if you stabbed her up close. What if you held her daughter hostage?

I shake my head slightly. The man notices.

“She is quite a fine warrior, as is your friend. He deserves his spot among the King’s champions. However, I deem your skills as equal to theirs in at least some respects, Sir Thomas.”

I stare at him.

“I’m sorry, but have we met? I don’t recall.”

He smiles slightly.

“I would not begrudge you that. I had the honor of meeting you in the village of Rastfad, shortly after your defeat of—”

Of the Demons. He was one of the people who saw me after I slaughtered them. I remember. I stare at the man.

“Are you—were you—”

He bows slightly.

“Captain Kirust, at your service. I returned to the capital last night but was too late to participate in the feast. I attended this morning and was delighted to find your company well, sir.”

“Hang on, you’re the one who’s been spreading rumors about me? Stop it. Please. I’m not a warrior.”

“I would beg to disagree, sir. I saw what you did to defend the villagers, and I cannot believe such a man would be lesser to any [Knight] of the realm.”

“I—no. That was one thing. I went crazy back then. You saw me laughing, covered in blood.”

He stares at me. I feel the ground breaking away under my feet. Unsteady. Someone’s laughing in my head.

They love you for what you are, Tom. Embrace it. They love you. You, the slaughterer. They cheered you after you laughed amid the dead.

“Sir Thomas, I spoke to his Majesty today and spoke highly of your abilities. I do not mean to force you to fight, but you should at least be awarded the accolades of your true merits.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all.”

He looks confused.

“But Sir Thomas—”

“Stop calling me that. Just call me—Tom. I’m no warrior, get it? I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Not even if there are more innocents at risk?”

His eyes are steady on mine. I hear a buzzing in my ears.

“I arrived too late to save the people. From what I understand, your comrades fled. But you stayed and fought, and defeated over thirty trained Demon warriors and a Troll—”

“I didn’t want to! I’m not proud of it! Don’t celebrate me for being a murderer!”

My voice is raised. I turn to leave, but Kirust’s eyes are on me. His voice is in my ears, and the laughter.

“Sir Thomas, the kingdom has warriors, but it has few heroes. A man such as yourself—”

A hero. I turn and grab Kirust and lift him up. I’ve always been strong. The [Captain] stares at me, alarmed, fear in his eyes as I draw him close with a snarl. That’s right. That’s the fear. That’s honest.

“I’m not a warrior! I told you that! I didn’t want to kill them! I’d rather die than do it again! I won’t lose control, I won’t give in! Not now, not ever, no matter what the cost! I’m not a hero, do you understand?

I realize I’m shouting too late. I let go of Kirust and look around. Everyone’s staring at me. I stumble away from the [Captain] and hurry out of the feast hall.

Madness.

 

—-

 

I stay in my room for hours after that, staring into the mirror. I throw the bloody clown suit to the floor, and begin pulling everything out of the trick space. My juggling balls, juggling pins, a dead flower, a few coins, and—knives.

I stare at them. I picked up one or two after that night. For self-defense. I had a bunch of swords, but I couldn’t keep them there. Swords, knives, arrows—I can remember pulling them out of the hands of the other soldiers, stabbing them with them, laughing.

Good times.

One of the knives is sharp, the other one sharper, but that’s a kitchen knife. It’s not meant for combat, although it can certainly be used as one. I pick up one of the knives and feel it. Perfectly weighted, great for throwing. Another one’s unbalanced, because it’s not meant for that.

But if I throw it—I toss the knife gingerly towards a wall. It rotates through the air and strikes the wall. Hilt-first.

“Of course, [Unerring Throw] doesn’t mean everything.”

I pick the knife up, and flip it in my hands. I catch it by the hilt easily. I’m not worried about cutting myself. The first Skill, the only Skill I got from my [Hero] class was [Weapon Proficiency: Knives].

“So why can’t I throw them correctly? Not enough rotation? Enough force?”

I guess proficiency with knives doesn’t mean I can throw them like a master. Still, I can do a lot of tricks with them. [Sleight of Hand] combined with my proficiency means I can practically walk my knife across my hand.

And flip it into the air and catch it without getting cut. I do it with my eyes closed, and then play the knife game. I tap the tip between my fingers on the dresser rapidly, then spin it up again. Catch it.

It would be so easy to just let it fall and cut my hand off. Or stand in front of the blade. I grab the knife out of the air when I think that and stare at it. Then the door opens.

“Tom? We wanted to see if you were okay—”

A voice. I turn. Chole pushes open the door to my room. She stops when she sees me, holding the knife, staring at her. I realize what it looks like too late. I take a step towards her and make the mistake of gesturing with the blade.

“Uh, look. I know—”

She screams and runs. I curse and put the knife up my sleeve, making it vanish. Why do I have such bad timing?

In seconds, other people appear around the door. I hold up a hand.

“Nothing crazy. Just practicing knife throwing, guys.”

“Right. Right.”

They nod and grin at me. Sick, pale excuses for grins. I look at them. They shut the door. I stand in the darkness.

 

—-

 

I’m going crazy. I am. I walk down the corridors of the palace, feeling it in my veins. It’s getting worse. I can’t control it anymore.

And worse, at the moment I can’t hear the voice. Normally that would be a good sign. Now I’m afraid.

Why was I playing with a knife? Why did I want to stand under the blade? Why did I shout at Kirust? Why, why, why—

I’m losing it. I turn down another brightly lid corridor, scowling at the mage lights. I hate the brightness. But maybe it’s a good thing it’s bright. At least I can’t imagine things in the—

Shadows.

I stop. I don’t know where I am, but I suddenly see something at odds with the brightly lit passageways behind me. Ahead, there are no mage lights. Only blackness. Thick and consuming.

“What? What’s…?”

I look over my shoulder. A shining light hangs in the hallway behind me. Ahead of me…darkness. No light.

I feel a chill. What’s this? This is like a bad—bad horror movie. Or something else. I look at the light behind me again. And then ahead.

“Hello?”

The darkness…calls to me. I take a step forwards. Where are the mage lights? They have to be here. They said—

This is it. I’ve gone insane. Or this is real. I reach out and my hand is suddenly grasping a knife.

Darkness. It can’t be a coincidence. In a castle where the light is supposed to be on all the time? I feel a presence. And I know.

“This is it, isn’t it? You’re here. You’re messing with me. It isn’t just me. Is it?”

No response. I take a step forwards, hesitate. Every instinct tells me I should back away from the darkness. But why? I have nothing to lose. And if I turn away, I’ll always wonder if I was going crazy or not.

If I die, at least I’ll know. I walk forwards, knife at the ready.

“I won’t run. Not this time. I’m coming for you, do you hear me?”

My voice is loud, but still sucked up by some kind of unnatural silence. I walk forwards. Now I can barely see anything. But I can hear…something.

Whispering. Footfalls. I turn my head. Nothing’s there. The voice in my head is gone.

I feel something is nearby.

“I know you’re there. Come on.”

A movement. I spin. Just the darkness. I really am losing it.

It’s in my head. It’s right here. I’m going insane. This is reality. The darkness closes in, and then I think I see a light. I feel my way down a corridor. Yes, there’s something ahead of me.

Is this it? Suddenly, I see a bright light and realize I’m an idiot. One of the mage lights just went out! And I thought…I thought…

I’m losing it. But then I walk forwards a bit more and realize it’s not a mage light ahead. Instead, I see advancing ghostly blue flame. A…lantern’s light. Yes, ahead of me. Moving.

Dark. A flicker of movement. My heart races. There is something here. Something—

Him. Me.

Then I step closer, and see what’s holding the light. The figure turns, and the lantern swings. I see a face like leather, two horns curving downwards, bright green eyes—

A Demon soldier stands with lantern in hand, a bloody sword in the other. I stop, staring. He stares back. And behind him, I see a man with his back against the wall, next to an ornate door. He sees me at the same time I see him.

Fool?

He half turns towards me and I see his eyes widening. He shouts.

“Get away, Tom! Warn the others! There are Demons—

The Demon soldier whirls around. He raises his sword with a snarl and the Fool raises his hands. The Demon strikes low.

He slashes the Fool’s belly open, pulling out a chunk of his insides. The Fool gasps, grips onto the Demon as if to hold him there. The masked Demon lowers him almost gently to the floor, and turns towards me. His horns flash in the light of the lantern he’s holding.

I back away. This is a nightmare. Only, it’s not one I thought would be here. My hand raises, it shakes as I hold the knife in front of me. And now I hear the voice.

Kill him. You know you want to.

“Stay back!”

The Demon advances on me. Then he stops. A hand grasps his cloven feet. The Fool. He whispers something up at the Demon. The soldier turns and kicks the Fool in the face. I hear a crack and the Fool goes still.

The Demon turns back towards me, sword in hand. I back up again. The voice is whispering, shouting.

Kill him! Slash him, leap at him and take his sword! You’re too afraid to do it? Let me out! Give in! LET ME OUT AND I’LL DEAL WITH ALL OF IT.

No, no! I shake my head, trembling. I can’t—I won’t! But the Demon is approaching, sword bloody. It drips to the ground. I back up again.

I have to run. I have to fight. I have to—

GIVE IN.

Madness. I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to scream—the Demon looks at me, and whirls. He runs towards the door the Fool was standing in front of and picks something up. A key. Only now do I see another body, next to the Fool’s. A man in armor, gutted. There’s blood on the ground. And the key—

The Demon turns it in the lock. He throws the door open and rushes inside. I freeze. Then I hear a high-pitched scream. It’s a voice I recognize.

Erille’s. I don’t recall running to the door, but now I stand inside it. The Demon is inside, and so is Erille. The room is huge, beautiful. She’s sitting in a four-poster bed, eyes wide. The Demon towers over her, one clawed hand reaching for her, grabbing.

Her eyes are wide. The Demon’s pulling at her, the bloody sword in his hands. He’ll kill her.

LET ME OUT.

No!

I scream the word, and throw. The Demon twists, eyes staring at me, and freezes. Emile shrieks in horror and I hear a sound I’ll remember forever.

Thunk.

The blade stops, embedded in the Demon’s forehead. He blinks, reaches up to feel at the piece of metal in his head. He never completes the motion, but slumps onto the bed, half over Emille. She screams again.

“Are you alright?”

I run over to her. She screams at me. I pull the Demon off her, and the girl is screaming, pulling the covers over her face. I reach for her, hesitate. There’s someone laughing in my head. But I did that! I—

“Behind!”

Her voice makes me whirl. I turn, and there’s a second shape in the doorway. Another Demon, with two knives in his hands. He stares at the fallen Demon on the ground and roars at me.

GIVE—

This time I push the voice down. I stare at the Demon and he stares back. Now my blood is on fire. And I know what I have to do.

I charge the second Demon. He might be tall, but I’m heavy. We crash into each other and I feel him stabbing, quick as lightning. His knife goes into my stomach, one, two, three, four—

The blade vanishes. I yank it away from him and now it’s in my hands. He stabs towards my face before jerking away, realizing his hand is now empty. I slash at him, but we’re too locked together.

We roll on the floor as the [Princess] flees her bed. All I can see is the Demon’s face. His eyes are wide, green—he has no whites, just green sclera and yellow pupils shaped like diamonds, locked on me.

I can hear laughter, I can feel the madness taking over. But I fight it down as I stab back at the Demon. I’m in control! In this eternal moment of death and violence I realize it. It’s just me. I scream it at him.

“It’s me! I’m in control! Me! This is my choice!

I’ll kill. I stab the knife and feel it enter something. The Demon stabs me with his other knife, twisting the blades. I’ve felt pain before. I push mine deeper, deeper.

He stops moving. The lance of metal tears into me again. It’s just his hands and mine, seeking each other’s lives. I look at the Demon, straight into his eyes, and he looks at me.

“You and I—are both monsters.”

His eyes widen. His grip on the dagger loosens. I feel his claws tearing at my belly, and then relax. He stiffens, and I push myself off him.

The dagger—his dagger—is shoved hilt-deep into his chest, right where his heart would be if he’s like a Human. He’s covered in blood.

My blood.

I stagger upright, feeling a gaping…emptiness in my chest. I hear a sound. I turn, and Erille flinches away from me. I look down and see only blood and torn flesh where my chest should be.

“Oh. Sorry.”

I’m scaring her. I look at the Demon at the foot of her bed, and then the one at my feet.

Two Demons. Both dead. I did that. I did.

I should be angry, or sad. Or shocked. But I just stare at them. Dead. That’s all.

I killed them. I did it. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t care. What’s important is—is—

Blood drips to the floor. I turn to Erille. She huddles in her blankets, eyes wide, staring. But it’s important she knows. There’s no danger anymore. None.

“Just me. I did it. I’m—”

I stare down at my bloody hands and feel the deep cuts on my belly bleeding. The pain—I’ve felt worse. I clench my fingers tightly around the dagger still buried in my side. It hurts. But I’m me.

There’s no one else in here. Just Tom. Tom the [Clown].

Tom the Murderer.

“You should probably scream for help. Or something.”

I tell Erille that as I slowly sink to the ground. She looks at me and then turns, grabbing for something on her dresser. I hear her voice—very distant.

It’s all fading away. I stare towards one wall. Hey, Erille has a dresser like mine. I see the blood spattered room reflected in it, and a young man lying on top of a Demon’s body, covered in blood.

He’s me, but he’s not me. The other Tom looks up.

He grins at me. A white devil dancing in a pool of crimson. He stares at me, and I think he winks for a second. His smile is like blood. But it’s just in my head. I turn from the mirror.

“It’s all in my head. All.”

Just me. Then throughout the castle I hear a ringing noise, like bells, and hear shouting, bells and shouting and a horn now, like a siren. I listen to the sounds, and hear him whispering in my head.

It’s not over Tom. Not over. Not yet.

“You’re just…just…”

Someone’s bent over me. Erille? She has a bottle in her hands and she’s pouring it over my chest. The world goes dark. But I can still hear him.

I’m real as you are, Tom. I’m waiting for you to let me out. This was only the beginning.

And the devil laughs, and I smile. Because he’s not real.

He’s just in my head.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.04 C

There were eight Demons, actually. The other six were waiting outside Isodore’s room. They might have gotten her too, but my raising the alarm with the [Princess] saved her.

I learn that after I wake. That was still in Erille’s bedroom, the floor and walls still splattered with my blood and that of the Demon soldiers. There is no young [Princess], though. Just a [Healer] tending to me and the Fool, several guards, and the two dead bodies.

Later, I can remember trying to sit up, feeling the pain which makes me almost scream, and the [Healer] telling me to lie still while the potions do their work. Soon, the pain becomes a memory, but ah, what a memory.

In this world it’s possible to heal a wound in seconds where it would take months in my world. But the pain means that few people can stand to fight after taking such injuries. All but the best healing potions make you tired, sometimes nauseous—

And the agony of it can kill some people. The shock of it can stop a heart. I see the Fool convulsing as the [Healer] tends to him, crying out as his severed innards grow together and have to be pushed into his stomach before being healed.

But he is alive. And so is Erille. She is kept in a safe place, under highest guard while the entire palace and the rest of the city was put on high alert and searched. No other Demons are found, but watchful of more assassins, the Blighted King keeps his guards searching through the night and into the next day.

I don’t get to see any of it. I sleep after being treated, sleep through the night and late into the day. When I get up later, head spinning, feeling at unbroken skin on my stomach, it’s in a different room. Not mine, nor Erille’s.

A grand room. And I am lying in a bed, a large king-sized one. One with silk sheets. They’re oddly a refreshing light green color for some reason, and the bed is complete with plush pillows which are also green and embroidered with gold threads.

That is my bed. The rest of my room holds a large table and chairs to sit around it, a private bathroom, a bookshelf with a few books on it, a side table on which a few bottles of precious-looking tonics or other potions are resting…and a lot more. In short, I wake up in richness.

I get up, wobbling, and feel my knees trembling like jelly. I pat at my stomach again, feel it whole, and then remember.

“I did it! I—”

I laugh, and then shake, feeling hot, cold, and tremble at the memory of cold fear, of seeing the Demon with bloody sword, of fighting—

But I did it. I killed them. And Erille.

She’s alive. Right? And the Fool, I remember seeing him. But where are they? Not here, obviously. I need to ask.

I stumble to the doorway, then realize someone undressed me save for my underwear and pants earlier.

“Wait. Crap. This isn’t my old underwear! Oh god.”

Panicked, I have a crisis where the worst thought running through my head is that someone saw my private parts. Then I laugh and find some clothes to wear. After all I’ve just been through, that’s the least of my concerns.

I just really hope it wasn’t a guy. Or wait—would a girl be worse? An old woman? A young woman? I imagine an old [Butler] having to strip me down and shudder. I really, really hope no one talked about what they saw.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

 

—-

 

“You may approach the throne.”

The voice echoes throughout the hall. It bounces off the black and white marble tiles, from the ceiling where a series of intercrossing stone beams hold up the rest of the palace overhead. I’d look up, but I know that there are guards with bows and arrows and wands standing on the beams overhead. Plus, I have to walk forwards.

So I do. I cross the distance to the twisted throne ahead of me. It sits on a dais, drawing every eye in the throne room. Those that aren’t fixed on me, that is.

The Blighted King’s throne. It is made of twisted ivory. The bones of some ancient monsters, carved into a huge seat and enchanted. Or maybe the magic is in the bones? The throne seems to shudder and grow as I walk towards it.

Just an illusion. But it makes the man sitting in the throne all the more foreboding because of it. I stare up at the Blighted King and remember how afraid of him I was the first time I saw him. Now I see an old man.

I kneel. The cold marble is hard on my knee, but that’s protocol. The Blighted King studies me, and then bids me to rise. Around me, I see the kneeling people getting to their feet.

The nobility, champions of the king, dignitaries, common people—that is to say, wealthy [Merchants] and servants and powerful individuals who aren’t nobility or sworn to the crown—and my friends look at me. I stare towards the Blighted King and the three people who stand beside him on the throne.

The Blighted Queen, imperious, stone-faced. Isodore, looking pale, but pretty collected, and Erille, who half hides behind her step-sister, peering at me. She looks sideways, and I see a flash of color out of the corner of my eyes. The Fool stands, healed, watching me.

“Sir Thomas. The [Clown]. You have done our kingdom a great service this day. You protected our daughter, Princess Erille, when our guards failed us. Against assassins. Demons.

The Blighted King’s voice blazes with silent fury. The people around the room shift. I look up at him. I don’t want to be here, but I was spirited to the throne room as soon as I left my room.

At least I’m not required to really say much unless asked. The people in the throne room watch me as I stand, awkward, gazing at the Blighted King’s navel.

You killed two assassins meant for my daughter.”

He says it like a question. The Blighted King stares at me.

“How?”

“I…had a knife, your majesty. I killed one Demon with that. And I took the other one’s dagger.”

“You disarmed a soldier?”

“Yes, sire. I can steal things if I’m close enough. I can take a sword out of someone’s hands. It’s…well, a trick.”

“Show us.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Nereshal strides forwards. He has a dagger in his hand, the metal of the blade tinted light purple. He holds it, and I gingerly grab it out of his hands. I don’t need to touch his hands or the blade to do it. I hear a quiet susurration, and hand the blade back to Nereshal, hilt-first. He accepts the blade. The Blighted King leans forwards a bit on his throne, eyes narrowing.

“Intriguing. A trick indeed. We saw it performed before, but it seemed paltry, then. What do you make of it, Nereshal?”

The time mage studies me for a moment, impassive. He doesn’t seem wary of me so much as…intrigued. Everyone’s giving me that look, really. I guess saving Erille makes me important again.

Crap.

The [Chronomancer] turns back to the Blighted King. He bows.

“It appears to be a Skill similar to a bag of holding, my King. The Fool can do the same. I have heard of other classes with similar skills. [Rangers] whose quivers can hold seemingly endless numbers of arrows. Classes like [Thief] who can create secret containers about their person. I suppose these—[Clowns]—are known for the same feats?”

I think of improbably small clown cars, tricks with coins behind the ears and a surplus of balloons for every occasion.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“A worthy Skill. Useful in battle. Tell me, Sir Tom. You claim to be no warrior, but you killed two elite Demon soldiers by yourself. Are [Clowns] truly entertainers and not warriors as you claim? Do they not fight?”

The Blighted King stares at me. I want to laugh in his face. Sir Tom? A warrior? I’m just…no.

His question’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t know our world. So I take it seriously and think for a moment before replying.

Do clowns fight? What a question. Are you counting movie clowns who have supernatural abilities and eat kids, or do you mean real life ones? Even then, there are serial killer clowns…

Rodeo clowns are known for being badasses. Dante told me about it—he’s actually seen them dodging bulls in arenas. But an actual clown who fights for a living? I shake my head.

“No, your majesty. [Clowns] have tricks suited for combat, but they—aren’t warriors.”

The Blighted King looks at me, eyes boring into me. I return the gaze. He nods slowly.

“A pity. We search for Skills that might aid our people, classes that might be worth taking. It is a shame that this [Clown] class is not suited to war. But we understand more of your nature. We give you our thanks, Tom the [Clown].”

He inclines his head a fraction. I bow, prompted by Nereshal’s whisper. The Blighted King looks at me a moment longer, and then dismisses me from his thoughts again.

“We invite you to join our personage in the gardens shortly. We shall deliberate on a suitable reward tonight. Now onto more pressing matters. Nereshal, summon the commander of the palace guard. Failure must be met with appropriate punishment.”

Like that, I’m ushered out of the throne room. I walk away as another man, pale and sweating, takes my place. Some of the people in the room disperse, and once we’re outside and the massive doors to the room have swung shut, I hear them cheering.

I wish they wouldn’t. But I’m still glad. My friends cluster around me, slapping me on the back, congratulating me. For killing the Demons? For being sane while doing it? I don’t know. I don’t really care. I’m happy enough for the praise, whatever the reason.

After that, I go to the gardens for lunch. I was dragged before the Blighted King before I could get anything to eat and I am starving.

 

—-

 

Politics. Intrigue. Wait, are those the same words? They’re here even in Rhir, in the Blighted Kingdom. People vie to become the most important person, the most valuable asset to the Blighted King, or to control more power. Naturally, my friends and I are all small fry, but again, saving a [Princess] is usually a big deal no matter where you go.

That’s probably why I got the fancy new room. Richard, Emily, and the others certainly didn’t get an upgrade. And that’s also why I was invited to the gardens. Again, no one else from my group was. And finally, that’s how I ended up sitting with a bunch of the nobility of Rhir, listening to them gossip and talk over matters of the realm while the Fool performs for their children, some mages display illusions, and a [Bard] plays soft music in the background.

I don’t care. I’m here for the food. The servants offer me a cut of meat from a weird, long tongue. I take it and chew the soft meat without a second’s thought. It resists in my mouth for a second, then it’s soft, juicy. Succulent. I’m too hungry to quibble about the tongue bit.

“—Naturally we must retaliate in kind. I am not debating that point, Lord Yebior. But I assert that it would be a mistake to use [Assassins].”

There’s a light debate raging on at the moment. I’m sitting in a circle of about sixteen nobles, one of many groups in the gardens. Others are strolling about, talking, and the Blighted King has his own group of course. Since I have bad allergies I’m staying far away from the flowers and whatnot as possible. The people around me are some form of important, and my only input to the conversation has been to nod when everyone else does.

The woman who’s speaking is Lady Zekryia, wearing a pink and red outfit that looks a lot more practical than the dress I saw her in last time. As in, you could probably run in this one without tripping. It’s a cross between a riding dress and trousers, which looks great on her. I try not to stare.

Red. It’s the color she’s wearing, as is her sister who sits next to her, chewing on some tongue, and quite a few other ladies in the gathering. It appears as a splash of color whenever I see it.

Miscarriages. I wonder if the corruption on Rhir causes it? But Lady Zekryia is fierce, even in mourning.

“It is a fact that Rhir cannot field the same quality of [Assassins] as other continents. Purely because there is no Assassin’s Guild in our nation. Infighting of that sort is too detrimental of course, but it leaves us with a deficit of such killers in moments like these.”

Lord Yebior, a big guy with a beard and a scimitar at his hip, frowns. I take a plum tart from a plate and bite into it. Yum. I wonder what he’s gonna say? I have no idea.

“I don’t disagree, Lady Zekyria. However, how else would we send a message to the Demon King other than by stealth? I am not proposing we send low-level [Assassins] either—but surely we could contract the Assassin’s Guild on another continent?”

“For a suicide mission into Demon territory? And to send one of their best across the sea? Assuming it could be done, think of the cost!

Zekyria scoffs openly and I nod along with some of the others. Good point. Hey, is that a fruit drink I see being served? I could use a glass.

“And what do you think your reward from his Majesty will be, Sir Tom?”

A voice speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin. A [Lady] leans over to me, elegant, eyes on my face. I start sweating as I realize I’ve lost track of the conversation.

“Me? I uh…I have no idea. I don’t really need a reward.”

The others make polite scoffing sounds. Lady Zekyria tosses back her hair, which makes me sweat harder. Beautiful women talking to me is not a normal occurrence, and all the women around me are [Ladies]. Steady on, Tom.

“Surely there is something you desire? The Blighted King’s gifts are no trifles. I imagine he might present you with a dagger from his armory, perhaps a powerful artifact? Do you have a preference for enchantments, Sir Tom? I’ve always been a fan of ward enchantments myself, but for a knife specialist, perhaps you prefer contact enchantments?”

I stare at her blankly. What is it with people in this nation? The nobles are bloodthirsty. I guess being at war for thousands of years makes this kind of thinking normal. I cough.

“I’m not an expert at uh, enchantments. All of my knives are non-magical.”

“What? Then you surely need better equipment. All of the King’s champions have artifacts of their own—I shall petition his Majesty that you be awarded a blade worthy of your accomplishments tonight!”

“What? No, that’s really…I wouldn’t want to take a valuable weapon. Not when someone else might need it, you know?”

The others laugh. Lord Yebior gives me a pitying look.

“Sir Tom, his Majesty has enough arms to outfit an army. He has opened his armory in the past in times of need, but in safer times…it is an honor to receive an artifact from his vaults, not a burden, I assure you.”

“Oh? There’s a lot of artifacts?”

“Of course! This is Rhir, after all. We have accumulated treasures for generations. Each champion is accorded items worthy of any Named Adventurer if they did not have one already. Consider Sir Hesseras, over there. The Naga. You see him? He holds the Battleaxe of Caxel. A fascinating weapon—if held, the blade doubles in size but swings as fast as any hatchet. And Lord Meliore? The Shortsword of Weeping. Poisoned, obviously, which is why he has to keep it sheathed at all times. But my favorite artifact is perhaps the King’s own blade, Blightbane, which has several enchantments. I haven’t seen it drawn in years, but it is a sight…”

Lord Yebior begins talking enthusiastically about the artifacts around him, the others chiming in their examples. I blink and stare from person to person in the gathering. And I’m going to get a weapon like that? Well…it would be cool.

One of the people in the gathering is the old woman who dueled Richard earlier. When I ask about what she got, the others laugh. Zekyria leans over to me and whispers.

“Before she became a [Marchioness], Lady Xersia was known far and wide as a Named Adventurer. She was called Xersia the Scorpion. She has her own spear—I believe she was gifted with an amulet from the treasury for her service.”

“Oh. Named Adventurers can become nobility?”

Zekyria looks puzzled.

“Naturally! For their services against the enemy, famous adventurers are often granted lands and wealth. It is one of the things that draws them here. Alas, we lose them to age or battle too frequently.”

I look over at the old woman. She’s happily chewing on a tart. I don’t think she has many teeth.

“She looked pretty good when she was dueling the others last night.”

Zekyris sighs.

“A Named Adventurer never loses their Skills of course, but age is a limiting factor. Lady Xersia can only fight at her best for a few minutes before tiring, which is why she seldom returns to the front. If only Lord Nereshal could halt the aging of multiple individuals in our realm…”

“Does he do it for only the Blighted King?”

“Him, and perhaps the Queen. I believe Nereshal uses the spell on himself, but his mana may not extend beyond that.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] nod. One of them clears his throat.

“Speaking of warriors, Sir Thom, her Majesty was a famed warrior on the battlefield before she became the Blighted Queen. No doubt it was one of the reasons why his Majesty was so enamored with her.”

I glance at the Blighted Queen. I can imagine her smashing someone over the head with a mace. Yup, yup. Next to Zekyria, her sister, Lady Theras sighs longingly, her eyes on her King.

“Ah, if only I had become a [Lady] suited to the battlefield, rather than the manor…far better to die with a sword in hand rather than waste away in old age.”

“There’s many uses for your Skills outside of battle.”

Zekyria reassures her twin, smiling. Yebior nods.

“A warrior is not all that is needed in service of the realm. Consider the role the Lady Reinhart occupies in her lands for instance….”

Theras scoffs openly.

“The Flower of Izril? Hah! That brazen hussy—”

Zekyria tsks softly.

“She’s an ally of the kingdom, Theras. Remember that.”

“Nominally. She’d be far better off halting her squabbles for power with the Drakes and sending support here. But her complacency is costing her. Did you know I heard she was being targeted by [Assassins]?”

“Surely not. I’d heard they were under her thumb.”

“So you might think. But it seems her manor was attacked. Now I don’t know the details, of course…”

The talk turns towards some woman I’ve never heard about. I settle back into my chair, and hear a cheer going up. I look over and see the young children gathering around the Fool, who’s just performed a triple backflip, much to their amazement. I see heads turning, and the faces of the nobles around me are pursed with disapproval at the break in decorum.

“Tactless as usual. I suppose the Fool is recovered if he can move around like that…”

“A waste of a healing potion if you ask me. Why use such high-quality items on him?”

“He is a guest of the palace and entertains her highness. Still…I can understand given his level, but a [Fool] is nonetheless a fool, is he not?”

“His level? Is the Fool…a high-level?”

“One would imagine so, but his performances are usually decidedly lacking.”

Theras sniffs and the other nobles seem to agree. Zekyria explains as she eyes the Fool juggling twelve balls this time. As if that’s easy.

“Before he came to Rhir and pledged himself to his Majesty, the [Fool] was an noted entertainer who travelled across Baleros and Terandria, putting on performances. There are tales of the grand feats he would perform. However, these days he seems content to entertain children. Worthwhile of course for her highness’ sake, but if he cannot even repay his debt to our king with his life…”

I cough, feeling obliged to defend the Fool.

“He was taken hostage, right? And he tried to warn me when the Demons attacked.”

There’s not much sympathy from the others. Zekyria tosses her head dismissively.

“His injuries are of course regrettable. Still, he would do well to learn from your example, Sir Tom. You two are akin, are you not? But he was taken prisoner while you fought. Most admirable.”

Is she…hitting on me? She leans over and I do my best not to edge away. I know Zekyria has a husband. She had a kid. But I’m getting a vibe—then again, I’m not good with picking things up. But it seems like—

I’m saved from any thoughts in that direction by an interruption. The people around me rise and I hastily get to my feet as none other than Erille and Isodore approach. We all bow as the [Princesses] stop before me.

“Sir Tom.”

Isodore’s voice is polite and her smile appears genuine. But it’s probably fake. She nods towards me, and Erille.

“Erille wished to thank you personally for saving her life yesterday.”

She nudges her sister, and Erille steps forward. Her hands are in her dress, and she twists them together nervously. She looks up at me, and mumbles.

“…you.”

I can’t hear the first part of the sentence. Erille curtseys quickly, looking upset at being the focus of all this attention. I see the Fool grimace as he stands, juggling across the garden. He’s watching her sadly. I bow towards Erille, not wanting to draw out the moment.

“I’m honored to serve, Princess Erille.”

She nods at me and then flees. Isodore curtseys quickly and follows her. I hear a sigh from the other nobles.

“So young.”

“It was a stroke of fortune that the Demons did not kill her, truly. I fear she has so many years to grow, though.”

“Lady Isodore is promising, if young. A few years and she might…”

Zekyria turns to me with a bright smile.

“I’m sure Princess Erille is truly grateful. And perhaps we shall learn what reward will be bestowed on you tonight? I would be most grateful to sit with you at the banquet.”

“Ah! Lady Zekyria, I would put myself for the same honor!”

Yebior interrupts. The other nobles turn and begin fighting over me like one of the snacks. I try to excuse myself. Jeeze. Save a [Princess] and suddenly everyone’s your friend.

I wait for a reply in my head and hear none. I smile.

 

—-

 

After more conversation, more talk and eating and a good deal of time, it’s late in the evening. Just before dinner, which makes me regret eating so much in the gardens. But I can get away at last for a little bit before then, so I make a beeline to my room. There’s something I have to do.

I get lost on the way. I went back to my old room before Richard reminded me where I’m staying now. He grins at me as I throw up my hands.

“It’s a gift, Tom. You should enjoy your new place.”

“I guess. Is anyone else upset? I don’t want them to think I’m asking for special treatment. I could ask the King or Nereshal…”

Richard shakes his head.

“Emily’s salty, but we all know you deserve it. Besides, we can’t complain. And you did nearly die.”

“I guess. I’ll see you at dinner, then? I’m supposed to sit with some of the nobles, but I think I can get away.”

I turn to go. Richard stops me.

“Hey Tom.”

“What?”

“You did it. You saved a [Princess]. And you did it…without having a problem, right?”

He looks at me. I look back and nod, slowly.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

His grip tightens a bit on my shoulder. Richard smiles.

“I’m glad.”

I smile as well and walk away without another word. It takes me twenty minutes to find my rooms, and they’re not that far away in the palace. So many corridors and so far to walk…you could get all your exercise just going from one part of the castle to another. When I finally get to my door, I walk in, a bit tired, elated, and thinking of a nap.

But my eyes are drawn to one thing in the room besides the bed. The dresser. It’s much like the one in my old room and is, in fact, decorated with my possessions from my old room as well. I stare at the perfect mirror and get out of bed to hobble over to it. I touch my fingers to the cool glass and stare into my eyes.

“I win.”

The Tom in the mirror doesn’t respond. After a minute he raises his hand. I press it against the glass.

“I killed them. Me. It was…I had to do it. And it was terrible and it hurt. But it was me, get it? I did that. Me.”

I finish speaking, stare at myself. I stare back, looking a bit tired, a bit triumphant. I wait, but I don’t reply.

“I won’t be afraid of you anymore. I won’t listen. You’re in my head. You’re a part of me. But you don’t control me. I control myself, and I’ve taken responsibility for my actions.”

At last, he stirs. The other Tom looks into my eyes, and his lips grudgingly move.

Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Shut up, you idiot. You don’t know anything. You killed two Demons and everyone’s praising your name. But you know you’re not in the clear yet, don’t you?”

I stare as Tom steps back a bit. My hands go up; he adjusts his shirt.

“It’s not over. Do you really think it is? Don’t be stupid, Thomas. I might be insane, but I’m not an idiot. Neither are you.”

“What do you mean?”

He stares at me, and then walks out of the mirror’s range. I sit on the bed, hearing his voice, my voice, in my ears.

“Think about it. Demon soldiers, appearing in the middle of the night? How? And they just so happen to know where the [Princesses] are sleeping? That’s hard to do, even for assassins. If they were assassins.”

I remember seeing the dead guard out of Erille’s room and shudder.

“They seemed pretty intent on killing to me.”

I feel my eyes roll.

“Yes. I guess they did. All two of them. And there were two for the other princess. None for the Blighted King, his Queen, or anyone else. Why’s that?”

No response. I get back up, go back to the mirror. Tom stares at me. The black pits of his eyes are dark. Fathomless. I look away.

Someone organized my belongings, such as they are. I glance down at my tin of grease paint, play with the freshly laundered clown suit as he talks.

“This is just the start. You know that. And you might have killed two Demons, but you know you’re nothing without me.”

“I’m me. You’re in my head. And you can’t control me. I proved that just now. Yesterday, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?”

He laughs. I look up and glare at him in the mirror. He glares back, and then grins. And then the grin freezes. It slides off my face and I study myself. I shake my head.

“It’s all me. See?”

I wait. The reflection doesn’t respond. I go on.

“Me. I pretend. I get it now. I’m doing this. And I can stop. It’s my choice. Maybe I like thinking I’m insane. But I’m not. And if I don’t let you have a thing, you can stay a voice in my head for all I care.”

No response. I smile bitterly.

“Good chat. Let’s never do this again. I win. No—there was never anyone to play against, was there? Just me.”

I turn. I hear no voice, no mocking reply. It is just me.

Then I hear a whisper in my head.

So you say. I left a little present for you, though. A little reminder I’m here. Want me to tell you what it is?

I ignore the voice. Turn. What’s the old expression again? Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words…

Words can hurt. Of course they can. And thoughts can be terrible. But they will not control me.

It’s time for the banquet. I absently get ready in front of the mirror. I don’t have many good pairs of clothes, but I do make sure I have a few knives up my sleeves. Just in case.

And then I go. Voiceless. I stride out of the bedroom, feeling better than I have in months. A new room, a friend in the Fool, and some measure of respect. And who knows? Maybe things can get better than this. I don’t know, but I’m hopeful.

I might just enjoy tonight after all.

 

—-

 

I get lost on the way to the banquet hall again. It’s my new room. Plus, I never got to know the old one that well. It’s also hard to get directions. All the servants just stare at me and point. I guess they still don’t think I’m that much of a hero. I know I’m not.

But I still get to the banquet hall in good time. The [Chamberlain] blinks when he sees me, but points me to the table with my friends.

I sense heads turning as I enter the room. People watching me, murmuring. I hate that. But I also know that they’ll stop as soon as something else happens. Give me a week, a month, and people will barely remember my name, let alone call me a hero.

My friends are sitting with their backs to me, laughing with the Drakes. I know I should sit with the nobles, but I want to talk to them first, say hi. Maybe ask if Lady Zekyria has a husband. I dunno, I’m feeling very lucky. Although that’s probably pushing any amount of luck I’d ever have.

“Hey guys. What’s up?”

They turn, laughing, at the sound of my voice. Then freeze. Richard pauses, a cup halfway to his mouth. Emily turns pale. Keith and Eddy nearly fall out of their seats. And Cynthia—

Screams.

The sound cuts through every other noise in the banquet hall. It’s pure, genuine terror. I see guards start to run towards us, and sense every eye on me. But why?

“Cynthia? What’s wrong?”

I take a step towards her. She backs out of her seat, hand knocking away plates, dishes—she tries to climb over the table to get away from me. I stop and turn towards Eddy. He’s shrinking back in his seat. And then Richard—he has a hand on his sword. His face is white as he stares at me.

“Tom?”

It’s a whisper. And suddenly, my heart’s pounding. Why is he looking at me like that? Why is he looking at me like—

“Richard? Why are you all staring at me?”

He looked shocked. Tongue-tied. Unable to explain. He looks at Emily and she breaks the silence.

“Tom. Your face.”

I slowly raise my hands to my face. Uncomprehending. Then I touch my cheeks. Feel a bit of oil, sticky slickness blended with a powder. I stare at my fingers and see white.

“A mirror.”

I look around. Faces, staring. The world blurs. I lunge for the table and people draw back around me. Cynthia screams again. But I just want to see.

There’s a plate holding some grapes. I dump them off and hold up the shiny surface, polishing it with one hand. Why—why is my sleeve yellow? What am I wearing?

And then I see. Then I hear laughter in my head, and feel the world shift.

A clown stares back at me. Face pale and white, eyebrows drawn in black. Shadows under the eyes. A red nose. A crimson splash. And red lips, just waiting to smile. The clown stares back, horrified, dressed in a bright yellow suit, splashed with faint stains the best washing couldn’t remove.

A clown. And then I turn, and see the horror on my friend’s faces. The confusion, the look of unease on the others. The guests of the Blighted King have seen the Fool, but they’ve never seen a [Clown]. Never seen a man who dresses himself up to mock the world like I do.

And I feel the floor breaking up underneath me. I didn’t know. I thought I was getting ready. I didn’t—

Is he real? Am I insane?

No. This is just—

“It’s just me, guys. I—sorry.”

I back away from the others. Richard’s still staring. Cynthia’s sobbing. Some of them are just staring at me, nervous. Others…some of them saw me afterwards, laughing. They’re the ones who look truly frightened.

I walk away from them, hearing Richard try to explain to the guards what made Cynthia scream, sensing conversation resume in the room. But the eyes follow me.

What could I say to them? What can I say? This was a joke? No. That I didn’t realize I’d put on my costume and the paint? That’s worse.

I don’t know if I should stay. But as I’m debating running for the doors and burning the costume and washing myself, I hear someone call out.

“Sir Tom!”

Lady Zekyria. She’s waving to me. She doesn’t appear to be bothered by my appearance. She laughs as I walk over to her.

“What a look! And what entertainment, Sir Tom! Is that what a [Clown] is supposed to look like? You’re far more diverting than a [Fool]!”

“Indeed.”

Sir Yebior sits across from me, eying me appraisingly. He gestures for me to sit. Dreaming, walking in a nightmare, I do.

It’s like I’m in one of those dreams where I go to school and realize I’m naked. Only this time, no one at the table cares. They joke about it, asking why I scared Cynthia so, listening to my garbled explanation with polite smiles. They don’t know.

But I do. I feel cold certainty gripping me at last.

I am not in control.

What can I do? What should I do? I stare towards the head table. The Blighted King is watching me. He’s supposed to present me with a reward, right? I don’t want it. I need to leave, to find somewhere alone to think—

How angry will he be if I leave now? How rude would that be? I don’t care. The nobility are laughing around me. I go to push up my chair. And stop.

Demons are attacking!

A man screams the word. I turn, the world slows. I see a soldier, armor covered in blood, one arm hanging limp, running into the hall, shoving aside the [Chamberlain]. Again there is silence. He rushes towards the Blighted King’s table, blocked by a wall of guards who rush towards him. He stops there, and the Blighted King rises.

“Where?”

“The courtyard, your Majesty! They appeared out of nowhere. A spell—they’re invading the palace and securing the courtyard as we speak!”

I hear screams now, but the Blighted King is on his feet and another man with a greatsword leaps up and roars for silence. He and four other warriors including Xersia the Scorpion race out of the hall, their forms a blur.

“Nereshal!”

The King shouts one word. The [Chronomancer] runs across the hall and two other mages, a female Centaur and a male half-Elf, run over. Nereshal raises his hand and speaks a word.

A picture floats in the air, clearer than any video, large enough so that I can see it from where I side. I see the courtyard from above, dark, melting snow covering parts of the flagstone. And dark shapes, hundreds of them, streaming towards the palace. More still hold the gates while others race along the courtyard walls, swords flashing as they cut down the guards stationed there.

Demons.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.05 C

“How did they appear?”

There’s chaos in the banquet hall. The Blighted King is questioning the guard who raised the alarm. Other soldiers are rushing for the doors, creating blockades in the corridors. But most of the guards and people are staying put. Waiting. Listening.

Fear is in the air. My stomach is churning. What can I do? What should I do?

He was right. I was right. But how did the Demons get here?

“Teleportation magic. A scroll—possibly artifacts. To teleport so many, the Demon King must have used every magical item in his possession.”

Nereshal is conferring with a group of [Mages]. His eyes are on the projection. And then I see movement from the courtyard.

The Demons are streaming into the castle, most through the main gates. But they’re also moving along the battlements. One group is clustered around the left wall. I see an explosion, and a different group appears.

Humans. Two Humans, a man and an old woman. A Gnoll, and a Selphid. They cut down the Demons and charge into the courtyard, running along the battlements. The Blighted King’s champions.

A cheer goes up through the room as the people see the four champions charging the Demons. But the Blighted King and his advisors don’t cheer. They watch, intently, as the four warriors rush a group in the center of the courtyard.

“There. Their leader is a mage.”

Nereshal points. A female Demon wearing robes is standing in the courtyard, staff aloft. By her side is a male Demon, holding a bow taller than he is. It must be seven feet tall. He wears no armor. One of the champions raises his own bow, draws an arrows, looses it in a moment.

The arrow vanishes before it reaches the Demon with the bow. He puts an arrow to his bow, draws, fires. The Gnoll who fired tries to dodge, but the arrow curves in the air and strikes him in the chest. He falls.

Lady Xersia, a man with a shortsword, and the Selphid holding two greatswords are left. They charge into a group of Demons coming up the stairs. The Selphid impales two on each sword; the Demons run into the blades. He disappears, covered by the Demons who don’t flinch as Xersia and the man with the short sword cut them down one by one.

“Fearless.”

Nerershal speaks the word like a curse. More of the Demons are flooding towards the two champions. The man with the shortsword dodges left—an arrow slashes his leg. The Demon with the bow puts another arrow in the air, and I see it pierce through the man’s armor as if it weren’t there.

“Magic-piercing arrows.”

The Blighted Queen speaks. Silence reigns. Xersia is last. The old woman dashes towards the Demon with the bow like lightning across the ground. The Demon puts an arrow to his bow and looses it. She curves around the arrow like lightning. She lunges with her spear—

And vanishes. Everyone stares at the image of the courtyard. The Blighted King turns to Nereshal.

“What happened?”

“The [Mage] is specialized in teleportation magic.”

The time mage speaks quietly. His eyes are fixed on the projection in the air. The Blighted Queen looks around the courtyard.

“Where was she sent?”

“Up.”

A shape, tumbling down through the air. Thousands of feet overhead, falling like a comet. Tiny, still clutching her spear.

Xersia.

She falls out of the sky. The Blighted King, the people in the banquet hall, everyone, watch in silence as Lady Xersia hits the ground. She threw her spear at the end—the Demon with the bow shoots it out of the sky.

The Blighted King watches it all, as the two, the teleportation [Mage] and the Demon [Archer] calmly turn back to their business. The [Mage] raises her staff and seems to chant. The [Archer] takes a position on the wall and begins shooting down towards the city.

“Unforgivable.”

The Blighted King’s voice is cold. Nereshal studies the projection, and I see more of the Demons, the Fearless, streaming into the castle. Hundreds of them. The time mage turns to his King, face grave.

“I know the archer, your Majesty. And the mage. They are both high-level, thought to be over Level 40 at the least. The Demon King has sent two of his best warriors to hold this ground. One to protect, the other to open a gate.”

“And let his army pour through. Nereshal, how long do we have?”

All eyes are on the [Chronomancer] as he thinks. He turns to confer with the Centaur [Mage], and then raises his voice.

“Teleportation spells are exceedingly complex. Assuming the mage knows where she wants to open a portal to, and her Skills are focused in that area…anywhere from two hours to forty minutes.”

“You are sure? Could they not speed up the spell if they were prepared? I have seen you teleport short distances within minutes.”

The Blighted Queen has a long mace, black like obsidian, in her hand. She rests the head on the ground as she looks at Nereshal. He nods.

“Any competent mage can teleport short distances relatively quickly, but a portal hundreds of miles or more away? Your Majesty, no [Mage] in the world could perform such calculations in ten minutes or less. Not even an Archmage. However, she should not be able to cast such spells at all! The anti-teleportation ward—”

“—Is clearly not working. We have less than an hour, then. We must repel the Fearless invading the palace. They surely seek the Blighted King’s head. And the [Mage] must die.”

The Blighted Queen is full of action, ready to move out. The King is deliberate. He looks at Nereshal.

“Why is the ward stone not working, Nereshal? Find me answers. Until then, if the teleportation spells is not working, is it possible to send a force to deal with the [Mage]? Ambush her?”

Nereshal hesitates.

“We lack warriors on the level of the two in the courtyard, your majesty. Lady Xersia was the highest-level warrior present. I could attempt to battle myself with her Majesty, but—”

“If we lose you, we step one moment closer to the end. As for our consort—no.”

The Blighted Queen turns to her husband.

“With respect, my lord. If we fail to repel the Demons, all is lost.”

“Then we shall consider it a matter of last resort.”

He nods. The Blighted King rises, and turns to a [Strategist] at his side. They confer out loud.

“It seems we must push back the Demons instead. I will use my Skills, but it falls to you and the other warriors present in the palace to push back their line.”

“It will be difficult, my King.”

A Dullahan with a scar down her face grimaces, her face set. She brings out a map and spreads it out on the table.

“Defensively, we could hold these halls and wear down a superior force over the course of days, or barricade ourselves in for weeks. But with a second force on the way, we must retake the castle and the courtyard within the hour. And the soldiers flooding the castle are elites. The Fearless have been sent in numbers. We will fight them to the death.”

The Blighted King curses.

“They struck us at our weakest moment! How did the Demon King know? If we must take the courtyard, it will be numbers against those two. Their levels will create a slaughter. For the army we need, we must rally the guards. Where are they stationed? Who in this room can fight? Act quickly; we have little time.”

The Blighted King turns, and like that the spell of paralysis on the room breaks. Men and women rush towards the doors, some dashing out of them, others barricading entrances. Richard and Emily are on their feet, and they rush towards the Blighted King with the other people with combat classes. The rest of the people in the room, noncombatants, talk, afraid. Some are weeping; I can see the Fool standing with Erille and Isodore, their faces pale.

At my table, the [Lords] and [Ladies] are speaking urgently. Yebior rises to his feet, unsheathing a dagger from his belt.

“Time to fight, my friends. If we can put but a single body between the Demons and our King—”

He strides towards the gathering warriors with a few [Lords]. Zekyria turns to the others and pulls something off her finger. A ring, the gem glowing with an inner light.

“We have artifacts. Let us gather them for the warriors. Come now, hold nothing back.”

A flurry of motion breaks out. I look around the table and feel lost. Afraid.

What can I do? Fight? I’m no warrior, but—everyone’s needed. I should volunteer. Or I could stay, keep them safe if it comes to the worst. Richard’s there, face grim, and so is Emily, Eddy, Vincent—they’re all ready to fight and die. I should be too.

I go to stand up. I put my hands on the table and stand.

My legs don’t move. I stare. Blink. I try again. My legs don’t move.

I look down. Or try to. My head doesn’t move. I’m telling it to look, to move, but it doesn’t. I try to raise my hands. Nothing happens.

Nothing works. I can’t even blink. What’s going on? I can’t—I’ve lost control of my body.

My hand rises. I stare at it as I pick up a fork. And then my head does turn. It stares left, towards a silver pitcher filled with wine. The metal is clear and polished, it reflects my face. A clown stares back at me, face painted, dressed in a ludicrous costume stained with blood. And then, to my horror, he grins at me.

“Well, it seems like everything’s going wrong, doesn’t it? My turn to come out, I think.”

No. No. Oh, no, no, no, no, no—not now. This can’t be happening. Slowly, the hand with the fork raises. In the mirror, Tom twirls it, as the people around him panic and more screams begin to echo through the hall.

“We had a lot of fun, didn’t we, Tom? When you thought I wasn’t real, when you were so sure that you’d beaten me? As if you could beat yourself.”

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I can’t be going insane. Not now! I tried so hard! I didn’t let you out!

I can’t speak. I’m only a voice in his head. In my head. Tom laughs, and it’s not my laughter. It’s darker, wilder, with an edge of madness in it.

“Let me out? You can’t let me out, you idiot! There’s nothing to let out! You and I are the same. How can you stop yourself? See?”

He lifts the fork and begins to pick at his teeth with it, casually. I try to stop him, to seize control of my hand.

You’re not me! You’re something else! Give me back my body—

“Tom, Tom!”

He raises his voice. I can sense Zekyria turning her head to stare at him. Me. Tom ignores the look. I ignore the look. I look into my reflection’s eyes, see the panicked look there. Hah. I hate him so much, that other me. I speak to him.

“It’s always been you, Tom. There’s no one in here but you. And me. Heh. Haha.”

I giggle. I hear his voice.

You can’t do this. The Demons are attacking. We need to help. We need—

“Need?”

I cut him off, harshly. I spin, pointing around the room. The Blighted King has lost control. His warriors are gathered around him as he, Nereshal, and a few advisors plot feverishly. The view of the courtyard has shifted. Now I see inside corridors of the castle. It’s a maze, but the Fearless are flooding down it, cutting down servants, fighting pockets of guards.

“Do you think they have a chance? Really, Tom? They’re doomed, unless someone helps them. And we both know you’re not the man for the job.”

Don’t. You can’t!

“Can’t I?”

I raise my voice, lift the delicate fork up. People are shouting, asking their King what they should do. He’s trying to get them to shut up. What a poor [King]! Can’t he see the truth?

Stop! I won’t let you cause a massacre again! I won’t! I’d rather die!

“Sir Tom? What are you doing?”

Now Lady Zekyria is looking at me. I grin at her. She likes me. I wonder if she’ll like me after this?

Don’t hurt her!

“Sir Tom? Are you going to fight? I believe you are needed.”

Yebior is calling out to the Blighted King. Idiot.

“My King, what should I—”

Stop! STOP!

Voices. So many voices! Too many. I raise the fork high overhead and bring it down. Onto my other hand.

Enough!

The tines of the fork go through my hand and hit bone. The voice in my head shuts up. I hear it scream and fade. And the room goes silent. I stand, and yank the fork out of my hand. I stare at the bent tines and try to fix one. Disappointing.

“They don’t make them like they used to. Hey there!”

The Blighted King is looking at me! I stroll over, laughing as I see his guards raising their weapons and looking uncertainly at me. I raise my hands.

“Pardon me, your Majesty. Sorry for the interruption, but I needed your attention.”

“[Clown]. What do you want?”

He stares at me. I smile at him.

“Just a word, old man. By the way, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tom. Pleased to meet you.”

I stick my hand in his face. He recoils. What? Oh, that’s the bloody one. How rude. The Blighted Queen hisses.

“How dare you?”

The Blighted King raises a hand, staring at me uncertainly.

“I know who you are.”

“No, you don’t.”

I wag a finger at the King and point to my chest.

“You see, you met Tom. I’m Tom. The same, but different. Better. I tell jokes. He’s one big, fat joke. And he’s taking a break so I can come out.”

“Tom—”

Richard. He pales as I swing around, grinning at him. Emily backs up.

Richard! Hey, we never got a chance to talk. I’d love to chat, but I’m a bit busy. If you could just hold on—”

“We are wasting time. Remove him. Guards.”

Nereshal looks at me. Ooh, he’s not bothered by me at all, I can tell. I trip up the first guard who comes towards me and throw my arm around the time mage. He stiffens, but doesn’t throw me off. Maybe because of the dagger I have pressed against his throat? Now I have everyone’s attention.

“Good! I don’t want to be a bother, Mister Important Blighted Guy, but I just wanted to point something out. You’re all hot and bothered about this Demon army that appeared, but did anyone think to ask how they got here?”

Nereshal shifts. I push the dagger into his throat and he stops moving his hand oh-so-stealthily up.

“Teleportation magic—”

“Yeah, yeah. We got that the first time, old man. What I mean is, how’d they get past your special teleportation blocker? You were talking about it all day.”

“I do not know. It is here, but it isn’t working.”

Nereshal turns his head and I stare at a younger [Mage] holding a stone in his hands. I grin. All the pieces are falling into place! Just like that.

“Well, well. That makes sense. Hey, your Majesty. Wanna know something funny?”

The Blighted King stares at me.

“Release Nereshal, [Clown].”

“No, no, that’s not the important bit. The knife is—whoops, sorry, scratched you there, didn’t I? Ignore me. Focus on the big picture. I know who let the Demons in.”

Everyone stares at me, an audience of suckers waiting for the punch line. I grin. The Blighted Queen leans forward.

“Who?”

“Him.”

I let go of Nereshal to point across the room. It’s obvious, of course. Everything pointed to him, but Tom was too stupid to put the pieces together. Good thing I’m as smart as he is. Just as ugly, though.

The Fool stops in his tracks, one hand on the door, the other holding Princess Erille’s hand. He turns. I laugh at him.

“Where are you going, Fool? Don’t you want to meet your buddies?”

He looks at me. I wink. The Fool looks around the room. What’s he going to do? He could probably pass it off, pretend he was trying to get Erille to safety, call me mad (which is totally fair), but—oh, no, he’s running!

He nearly makes it out of the door. I think he would have, and with Erille too, if good old Neres didn’t get up and point at the Fool. He freezes in place, one hand flinging the door wide. Time stopped.

“See? Only the guilty run. And idiots. And joggers. The worst of all.”

I laugh as soldiers charge at the Fool. The Blighted King stares at him as the Fool is dragged over.

“Fool?”

“Aw, don’t look so surprised. It was bound to happen. Bad parenting, poor leadership, probably some evil crime the Fool found out about, maybe he thinks he’s her real father. You certainly do a bad job of it, don’t you?”

I sling an arm around the Blighted King and watch him tense up. Hah! I laugh and plant a kiss on his cheek, and spin away. Someone puts a sword to my throat. The Blighted King stares at me.

“How did you know?”

“I’m smart. Hey, nice sword.”

I grab it from the guard and watch as he recoils. Aha! The Blighted Queen lifts her mace. I toss the sword down.

“Oh hush, it was only a kiss. Don’t get all jealous on me now. Anyways, your Majesty, that explains it all. The Fool marked the spot in the courtyard for his buddies to come through, tried to abduct the [Princesses] beforehand—”

“But how did he disable the teleportation ward? It’s right here—”

Nereshal strides over to a glowing stone. I stare at it.

“Pretty. Also: fake.”

“Impossible.”

I kick him in the groin. What? He was asking for it and it’s funny. Nereshal goes white. I pick up the stone from where he dropped it and lift the glowing thing into the air. Sparkly. It’s like a glowing purple…stone. You know what? I’m not good with pictures. I drop the stone and stomp on it.

It breaks. Again, there’s the entire ‘bladed weapons raised’, but I decide to ignore it. The Blighted King stares down at the stone. The fragments disappear as he watches.

“What is this?”

“It’s fake. The [Fool] made it. It’s a Skill of his. Try to keep up. I don’t know how he got it, but I suppose that’s your fault, hmm?”

I glance at Nereshal as he bends over, clutching at his unmentionables. You would have thought his fancy robes would have been spelled to protect him against that. The [Mage] glares at me.

“I should kill you—”

“Nereshal. Enough. This—Tom has given us the answers. Restrain the Fool. I wish to question him afterwards. But we must repel the Demons. Now.

The Blighted King whirls away from me. I laugh. He turns back. Oh, now he’s getting upset. I’d kiss him again, but he’s too far away.

“What?”

I stroll towards him and a big mace blocks my way. I stare at the Blighted Queen and then lick her arm. She backhands me.

“Ow.”

I think she knocked a tooth out! Wait—yes she did. I get up, laughing, and see the faces. Oh, the faces. They’re all staring at me. Some shocked, others horrified—the way I like it.

Who says I’m not a people person?

“Sorry. Pardon me, your Majesty. I just think it’s funny. That’s all. You people talk about war and ‘tactics’ when you’re missing the point. If you want these—heh—Demons gone, just ask me. I told you how they got in, didn’t I? I’ve got tons of good ideas on how to get rid of them, too.”

“Speak, then.”

The Blighted King looks at me. I stand, clear my throat.

“Okay, have you thought about asking them nicely?

He stares. The Blighted Queen raises her mace. I roll my eyes.

Fine. It’s nighttime. They’re rushing through the corridors, probably right here if the Fool told you where they are.”

“So?”

So…make it harder? Your hallways are nice and bright. There’s too much light! I say…douse the lights. Make it dark.”

The Blighted King looks at Nereshal. The [Mage] hesitates, nods.

“That could slow their progress, confuse them. The palace is labyrinthian.”

I tap my foot on the ground. Wait a second, I forgot my big shoes! I’d better go get them—well, maybe later.

“Now might be nice.”

Nereshal stares at me, and then raises his hand. I see flashing symbols, bright lights as he commands the castle’s magic—I edge over to where Isodore is standing, pale-faced.

“Shove over a bit, will you? I never got a chance at the bread basket.”

She stares at me and flees. I munch down on a loaf as Nereshal does something magical. Bloody. And toothy. That’s going to hurt coming out.

“The lights have been extinguished. Now. [Heart of Darkness].”

He intones a spell or something and the other mages join in. Darkness spins from his fingertips, flooding out the corridors, turning the hallways pitch black. I grin.

“Lights out.”

Now the Demons are obscured from view. But I’ll just bet they’re having a bad time finding their way. The Blighted King stares at me. I grin.

“Well? Time to get a sword and start chopping.”

“We cannot see the enemy. Should we not barricade ourselves?”

I roll my eyes. He’s really not good at this, is he?

“If you want to wait for the Demon King to show up with an army, sure. Otherwise, I’d go corridor by corridor and cut up everything you see with those shiny swords you give out. By the way, where’s mine?”

He ignores that. Skinflint. The Blighted King looks at the projection of his palace in the air. Nereshal’s changed it to a map of the castle. I stare at it. Lots of corridors, rooms…hey, is that my room I see?

“There are servants in the halls. Guests of the crown. If we cannot see our enemy, we may cut them down by mistake.”

I look at him, tilting my head to one side and the other.

“So? They’re dead anyways. If you want, send in your pretty little [Knights] and have them die. But then you’ll lose valuable warriors as opposed to, well, people. If I were you, I’d just blast each corridor with magic. One by one.”

He stares at me. I grin. The Blighted King looks around and realizes he has an audience. He shakes his head.

“Nereshal. Go. Take six of the eight [Mages] here and every warrior that may be spared. Blast the corridors only as a last resort. My lady—”

“I will go.”

The Blighted Queen walks past me, mace in hand. I laugh. And turn.

“Ooh, you’re joining in on the fun? In that case, let’s have a competition, Queen lady. Who can kill more?”

She glares at me.

“I do not compete with peasants.”

“And I don’t compete with Queens. But I’ll make an exception for you.

She doesn’t reply. She strides towards a door, and the warriors follow. I sigh. The Blighted King looks at me.

“That may not be enough. The mage attempting to create a portal is the real threat.”

“You think? And here I thought you were stupid. Leave the mage to me.

I grin at him. The King looks uncertain.

“You think you can defeat two of the Demon King’s champions?”

“Eh…it looks like fun?”

I scratch my head and shrug. He stares at me.

“If you are able, I will shower you with wealth and whatever you desire.”

“Pancakes?”

Blank look. No one else laughs either. Tough crowd. I turn. The little voice in my head is back. Oh no, what have you done, what are you doing, so on and so forth. I ignore him. Now, I had a good idea. What was it?

I snap my fingers. The Blighted King blinks.  Nereshal raises a hand. Touchy. You’d think I nailed him in the balls or something.

“I’ve got it! I’ll take care of your mage. I just need a few things. Time, for one.”

“Whatever you need, within reason I will give it to you.”

“A map, a [Mage] who can cast a few spells for me, and a few shiny knives, your Majesty. Give me that and I’ll solve your problems for you. Oh, and I want your sword.”

He stares at me. I scratch my head.

“Oh, and some healing potions. I’m going to have to kill some people as well. You said those Demons are all fearless? Sounds like fun.

I grin. And my smile is bloody. Missing tooth. The Blighted King looks at me as if I’m crazy.

Which I completely am.

 

—–

 

The Demons run through the palace of the Blighted King in Rhir. They are armed for war, prepared for this day. Enchanted swords in hand, they slaughter anyone they come across. They have a target.

But they cannot find him. The darkness is all-consuming. The lights that had illuminated their way have vanished. Now a magical darkness steals through the castle, so that those without powerful Skills or magic are unable to see. And those who can see—

Are fighting.

Humans, Drakes, Selphids, creatures of every species hold corridors, fighting. Some are [Lords], others [Merchants] or simple [Warriors]. Some aren’t even meant to fight. But they hold the line as the Blighted King’s orders fill them with strength. Their flesh is like iron, and they do not break.

But their enemies do not fall back. They are Fearless, elite. Chosen. And they push their way further and further into the palace, killing, searching.

A group of sixteen warriors runs down a narrow corridor, weapons at the ready. They are ready for an ambush. They are not ready to hear the sound echoing down the corridor ahead of them.

Humming. A voice in the darkness. The Fearless pause, and their leader holds up a hand. One of them has a shortbow and he fires it ahead. They hear a thunk, an impact.

The humming stops. The Demons move ahead, cautiously. Then they see him.

A Human. He’s large, heavy, shorter than average. His face is dead white, his nose and mouth red. An arrow sticks out of his shoulder. He’s standing in the hallway.

And he’s laughing.

Giggling, as if the arrow sticking out of his shoulder is funny. The Fearless stare at him for a second. They are without fear. Their leader points, they charge.

“Hi there. My name is Tom!”

Shadows in the night. The [Clown] laughs as he tears the sword away from the first Demon and runs the second through. The warriors stab into his stomach. One nearly cuts his arm off. The [Clown] laughs. He grabs one of the warriors, ignoring the blade in his stomach.

Hahahahahahaha—gotcha!

He vanishes along with the warrior he’s holding. The Demons turn. They search for their comrade as one of their number bleeds and dies on the ground. The Human is nowhere to be seen. They continue onwards. They go for ten feet when they hear a voice.

“Hey. Miss me?”

Someone steps out from the shadows behind them. The [Clown] grins. His wounds on his stomach are closed. His arm is intact. He raises two knives and throws them as the Fearless turn. One strikes just above an ear; the other Demon dodges.

“That’s one. Two, if you count the guy I killed. And the girl I grabbed. That was a girl, right?”

The Fearless are without fear. They charge at him, trying to maneuver in the tight corridor. The [Clown] laughs as he cuts into them. Without fear. They cut each other. He grabs another and vanishes. They turn and run.

“Do you want to know how I got these scars? Wait a second—”

He appears down the next corridor, laughing. His wounds are closed. He smiles at the Fearless.

“Have we met before?”

They pause. They stare at him. The Fearless feel no fear. They cannot. Unease, trepidation, terror—all are emotions they have forgotten. But they still feel. And what they feel is—

Disturbed. The [Clown] strolls towards them. They back up. This time they loose arrows at him. They burn his body with magic. He vanishes, laughing.

He appears again minutes later. The Fearless split up. They feel no fear. But they do not understand. He’s laughing. As they cut him, he laughs, as he bleeds, he laughs. And each time they grow fewer in number.

The next time the [Clown] appears, the Fearless retreat. They do not feel fear. But that means they do not understand it either. All they feel is confusion. Uncertainty. They break and run against an enemy they cannot kill. And the [Clown] laughs. He turns.

And vanishes.

 

—-

 

I love a good show. So when I appear in the banquet hall, I twirl. The [Mage] who teleported me steps back. I pat his cheek.

“Thanks for the pickup! Beam me up…uh, your name isn’t Scotty, is it?”

He’s panting too hard to speak. Nereshal walks towards me. He has a gash on a cheek. I saw him freeze a corridor full of Demons. All I had to do was walk up and stab them. He takes all the fun out of life.

“Are the Demons still present in that corridor?”

I shrug.

“They ran.”

“The Fearless?”

“Yeah. False advertising, I call that. Anyways, how are things?”

He ignores me and walks over to a map. The Blighted King is standing over it, plotting the Demon’s advance. Nereshal flicks his fingers, and a corridor clears. One corridor. Most are red, showing Demon-controlled territory, or contested. I lean on the [Mage] who teleported me until he falls down.

“Hey King, what’s up? Are we losing? I bet we are.”

The Blighted King stares at me as I bounce over. Isodore, standing at his side, stares at me. At my stomach.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Am I? I barely noticed. Wait a second, how bad is it?”

I turn, and the people at the table gasp. I look at my back.

“Huh. I could have sworn I had flesh there. Is my spine supposed to look like that?”

Healing potion!

There’s already one coming this way. I grab it. The [Healer] babbles something about using it slowly, not straining my body, and so on. I wrestle with her for the bottle.

“Come on, come on, I’m wasting time here. Give me that!”

Potion, meet back. Back…so that’s what it’s supposed to look like. I giggle and turn back to the Blighted King. And the map.

“Let me see. There’s a clear corridor here, an empty one here…and I just cleared that one.”

I trace a line down the map. The Blighted King stares at me.

“Do you have what is needed to complete this plan you refuse to speak of?”

“Just a minute, needy! I think…yes! Now I just need some things from you, my good pal Nereshal here, and…the Fool.”

I glance sideways. The banquet hall has been transformed. Tables have been upended, places made ready for people too wounded to fight to rest, and guards are standing at all the entrances. But hey, some things never change.

The Fool’s face has definitely changed. I think someone stepped on it. Or kicked it. Repeatedly. Princess Erille is standing in front of him, tears in her eyes, trying to defend him from further abuse. Touching. I grin and walk over to her.

“Stand back.”

Isodore pushes past me. She drags Erille away; the girl kicks at her, fighting, shouting for the Fool. I bend down. The Fool barely looks at me. He’s still under a spell. I think he can’t move.

“Hey buddy. Want to go for a walk?”

“I must know what you intend.”

The Blighted King stares at me as I drag the Fool with me. Nereshal has a wand in his hand. He looks so grim! I shrug.

“I’m going to do the hostage negotiations thing.”

“With the Fool?

The Blighted King looks incredulous.

“Just wait and see! Nereshal thinks it’ll work, don’t you, buddy?”

The mage glares at me, but nods.

“I am aware of what he wants. I believe it may work, your majesty. I will teleport myself back in case of trouble. But we are running out of time.”

The King stares at me and his mage. He nods shortly.

“Go, then.”

He stares at the Fool. The Fool glares back. I sigh.

“Get a room, you two.”

They stare at me. I scowl.

“What? It’s hard to be funny. You want to make a better joke? You try coming up with it on the spot.”

“What do you call a King who slaughters his own people?”

The Fool mutters, spitting blood. Nereshal hits him. I grin.

“Not bad.”

 

—-

 

“This way. Down this corridor, left here…you know, this would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to drag you.”

“I know.”

The Fool and I move down the corridors I’ve cleared, me pushing and carrying him. He seems determined not to move. Not that he can. Paralysis spell or something Nereshal used on him. I laugh.

“I wonder where Nereshal went? I guess he’s busy killing Demons. He’s cool like that.”

“There is nothing noble about it. There is nothing about this war that’s worth admiring.”

The Fool mumbles around swollen lips. I laugh at him. I do that a lot.

“What, you think the Demons are right? Is that why you did all this?”

The Fool is silent. I round a corridor. Now, was it left, or right? Wait a second, up. I drag him up the stairs. He speaks as I reach the top.

“The Demons are willing to kill for their survival. I don’t think they’re right. But they aren’t wrong either. They fight to live. While the Blighted King—do you know what he has done? All the horrors he has committed in the name of defeating the Demons?”

“Nope. Want to tell me? I could take notes.”

The Fool glares at me as I drag him by his feet down an empty corridor. You know, for variety.

“Why didn’t you walk away? If you had, I could have gotten Erille to safety, and Isodore! Now they’ll both die, more likely than not. You’re on the wrong side, Tom.”

“Side? Side?

I kick him. The Fool groans through gritted teeth. I pick him up by the feet and glare at his knees.

“You’re an idiot, Fool. The Demons, the Blighted King—they’re just sides. There’s no right or wrong! I didn’t choose to help these idiots because I thought they were right. I just thought both sides deserved a funny man helping them. It makes things more entertaining that way.”

He doesn’t respond. I drag on. Okay, now I’m up another flight of stairs. I go up, listening to the Fools’ face smack on every step.

He’s barely conscious by the time I get to the top. He mumbles and I have to lean down to listen.

“It could have ended all today. It could have. Why did you have to speak? Why…?”

I blink at him. Shrug.

“Because, Fool, it’s in my nature. It’s in yours as well. Why do you think people stare at us? We, the two sad idiots who dance around for them. It’s because this war is like a performance, Fool.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. So I’ll make it simple for you, Fool. Here’s why.”

I pat him on the head and lean down. I whisper in his ear.

“I want to see what comes next.

He looks up at me.

“That’s all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn you.”

“So they say. But here I am. And here…we are.”

I drag him the rest of the way down the corridor. There’s a man waiting for us there. Nereshal’s got some cuts down one arm, but he looks pretty good considering he took an alternate route here.

“Hey.”

I wave at him. Nereshal stares at me.

“Are you ready?”

“Sort of. Hold on—can I go to the bathroom first? No? Fine, I’ll just go off the edge.”

Nereshal drags the Fool upright. I push him towards the end of the corridor, and then out. Out, through a door, and into the battlements of a tower. High up. I stare down at the courtyard below. At the Demons standing down there, fighting with people at the gates, protecting the [Mage].

They haven’t spotted me. Oh wait. No, they have. One of them, the [Archer] with the big frickin’ bow, is pointing. The Demons look up. I wave.

Demons!

Nereshal’s voice thunders down at them. He stands back, away from the battlements, hands raised as he concentrates on a spell. I edge over, using the Fool as a shield. My voice, made incredibly large by magic, echoes down at them.

“Hi! How are you all doing tonight? Good? May you drink from the blood of a thousand Human skulls and all that. Hey, what’s with all the soldiers these days? It’s like you can’t even assassinate a Blighted King without tripping over them.”

They stare up at me. I grumble.

“No one likes observational humor. Okay, see this guy? This is your friend. The Fool. Wait, what’s your real name?”

I stare at him. The Fool holds still. He’s staring down at the [Mage] specializing in teleportation magic, far below. Now I finally get a good look at her and…

“That’s a lot of tentacles.”

“That’s her hair.”

“What’s with her arms?”

“She was hurt in war.”

“She’s looking right at us. Hey you. Mage lady! Hi! Do you know this guy?”

I point to the Fool, balancing him on the edge of the battlements. The [Mage] does seem to know him. She’s staring up at him. And what a stare. I look at the Fool. He’s doing the same kind of stare back at her. Another piece of the puzzles snaps into place.

“Hey, wait a second…you like her! And she likes you! You said you were talking to your true love back in the courtyard—fancy that!”

I slap my hand to my forehead and nearly drop the Fool. Nereshal hisses at me and I grab him just in time before he goes over the edge and falls a few hundred feet below.

“Whoops. Sorry. Now, that makes me feel awful about what’s going to happen next.”

“Kill me. She won’t betray her mission for me.”

The Fool looks calmly at me. I shake my head.

“Don’t be so negative. I believe in true love. And you see—”

I call down at them. The Demon [Archer] is aiming at us, but the Fool’s in the way. I laugh down at them.

“Give up! Surrender or the Fool gets it!”

“You’re an idiot. Do you really think that they would all give up their lives for a single Human? For me?”

That really hurts, coming from the Fool himself. I glare at him.

“No? Maybe I should throw you off. Well? See, she doesn’t like that, does she?”

The [Mage] is pointing at me, arguing with the [Archer]. He’s aiming at us. I see her raising her mangled arms to strike at him, shoulders tensing up, and then sagging. She turns away, and then looks at the Fool. The Demon [Archer] draws back on his bow.

“Uh oh. I think she’s giving up on you. Don’t do it! Stop! In the naaaaaaaaaaaame of love!

The Fool ignores me. So do the Demons below. The [Archer] looks like he’s lining up for a good shot. I scowl at him. He’s whispering to her.

“Goodbye.”

“You suck. I came here for true love, and what do I get? Sacrifice. Heartbreak! Who ever heard of a love story like that?”

The Fool doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes, waiting. I turn to Nereshal. The [Mage]’s brow is creased in concentration. He nods at me. I scowl at him.

“You suck. I just wanted to say that to you. You suck, and your kingdom sucks, and you—”

I turn to the Fool.

“—Suck. And all you Demons suck. You hear me? I’m done with you all! Let’s end it now! Goodbye, cruel world! This is it!

I see the Demon pulling back the arrow, ready to loose. I grab the Fool. He looks into my eyes, unafraid to die. I grin, push him—

And jump.

 

—-

 

This is what they see. The Demons, looking high overhead. The Blighted King, watching from the banquet hall. The people of Rhir, staring up at the palace below. They see a body falling from the tower, a laughing man. A fool.

But not the Fool. A [Clown] falls through the air, laughing, his voice echoing. He laughs and laughs as the ground rises to meet him, laughs at the disbelief on the Demon’s faces, laughs at the cry of surprise from the Fool.

And high above him in the tower, the great mage Nereshal casts his spell. As the ground rushes up to reach Tom, he blurs. He doesn’t stop falling, but a shield of magic appears around him, a bubble of energy. And he teleports.

Not far. Not to the ground, or vast distances like the [Mage] below him is attempting to do. Nereshal’s spell is simple. It teleports Tom a few hundred feet forwards and to the right. He falls and lands on top of the Demon with the bow.

Oof. Hey, that actually hurt. I almost…oh, hi there buddy.”

The [Clown] bounds to his feet. The Demon beneath him twitches. His body is broken. Tom stabs him in the head and he stops moving. He turns to the escort of Demons surrounding the [Mage]. And grins.

“Hey there. Want to play catch?”

One runs at him. Tom throws something. A sword. It hums through the air and slashes through the Demon, and the one behind him. The other Demons move, a second sword slices into one’s chest, cutting through magical armor like paper. Tom flicks his hand, and a sword shining with bright light appears.

“They call this one Blightbane. Or something. I borrowed it from the Blighted King. And now you get it! Catch!”

He throws it. The sword whirls through the air, cuts through a Demon’s head and another’s arm without slowing. Tom pulls another artifact out of the air. Grins.

“It’s all in the wrist. Who wants a scimitar? You? Here!”

The Demons fall. The elite guard drop, and the [Mage] backs up. She raises her staff, points at Tom, cries out. One of his knives sticks from her shoulder, another in her arm. Tom kicks her before she can move.

“Ah, ah. I don’t want to learn how to fly today. Turns out I’m no good at it. Now, what shall we do with you?”

He grins at her. The [Mage] gasps. Tom raises a hand.

“Wanna see a magic trick?”

He reaches for her face, ignoring the scream from above. He touches her face, reaches behind her ear and pulls out…a gold coin. She stares at it.

“See? You should always wash! Now, let me see. Do I have a hat? No I do not. And a bunny? No I do not. But I can pull a knife out! How about a slightly rotten apple? No?”

She stares at him and utters a word. It sounds like despair. Her body vanishes underneath Tom and he sits down.

“No one’s a fan of my tricks. Oh well.”

He gets up, brushes himself off, and looks around. The Demons remaining in the courtyard stare at him. Tom looks up, and grins as Nereshal floats down. The [Chronomancer]’s eyes burn like fire, and magic crackles from his fingertips in the form of lightning.

“Well, it looks like I have an assistant for today. Ladies and gentlemen, Demons all.”

He bows as the soldiers of the Demon King ready their weapons, hearing their comrades falling from the palace. They rush towards him, and Tom straightens. A sword appears in his hand, a dagger in the other. He laughs.

“Let’s begin the show.

 

—-

 

This is how it ends. Boring. I sit on a Demon’s body and hum. Nereshal turns and stares at me. I raise my hands.

“If you don’t like the song, you pick a better one.”

“Do you enjoy acting insane, or is this madness genuine?”

I pause, stare at him. The [Mage] is pretty undamaged for a guy who just killed a few hundred Demons. I shrug.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He grunts and turns away. I get up as I see people streaming out of the palace.

“Hey! I think I win!”

The Blighted Queen ignores me as she walks out of the courtyard, her beloved Blighted King by her side. Her mace is drenched with gore, and the soldiers around her look wounded and bloody. I see Richard helping Emily out.

“Aw. No one important died.”

Hundreds lie dead within the castle and thousands more in the city!”

Nereshal snaps at me. I raise my hands.

“Yeah, but no one important died. Let’s be honest.”

He turns away from me. I whistle a tune as the Blighted King approaches. He stares at me.

“You let her go.”

“Correction: she didn’t like my magic tricks.”

I’m offended, really I am. The Blighted King stares at me, and looks at the crushed Demon archer guy I landed on. He looks satisfied as he stands over his corpse.

“One more of the Demon King’s limbs taken away. It will suffice.”

“We will claim vengeance for this.”

The Blighted Queen’s eyes blaze with battle fury. Nereshal nods. I yawn.

“Maybe. Or maybe we all let bygones be bygones?”

They stare at me. I raise my hands.

“Fine. Fine. I guess we do it your way.”

“We must begin to reconstruct. Find the wounded—and whatever Demon soldiers remain in hiding. It will not be safe in the palace, your Majesty. I recommend caution and staying under guard until—”

Nereshal is speaking to the Blighted King as the people stream into the courtyard, and the King is staring around when it happens. I hear the scream. Erille’s voice. She’s pointing. I look up.

“Huh. I didn’t see that coming.”

A body falls from the tower. The same tower Nereshal and I fell from. This time, it’s the Fool. He tumbles through the air, only there’s no magic to slow his fall or break it. He lands on the ground, headfirst.

Thump. The impact makes people run back. I see the Fool’s neck twist, and then his body spring upwards. He tumbles forwards, mows down two of the people closest to him, and then comes to a stop, legs comically dangling in the air. I blink as the Fool flips onto his feet. He looks unsteady, but grim. And he’s no longer held by magic.

I begin applauding.

“That was probably the best pratfall I’ve ever seen in my life. Bravo! Do it again!”

Fool!

The Blighted King snarls. He points, and Nereshal moves, quick as lightning.

“[Hold—]”

He never gets to finish the spell. The Fool flips backwards into the air, doing a double backflip and throws something. A ball bounces off Nereshal’s face and he staggers. I hear a crack and see his nose bend out of shape.

“Hail to the Blighted King, the murderer of innocents! Your Majesty, you and I have unfinished business. I am the world’s greatest [Fool], and a fool deserving of the title! And today I seek your life, my King. For your sins. And mine, for letting you continue. No more. I will put an end to it today.”

The Fool’s voice booms throughout the courtyard. He lands on his feet and points at the King. I sit back.

“Oh man, this is going to be so good.”

The Blighted King looks down at the Fool. His eyes are cold, distant. He turns his head.

“Kill the traitor.”

The soldiers rush at the Fool. And the Fool— fights. He cartwheels into the first man, sending the man in armor tumbling comically to the ground. He spins, and two blades appear in his hands. He slashes a [Knight] in armor across his helmetless face, bumps Emily over with his hip, and tosses the second dagger through the heart of a [Mage] fifty feet away.

“Ooh, he’s good.”

The Fool spins into the air, flicking daggers at people rushing at him. He rolls under Richard’s sword and trips him up. The [Knight] goes down and the Fool kicks Richard in the head. He bounces about, too fast to be caught.

The Blighted Queen rushes at him. The Fool dances away from her, tossing daggers. She blocks each one with her mace. He throws something. She trips.

A juggling ball. The Blighted Queen is on her feet in a moment, but too late. The Fool races towards the Blighted King. A fireball flies towards him from the left, too fast to dodge—

He turns, grabs for the fire. It disappears. He makes it vanish. I sit up.

“Whoa. Can I do that?”

I should take notes! Then I see an angry [Mage] standing in front of the Blighted King. Nereshal’s nose is bloody, but his hands crackle with magic. I carefully lean back.

“[Lightning Storm].”

Bolts of lightning blast from his fingertips, the same ones that emptied the courtyard of life minutes ago. The Fool stands in the center of the electrical storm.

Time slows as the lightning begins to strike the Fool. I see him twist. His hands rise. One bolt of lightning is stretching towards his chest. His hand blocks the bolt, and then the lightning collects in it. The Fool spins, tosses it, and then catches another bolt. He throws it back at Nereshal.

He juggles the lightning.

Explosions. I feel one blast me off my feet. I roll, and see the lightning storm reverse course. Countless bolts strike Nereshal. I see him throw up his hands, and then it’s over. In the blink of an eye. Nereshal collapses, a shield of magic disintegrating around him as his eyes roll up in his head.

The Fool stands in front of him, breathing heavily. His hands are blackened, the skin smoking. But he still moves. He races towards the Blighted King and before anyone can stop him, has a knife to his throat.

“Now we come to it, your Majesty! Now we put an end to this pathetic performance. I should have done this years ago!”

He shouts. The courtyard is still. There are a hundred bows trained on the Fool, [Mages] ready with spells, warriors with blades. None of them dare move. Because the knife at the Blighted King’s throat is faster than them all.

The Blighted King stands still. His voice is calm.

“Do it, then, traitor. But tell me why, first. You pledged your loyalty to me, to this nation. Why betray it?”

“Why? Why?

The Fool is trembling. His hands still smoke. There are tears in his voice, but none in his eyes. I can see Erille, standing with her hands on her mouth next to Isodore. The Fool can’t look at her. A tableau.

“Why do you think? All you’ve done, all the horrors you’ve committed, the crimes—I could understand. That, for war. But the ritual? The cost? Never.”

“What I do, I do for my people. So that they may live.”

The Fool shakes his head. His dagger presses into the King’s throat, drawing blood. I hear a sound from the Blighted Queen. Pain.

“You do not deserve to be a King. Tell them what you did. Tell them!

“No. Kill me. But I will die first.”

The Fool hesitates. The Blighted King is ready to impale himself on the dagger before either one speaks. I can see him looking, staring at Erille, hand tensing on the hilt—

“My turn.”

Everyone turns as I stand, brushing myself off. The Fool looks at me. I’m not sure if he hates me, even now.

“There’s nothing you can do, Tom. Step away. The Blighted King dies, and I die too. Let that be an end to it.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not over. You’re here, Fool, and so am I. We can’t let it end with you dying just like that. We need a final grudge match, a proper end. [Fool] vs [Clown]. A battle for the ages. What do you say?”

He stares at me. I grin at him. He looks away.

“You truly are mad, aren’t you? You…I’m sorry. Sorry you ever came here, Tom.”

“Don’t say that. Tell you what; I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

There are two knives in my hand. I have three left. The Fool stares at me.

“You can’t scare me with death. I’m ready for it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Not your death, obviously. I’m thinking more poetically.”

I look past the Blighted King, past the Fool. At a girl staring with wide eyes. The Fool’s mouth opens. He screams.

No!

The knife flies past the Blighted King, through the air, towards Erille. Too fast for anyone to block. Anyone, but a Fool.

He lets the Blighted King go and dives for the knife. I’ve never seen a man move that fast. The Fool catches the blade in midair, right in front of Erille’s face. Of course, I knew he’d do that.

That’s why I threw three.

The Fool’s hands blur as he throws all three knives. Two fly towards the Blighted King, striking him in the chest, and in the shoulder. The next one strikes me in the stomach. It doesn’t slow me down as I tackle the [Fool]. We roll around on the ground, hands flashing, fighting for daggers, pulling them out of the air, out of each other’s trick spaces.

You idiot! You mad monster!

He screams at me as he slashes my face, my arms and front. I laugh, stabbing back. He dodges, even locked together as we are. He kicks me away and we stand. I throw a dagger, his dagger, and he throws it right back. I snatch it out of the air and we cut at each other, dodging, weaving, too close for anyone to interfere.

“Why do you do it? Why!?”

He’s shouting, stumbling. His hands don’t grasp the knives properly. I laugh.

“Do you want to know why? Do you know what separates the two of us? Clown and fool? It’s easy!”

I grab his arm. He stabs me, but I don’t let go. I draw him closer as he stabs, looking for my heart.

“You’re a fool. People laugh at you. You make them laugh. But I? I’m a clown. I laugh at the world.”

He stares at me. My free hand reaches out. I grin.

“And guess what I just found?”

His eyes widen. I pull the fireball out of the air, out of the space he kept it in. He tries to back away—

And there’s fire.

 

—-

 

The Fool’s body lies on the ground, blackened. One of his eyelids is burnt away, exposing an eye. His right hand—gone. The rest of his body is destroyed.

But he is still alive. I walk towards him and pick him up in my arms. I don’t feel my body anymore.

“That’s funny. Are you…crying, Tom?”

He looks at me. I stare down at him. Me. The laughing man in my head is gone.

“I guess I am, Fool. I’m sorry. It was me. I did all this.”

“You don’t say?”

We stand alone in a blackened crater in the courtyard. Alone, but for all the witnesses. The Blighted King lies on the ground, breathing heavily. But he is alive. And the rest, the citizens of Rhir who pour through the gates, the battered Drake company led by Cirille, gather. To see a dying Fool, and the clown who killed him. One, a beloved face turned traitor. The other a monster. A hero.

“I’m so sorry, Fool. I don’t know what I would have done. But—I couldn’t let you. I knew that.”

“I suppose not. You’re not a funny fellow, Tom. Not funny. But you don’t want to be, I think. But do you know what’s funny?”

His voice is hoarse. A whisper. No one else can hear him. I have to put my ear to his lips.

“What? What is it?”

“The Blighted King. Why do you think I turned on him? It was the day after the ritual that I knew. When you were summoned, I learned the cost.”

“What cost?”

“Crimson.”

“What?”

“They wear it. Crimson for the lost. Miscarriages, they said. A curse. But it wasn’t. And the price was—high.”

I raise my head. Standing in a group across from me are the ladies of the Blighted King’s court. Lady Zekyria stares at me, her face pale. Her gown is torn and scorched. But light red, closer to pink, and white.

For her dead child.

“Yes.”

The Fool’s whisper is pitiful. He looks up at me, pain in his eyes.

“Ten thousand unborn souls. For you sixty. Isn’t that—that—”

His remaining eyelid flickers. His other eye strays before snapping back on me. He’s dying.

“A funny joke, Tom. A terrible joke.”

“But it’s over, Fool. It’s over and done.”

“No.”

The Fool reaches up. His hand—flakes away at the touch. But he looks me in the eye.

“A hundred thousand. He wants an army this time. An army. He’d sacrifice so many for any edge. And if a hundred thousand doesn’t work, he’ll sacrifice a million. Every unborn child, to kill Demons. To kill people just like you and me.”

I stare at him. Of course. I can’t be surprised. It makes sense, in the horrible way of this world. I’m almost…numb? But the Fool cares. He cares so much, and the pain in his eyes—he whispers his last words to me.

“I cannot stop him. I couldn’t end it. Or save her. But you can. Protect her. Take her away.”

I look up and see Erille. She stares at me. Me, the man who killed her beloved Fool. He grasps my arm.

“Please. I wished—”

I wait for the rest. It never comes. The Fool’s hand grips my arm, tight, stiff. He doesn’t let go. Even in death.

 

—-

 

The foolish clown sits in the broken courtyard as the people gather on the balconies, flood through the gates. Royals, knights and mages and dignitaries, common folk and people from another world. He weeps, holding the body of the Fool in his hands.

No one else sheds a tear. No one. They wipe them away, hiding them, like shame. The [Princess] has to hide them. But the clown wears his tears on his face. And then, his sobs turn into laughter.

He laughs at them, at him, at this broken world. And he holds the broken Fool in his body, the hero who tried to put an end to a bad joke.

It should be raining. But the night is cool and still. Yet there is liquid of a kind. Blood flows through the courtyard, pooling. It reflects poorly, but someone watches in that crimson mirror. The devil himself laughs and bows to the audience only he can see. His voice can only be heard by the clown.

Next time, dear Tom. Next time. They’ll be coming, the lost and afraid. From our world.

He points, mockingly, to the Blighted King, whose eyes are on the clown, the [Hero] of the day. He laughs, as the clown levels up. As a [Clown] and [Hero] both.

You can’t escape it. Not this. And now, more will come. More, to dance and laugh along with this joke. Can you stop it? You can’t. But I can. And I’ll be with you, each step of the way. Whenever you call—and when you don’t.

He bows and fades. But his voice remains, echoing, reminding the clown of all he lost. And promising him, telling him of the future.

I’ll be waiting.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.33

It was said that of the five continents, Terandria was the wealthiest, the safest, and the most advanced place to live in the entire world. And that was true. But only if you averaged things out.

Wealthiest? Terandria might be second place to Baleros, where the riches of the jungle and the companies turned blood into gold, or third if you debated the relative size of Izril and compared the three populations of Gnoll, Drake, and Humans to the smaller Terandrian continent. However, it was certainly a rich place, and fewer people died for its wealth.

As for advanced—in magic and technology, Terandria boasted the sole gathering of Dwarf-kind, and thus exported steel and metals far stronger than that. And its strong ties to Wistram meant that mages frequented its shores. However…one could say the same of Baleros and Rhir, whose militaries boasted the most ancient artifacts and highest-level craftspeople.

But safest. Yes, Terandria could call itself safe. Wars were endemic to this world and Terandria had its fair share. But in Terandria, there were rules. Wars were begun and ended with signed declarations, laws against slaughtering civilians and non-combatants were enforced by all nations. And since the populations of each nation were largely Human, they seldom wiped each other out.

It was a subject of mockery in other countries across the world. Terandrians were cowards, it was said. The fat, bickering rulers of each nation would roll over when poked with an ink-stained quill. And perhaps it was true that Terandria had grown too political, that it fought with words and poisoned drinks more than actual soldiers and armies. Perhaps they had grown soft.

But Lyonette missed her home, all the same. Sometimes. She remembered why she hated it, but she also remembered that she had never seen a dead body before leaving. Not once. She was too delicate as a [Princess] to look upon a poisoned uncle’s face, or go to the funeral of an esteemed [Knight]. And death didn’t intrude in her old life. Terandria was safe. Genteel.

On Izril, even Gold-rank adventurers could die. Good, innocent Gnolls could die. Brunkr, someone Lyonette had feared, someone she’d barely known, but begun to like—could die without any reason. And his killer would get away.

People died on Izril. And when they did, they tore holes out of Lyonette’s heart.

 

—-

 

Morning. Lyonette woke up and felt like the sky had fallen. She stared up at the ceiling of her room dully, too tired to get up and start her usual routine. What was the point?

She only moved when she noticed two things. First, was that Ryoka was gone. Yes, she remembered. But it was still another empty space where it should have been filled.

The second thing was that Mrsha was missing. That made Lyonette sit up. She dressed herself quickly and hurried downstairs. She found Mrsha in the common room to her intense relief.

The little Gnoll was lying on the ground in a corner, by the patched-up wall. She was a little ball of white fur, lolling on the ground. Listlessly. Mrsha stared blankly at a wall.

“Mrsha?”

The Gnoll’s short tail wasn’t wagging like usual. She didn’t respond when Lyonette came over. Lyonette tried to gather her up into her arms, but a sense in her head stopped her. She paused as a huge bee crawled onto Mrsha’s head and fanned its wings gently.

“Apista, shoo.”

Lyonette gently made the bee get off Mrsha by offering it her arm. The bee obligingly crawled onto Lyonette’s head; it wasn’t pleasant, feeling its sharp little legs crawling on her skin, but Lyonette put up with it. She bent and tried to pick up Mrsha.

“Come on Mrsha, don’t lie there.”

The Gnoll resisted. Passively. She was limp as a rag, and heavy. Lyonette stopped trying to pick her up and tried a different tack.

“I know you’re sad, Mrsha. I am too. But…I bet you’re hungry. You should eat.”

Mrsha didn’t respond. Lyonette crooned to her, edging over and stroking the back of Mrsha’s head.

“I know you like honey. Why don’t you have some with eggs? And Erin made a pizza two days ago. And she made lasagna last week. What if you had a bit of all that? With some sweet juice? Milk?”

The Gnoll cub’s tail twitched. It began to wag ever so slightly. Lyonette kept encouraging her. In the end, Mrsha got up and padded over to a table. She sat there, staring at the wood, while Lyonette hurried into the kitchen. Apista flew onto the table and twitched her antennas to keep Mrsha company.

Breakfast was a thin slice of lasagna, half a slice of pizza, a fried egg drizzled with a spot of honey, and hot milk. The last of the milk, in fact. It was well used. Mrsha ate her breakfast slowly, but with a sense of growing…peace? Calm? Perhaps the word was relief. A temporary relief from sorrow. Yes, that was it.

Tending to Mrsha helped Lyonette as well. She was able to eat a bit herself—just a slice of the odd ‘pizza’ that Erin was so fond of making. It certainly was easy to eat. And so she was present when Drassi walked in.

“Lyonette, I’m so sorry.

That was the first thing the female Drake said. She’d heard, of course. Not all of it, but enough. And she’d gotten all the big parts. Regrika Blackpaw, the traitor. Her murder of Brunkr and then the death of a Gold-rank adventurer. In Erin’s inn. And all this right before the Goblin Lord’s army marched by the city.

“It was terrifying. All of the Watch was on the walls and we were ordered to stay indoors, but we were all out on the streets of course. I kept thinking, ‘what about Erin and all the people in The Wandering Inn’? But then I heard you’d all fled to Celum, so I was relieved. But oh, it’s too cruel. And after Brunkr was—”

Lyonette put a hand over Drassi’s mouth and the Drake shut up. Both [Barmaids] looked at Mrsha, who’d paused in eating her egg. Gnoll hearing. Drassi coughed guiltily.

“I want to help. You should stay with Mrsha, you really should. Ishkr’s…not feeling well. I don’t think he’ll be in. But I’m sure I can handle whatever’s needed myself!”

“That’s fine. Thank you. I don’t think we’ll have many guests. Can you help me get ready? We have…the Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers are still here. And Zel. And Erin. I bet she’ll be down soon.”

Drassi paused. She glanced towards the door and then at Lyonette.

“Erin? I saw her outside just a minute ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she was pulling arrows out of the dirt. The ones the Goblins shot. And she had a hammer.”

“A—”

Something went crack by one of the windows. Everyone jumped. Lyonette turned, and saw one of the glass windows, open to let the sunlight in. Someone was hitting it. With…a hammer?

“Erin!”

When Lyonette raced outside she found Erin, a carpenter’s claw hammer in hand, smashing it repeatedly on the glass window. Erin stopped and turned to Lyonette.

“Morning, Lyonette.”

“Uh—good morning. What are you doing?”

Erin stared at Lyonette. She didn’t look like she’d gotten much sleep. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was unsteady on her feet. She raised the hammer.

“Hitting my windows. With this.”

“Yes. Why?”

“Stress test.”

Erin grunted, and then turned her hammer. With the claw end of the hammer she swung it at the window. Hard. Lyonette braced herself, but rather than break, the hammer’s edge skated across the glass. Erin eyed the undamaged window, and then punched it.

“Ow. That’s tough.”

“What’s all this about?”

“I’m seeing how tough my inn is now. I didn’t tell you—the other day I got [Reinforced Structure].”

“Oh. Oh! So that’s why the inn wasn’t damaged when the Goblin Lord—”

“Yeah. But I want to know exactly how strong my inn is.”

Erin studied the window again, and then balled a fist. She took a breath.

[Minotaur Punch]!

The impact this time was loud and sharp. Lyonette saw Erin pull back her hand, wincing.

“Are you—”

Erin showed her hand to Lyonette. There was no blood. But there was a definite fracture in the glass where she’d hit. It was small, but it was there.

“Not that strong, then.”

She shook her head. Lyonette stared at her. She stared at the window.

“It looks strong to me. You couldn’t break it, and the glass is pretty thin!”

“Yeah. But if I can fracture it, anyone with more than twenty levels in a combat class can probably break it. And someone like Regrika could probably still put a hole in my walls.”

Regrika. Lyonette felt a cold surge of fear and anger in her stomach when she heard the name. She looked at Erin.

“Do you think she’s going to come back…?”

“No.”

Erin shook her head. She looked at her window, and then turned away. She trudged around to the front of the inn.

“I don’t. But even if I never see her again, what about next time?”

“What do you mean, next time?”

“A Rock Crab. The Goblin Lord’s army. Or another adventurer. Another Skinner. Or…”

Erin shook her head. She looked so tired. Lyonette stared at a boarded-up wall in Erin’s inn, where Moore had smashed through to run from Regrika. That had been before Erin’s new Skill. Now, she wondered if the half-Giant would have been able to manage the feat.

The [Innkeeper] was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Next time, I won’t be able to rely on luck. And that was what it was. Luck saved everyone but Ulrien. Revi still got cut up, Moore needed healing, and Jelaqua…I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong.”

Lyonette shook her head adamantly.

“You did everything you could! You got two Gold-rank teams and Zel Shivertail and a Wall Lord to help you. You made sure Mrsha and I—and Apista—were safely out of the inn. What else could you have done?”

“Something. Anything. When she was fighting, Regrika—I couldn’t scratch her. I bought healing potions, magical items from Octavia—do you know I didn’t think to use any of them? It wouldn’t have mattered if I had, anyways. I need something more. More protection. More power. More…”

She shook her head. Erin glanced towards the open door to her inn, leaking warm air. She went to close it and paused.

“Are you okay? Is Mrsha?”

“I’ll be—”

Lyonette’s throat closed up before she could say she was fine. She wasn’t. Erin looked at her. She had a haunted look in her eyes. And Lyonette remembered that Erin had seen people die before as well.

“Take the day off if you need to. Keep Mrsha company.”

“It’s okay. I can manage. But are you alright? You look…”

“I’m fine. I’ve been through this before.”

“Oh?”

Erin nodded. She stared into her inn, and then turned away. There was something quiet about her today. Quiet, and intense. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t frowning or visibly upset, either. She was just…present.

“It doesn’t get better. But I can work without crying this time. Because I have to. It’s easier to have something to do. And so much has happened. Ryoka’s gone. Ivolethe’s gone. Brunkr and Ulrien…the Goblin Lord. I need to…”

She stared up at the blue sky without finishing her sentence. Lyonette looked around. The snow was still thick everywhere she looked. But it was wet. Melting. It would take a week at least for the warming weather to melt the snow. When it did…Lyonette foresaw a lot of mud and water.

“Come on. I’ve got food and Drassi is here. You should have breakfast if you haven’t already. And I’d bet the others will wake up any time soon.”

Erin blinked. She looked at Lyonette.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

 

—-

 

Quietus. That was what followed death. In the moments between grief and anger, reconciliation, regret, denial, and perhaps, peace, there was silence. It was not always the same.

Some wept. Some mourned out loud. Others retreated inwards or found places to go to be alone. Some just…left.

It was the same across the world. In Rhir, a [Clown] sat in a room full of broken mirrors, too full of grief and horror to shed any more tears. A [Princess] wept alone in her bedroom, because she could not show her sadness outside. A kingdom was full of drums, and the people swore vengeance over pyres. Hatred stems from grief.

Silence in that place was loud. It was men and women crying out for vengeance, a [King] sitting on his throne, loudly praising those who fought and denouncing traitors. It was the sound of drums, beating to a mourning city. But in the fractured moments of time between each thump of a drum was that moment of silence. Of numb loss.

In a small inn outside of Liscor, the silence was different. It was pure quiet. Hushed voices. A talkative Drake who chattered quietly, trying to make a Gnoll smile. It was adventurers walking downstairs.

The Horns of Hammerad barely spoke. And they left early. Their silence was another contract; hunting down a large nest of Shield Spiders that had infested a section of Liscor’s sewers, burrowing through stone and dirt. Or maybe their eggs had been carried into the tunnels somehow? Either way, it was a job for a Silver-rank team, not Bronze. It was dirty, but it was work to keep them occupied.

They left. But carried silence with them. Silence was Pisces slipping Mrsha a piece of oily bacon, Ksmvr talking about the mission by himself since no one would join in. Yvlon thanking Lyonette and the two staring at each other for a moment before turning away. Ceria putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

The Halfseekers were different. Jelaqua was loud, drinking early in the day. Moore and Seborn were naturally quiet, but they filled the air today with sound.

“Now it’s just one Gold-rank team in here. At least until the Horns get certified. That means we’d better act the part. Moore, cause some trouble.”

“How?”

“Knock over a chair or something. Start a fight.”

The half-Giant obligingly turned over a chair. Seborn knocked over his empty cup. Jelaqua looked disgusted. Lyonette giggled a bit, and Mrsha’s tail wagged a bit more.

“You two are disgusting, you know that? Looks like I have to cause all the trouble myself. Hey Erin, got anything I can smash?”

“How about a window?”

“What?”

When they heard about Erin’s tests on her inn, the Halfseekers all went outside to test the durability of Erin’s inn. They argued, kept themselves busy. Jelaqua rapped on the window, first hard, and then punched it.

“Right. Looks like I could break this with my flail, but it might take two swings. Maybe three, depending on how much space I had. Moore could probably put his fist through it as well, but I’d hate to imagine what that’d do to his hand. Seborn…it would be pretty hard.”

Moore sighed.

“I would probably put an enchantment over my hand, Jelaqua. Cover it with vines. Or thorns. I’m not a savage.”

“Good point. Seborn, you think you could break it?”

The Drowned Man shrugged.

I don’t feel the need. I’d rather just unlatch the window and jump in, or find another route. But I could probably break it with my daggers. It would slow me down, though.

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

Erin stepped back from the window and invited Seborn to use his daggers on it. The Halfseekers eyed her. Jelaqua paused and shook her head.

“Nah. Glass is expensive. It’s good you got the Skill, though. A bit more protection’s always good.”

“You should look into some spells. I know a decent [Enchanter] who does warding spells.”

Moore nodded to Erin. She looked at him.

“Really? How much do they cost? And how strong are they? Would they stop someone like Regrika?”

The Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other. Jelaqua sighed. She scratched at the black stitches around her forehead.

“No. Never mind.”

Erin looked at the stitches. They were holding together the top of Jelaqua’s head, the bit Regrika had sliced off with the rest of her body, but the severed bit was already looking slightly…decomposed.

“Are you okay? Is your body…”

She didn’t know how to complete that sentence. The Selphid grinned at her wearily.

“Damaged. Thanks for asking. I tore a lot of muscles and the top of my head’s rotting off.  But hey, I’m alive so who cares about my body?”

She grinned. Erin remembered that Jelaqua’s head had been empty when she’d seen inside. The memory made her want to bring up the lasagna she’d had for breakfast.

“Right. No brains. That’s…a bit icky, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not a problem. Nothing looks pretty from the inside. I should know!”

“But how’d your brains—I mean, your body’s brains—how did they uh, disappear? Is that something you have to do when you—”

Terminology was becoming an issue. Jelaqua smiled.

“Brains have nothing to do with how I control a body. I don’t need ‘em. As for how they disappeared, well…it’s this thing, okay? Excess body fat, useless organs—I get snacky, and sometimes—”

Moore elbowed Jelaqua gently.

“That’s disturbing. Even for me, Jelaqua.”

“Sorry, sorry! You did ask. I know you fleshies don’t like talking about it. But Erin did ask, and I want to be open about that.”

The Selphid raised her hands. Erin smiled at her and resolved never to ask about that again. Or at least not after she’d just eaten. She took a second to compose herself, and then gestured at Jelaqua’s head.

“So you need a new body, is that right?”

“Preferably. But I can manage without one if I have to for a month or two. Might get ugly, but I don’t know if I’ll find a new body around here.”

The Selphid grew serious. She nodded towards Liscor.

“Drakes do not like people using their bodies. Neither do Gnolls. They have a thing about it. You know, from the Necromancer? And people don’t like Selphids in general. It’s almost worse than back home because they don’t know about Selphids, so there are all these rumors I have to deal with…I’m willing to pay in gold of course, but I think I’ll have to ask around in Celum and that’s a gamble.”

Erin nodded. The logistics of corpse acquisitions were unfortunately not a new subject to her. Pisces had made similar complaints in the past.

“And I bet you want a good body, right? One with lots of teeth…freshly dead, and probably with muscles, right?”

“She gets it!”

The Selphid turned to Seborn and Moore, looking relieved. They nodded approvingly. Jelaqua walked back inside with the others and sat at a table. Zel was having breakfast. He nodded to Erin, and then winced as Jelaqua began grousing about finding a new host body.

“You would not believe how hard it is. Forget having a specific taste in bodies, finding one that’s not old, infected with some disease and in one piece is hard enough. I’m not one of those elitist types of course—I’ll go for anything without a pulse if it can get the job done. Heck, with all the wear and tear in my profession, that’s mandatory. But I’d like another female body. I mean, the male ones are alright, but let’s be honest—the dangling bits tend to get eaten by bugs before I can enter the corpse, and that’s a pain whenever I have to relieve myself from then on…”

Erin was in a position to regret ever asking about Jelaqua’s woes, but at least it was distracting to hear the Selphid grouse. And that was good. True, Zel lost his appetite and Lyonette had to cover Mrsha’s ears, but it was fun. In a way.

“What about Antinium bodies?”

“Excuse me?”

Jelaqua paused in her rant about having sex, and stared at Erin. The girl shrugged.

“I know a lot of Antinium die. It’s not…good, but if they were willing to give you a body, would you be able to use it?”

Bird paused as he walked downstairs. He had his bow in hand. He nodded.

“Antinium bodies are exceedingly durable.”

Erin jumped. She’d forgotten that Bird was staying here! She was about to apologize when she realized that Bird was agreeing with her. The Antinium sat at a table. He was uninjured, and he requested ‘unborn birds’ for breakfast. As usual. Lyonette gave him a plate of eggs which he began to eat happily.

“Ants? I’d never given it a thought.”

Jelaqua looked troubled as she picked at the stiches on her head. Seborn grabbed her hand. She gave him an annoyed look.

“It itches.

It’ll itch more if it fully decomposes.

“You suck. Okay. Antinium…it’s a thought, Erin, but there’s a few issues. Antinium aren’t welcome in most places on the continent. Also, I’m not familiar with their bodies. It would take a while to get up to speed, and that’s not good if we’re going to take on the dungeon again. I don’t know if their insides are different, which might be dangerous. And I mean, four arms? That’s tricky.”

She waved her two arms around and Erin nodded.

“It’s just a thought. If your uh, head gets rotty, I can ask Klbkch about it.”

“Thanks. Yeah, better that than decomposition, right? I mean, I can deal with maggots and flies laying eggs—just a snack when you get down to it. But people complain of the smell, and then I start leaking…

“Right. Thank you for breakfast. I’ve got to be on my way.”

Zel pushed his plate back. The [General] stood, looking queasy, and Erin saw Jelaqua raise a hand guiltily. Moore covered his face.

“Sorry about that.”

Erin hurried over and cleared the table. Drassi was in the kitchen doing dishes. Zel shook his head.

“Not a problem. I’m in a hurry anyways.”

“Oh? What are you doing?”

The Drake grimaced.

“Sitting with Liscor’s Council, talking, reassuring people and communicating—slowly—with other cities, mainly. We’re in touch with Esthelm via [Message] spell and talking over forming another army with the Walled Cities.”

“Esthelm?”

That was right. Esthelm was right in the Goblin Lord’s path if he was heading north. Erin felt a surge of panic, but Zel gently gripped her arm.

“Don’t worry. Our [Strategists] including young Olesm, say that the Goblin Lord won’t try to take the city. It’s not worth his while and he’s in a hurry. We’ll see what happens, but their walls are rebuilt thanks to the Antinium. And you. I’ll let you know if something happens.”

“Okay.”

He nodded.

“Besides that I have a [Message] spell to send…and while I’m thinking of it, I should give you this.”

He reached for his belt and opened a bag. It must have been a bag of holding, because the small pile of gold coins clinked onto the table in a quick flow. Erin stared at them.

“What’s this? You already paid for the week, and this is way too much—”

“For the wall. And damaged chairs. Tables and so on.”

Zel looked at Erin, and shifted his gaze towards the hole in the wall. Moore opened his mouth and Jelaqua stepped on his toes. Erin stared at the gold coins and pushed them back.

“I can’t take this. It’s my fault—”

“Please.”

Zel refused to touch the coins. He stood up. Erin tried to offer them back, but he refused.

“I know what you’re trying to say, but you did what I would have done in your shoes. Better. You uncovered a real threat, and…it was not your fault. I was the highest-level warrior on the field that night. The battle was mine to lose. I wasn’t here. This is my way of apologizing.”

“Even so—I don’t need it. I don’t. I have enough money coming in. Lots, actually. And Ryoka left some of her gold—look, I can’t—”

Zel edged around Erin and left the inn before she could block him. Erin stood in the doorway forlornly, watching him march quickly through the snow. Jelaqua sighed and got to her feet.

“We’d probably pay if he didn’t. He’s right, you know. No one blames you for what went down, Erin. You did what you could. It’s just…”

She shrugged. Moore and Seborn were also getting to their feet. She looked at them, shook her head. Mrsha, Lyonette, Erin—Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen. Jelaqua looked tired.

“Sometimes you run into a real monster. Someone invincible. Something. Sometimes you lose. That’s the way this world works, right?”

She turned and looked around, her customary smile gone. She nodded, and the Halfseekers slowly walked out the door.

Erin stood, watching them go as well. A half-Giant, wading through snow that only came up to his ankles. Seborn, quiet as a shadow. Jelaqua, leading with head turned up to the sky. Erin stood in the quiet inn and stared at the spot where Ulrien had died. Mrsha hugged Lyonette and Apista fanned her wings by the fire.

After a while, Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen again.

“We’re out of milk, by the way.”

Life moved on.

 

—-

 

It was the goats that saved them. Because of them, the six were granted another day to live. And they were grateful. They had to live. It was that or die, and they were too proud to die. Their friends had sacrificed too much for them to die.

But they would die soon. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then later. The only question was how they would die. For that was their fate.

They were Goblins. And they had no tribe. They were warriors without a purpose. They had fought and bled and half their number had died for a Human. A monster with a soul. Someone who had looked at them and seen a reflection.

And now six remained. Six Goblins. Elite warriors of the Redfang Goblin tribe, sent by Garen Redfang himself on a mission they had long since abandoned and no longer cared about.

Lost.

Last night, the Goblin Lord’s army had marched north. North, past the city of Liscor. North, towards Esthelm and the lands beyond. Their numbers were in the tens of thousands, not including the undead army that marched ahead of them. They were legion—an army to strike fear into the hearts of all but the mightiest. A Goblin Lord rode with them. A figure equivalent to any [General]. With him leading the army, they could destroy a lesser nation.

And yet, they had come under attack last night. Just once. It was as the group of six Redfang warriors were desperately hiding behind the cover of some rocks, lying low in case the patrolling sentries headed their way. They might have been found. Again, but for the goats.

Eater Goats. One of the monsters from the High Passes, a match for a Carn Wolf. These creatures were deadly, quick, fearless, and could eat anything. Their jaws could crunch stone or metal. And they hunted in packs.

A group of them had charged the Goblin Lord’s army. Just over a hundred attacking tens of thousands of Goblins. But the goats were fearless. And hungry. The winter had driven them from their homes. That, and…something else perhaps. Some disturbance. Whatever the case, they had spotted a lot of prey, and gone rampaging into the Goblin Lord’s ranks.

Hiding behind their cover, the Redfang warriors had enjoyed hearing the screams of Goblins as the Eater Goats ambushed them. The goats had taken down Hobs, chewed through armor and bitten through bone, and devoured the undead trying to kill them before retreating. Of course, the Goblin Lord’s army had encircled the goats with steel, shot arrows into their hides, blasted them with magic.

It was a testament, then, to the fearsome nature of the goats that after attacking an army of tens of thousands, a little over thirty goats still escaped. And not because they’d been dying either; it was just that they’d eaten their fill.

Monsters. But their intervention had allowed the Redfang Goblins to hide in the meantime and let the Goblin Lord’s army pass them by. And so the next day, the six Goblins rose and followed the Eater Goats as they headed south, searching for more food.

There was a logic to it. Despite the Eater Goats being considered a terrible threat worthy of a Gold-rank team, the Redfang Goblins knew they had little to fear from them. That was because their tribe, led by Garen Redfang, had lived in the High Passes for years and clashed with the Eater Goats many times. They were known to the Eater Goats, in short.

There were two settings the goats had. They regarded the world as made up of two things. Food and not-Food. Through bloody battles where they had slaughtered the goats, the Redfang Goblins had earned the enviable title of not-Food, allowing them to pass by the Eater Goats without incident. So long as one side or the other wasn’t hungry.

The trick was red paint on their faces and bodies. All six of the Redfang warriors wore it. That combination of red and green warned the Eater Goats not to attack. Thus, the Redfang warriors could let the goats move ahead and enjoy the protection of the ravenous monsters. Afraid of Shield Spiders, Mothbears, Armored Crawlers, or Wyverns? No problem. The Eater Goats would take down anything that moved.

And in the meantime, the Redfang warriors could scavenge the kills.

 

—-

 

The place where the Goblin Lord’s army had clashed with the Eater Goats still had a few fallen bodies. The goats, having eaten last night, were all resting until their systems worked through their meals. That meant the Redfang Goblins had a short window to procure their own rations. They were hungry; they’d been in hiding for the last day from the Goblin Lord’s army.

The six Goblins hurried down the pass and ran across the muddy ground, searching for fallen bodies that weren’t completely rotten. It was a miserable, horrible task, but they had to do it. It was that or starve. They were hungry enough to eat an undead Goblin, but all of them prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

One of the Redfang warriors paused as he found a figure in black armor lying in the snow. He nudged the body, turned it over, and saw a fat Hob’s face. Dead and still caked in mud. Skin cold from the air which still had yet to warm. Perfect.

He called the others over. Two Goblins approached. They eyed the Hob, nodded. Three lifted the huge corpse up and moved back towards their hiding spot. The other three hosted corpses of their own and joined them.

Normally, three Goblins couldn’t carry a Hob of any size, let alone a fat one with armor. But the Redfang warriors were strong. Unlike every other Goblin and some adventurers, they trained for combat. And the six who now started a fire in the snow were more different still.

Rabbiteater. Bugear. Numbtongue. Shorthilt. Badarrow. Headscratcher. They tossed wood on a growing flame, warmed their frozen bodies, and carved up the dead Goblins, roasting flesh on pans and eating greedily. Hungrily. They were starving. They’d been starving for days. Normally, a small Goblin could live for a week on a single body, but these Goblins consumed all they found and went back to look for more. Because they weren’t small Goblins any longer.

They were Hobs.

All six. Headscratcher carved more fat and tossed it into the pan, grunting with surprise when he missed. Badarrow caught the flesh out of the air. He had been the first to grow used to his longer limbs and new musculature. He tilted the pan and the smell made Rabbiteater grunt. Badarrow flipped the meat towards him and the other Hob grabbed it out of the air.

They ate for over an hour. Because they were hungry. It had been a week since the Goblins had begun growing at an abnormal rate, nearly doubling their height in a matter of days, and the cost of it was reflected in sunken cheeks, thin bellies, and their craving for any food—even the bodies of their own.

Shorthilt reappeared by their fire and tossed something down. The other Hobs looked and saw it was a pack. Of rations for the Goblin Lord’s soldiers! They were on it in a second, fighting over the hard, gritty bread and frozen bit of cheese and jerky. It didn’t matter that the food was half-rotten. Goblins would eat anything in hard times, and they knew they needed all the energy they could get.

The Hobgoblin transformation process was usually like this. But as Numbtongue pointed out with an eloquent grunt after their hunger pangs had subsided, it was rare for so many Hobs to appear at once.

The other Redfang warriors considered this. Bugear scratched at his ears, a tick left over from a time when bugs had actually infested his ears. Now they were gone, which was a disappointment since he could have used more to eat. But it was also a reminder of who he’d met, of who he’d lost.

The action was both a message and a habit. The other Goblins stared at Bugear and looked away. They remembered, too.

A city full of undead. A place of ruin and shattered Humans. A monster who ate like they did. A girl, begging for help. Goblins in black armor. The [Knight]. The skeleton dancing in delight. The flowers.

Death. That was what they had left behind. The Redfang warriors stared at the fire. They’d lost so many. Their leader, the taciturn Grunter, Rocksoup always complaining of indigestion, Leftstep, who’d once dueled a Gold-rank [Fencer] with a stick and a shield made of bark. Bitefly, who ate flies. Orangepoo, whose name spoke for himself. Patchhelm, obsessed with armor, and Justrust, whose swords were as deadly for tetanus as they were for their ability to cut.

All gone. The Redfang warriors sat, remembering. All gone, and for what? Badarrow gnashed his teeth as he gnawed at a bone, making his feelings plain.

Headscratcher held something up. The others looked. It was a flower.

Eloquently put. Badarrow tossed the bone aside and sighed. Headscratcher ate the flower. They’d been over this too many times to count. Too many times to dwell on it, but they did.

They were alone. And they had lost their group, as well as their purpose. Or rather, their conviction. After meeting a Human, after fighting for her, perhaps loving her—how could they kill another Human? What was the point?

Shorthilt made their general position clear by tossing a bit of intestines too filthy even by Goblin standards into the fire. The smell made the other Goblins growl, but he was right.

Garen Redfang was wrong. He was also an idiot. Rags, their new and rightful Chieftain, was probably right. At the very least, she was smart and worth following. If they could rejoin her tribe.

But where were they? The Redfang warriors had combed the area looking for clues about where their tribe had gone. They’d tried to enter the High Passes, but found no sign of any Goblins in the area. And the danger was too great, so they’d come south, hoping to find Rags around Liscor.

However, all six knew that if the Flooded Waters tribe had been anywhere around Liscor, the Goblin Lord’s army would have already destroyed them utterly.

So what now? Headscratcher scratched his head and patted his stomach. The others looked at him gloomily. Yes, the problem was obvious. Besides finding their tribe, the six warriors were in dire straits of their own. Because they were still hungry, and they would continue being hungry for a while.

They were Hobs. Six new Hobs, which shouldn’t be! Most small tribes had one or two Hobs at most. Big tribes could of course have many Hobs—there were rumors of a tribe living in the mountains who had hundreds of Hobs, and the Goblin Lord’s army had thousands. But who’d heard of six Goblins all turning into Hobs at once?

It made no sense. But it had something to do with what they’d been through, the Redfang warriors were sure. Losing Grunter, their leader and only Hob had triggered the change, as well as the ferocity of the battle they’d been through. Normally this would be a cause for celebration; a Hob was special, and they would be far stronger for their transformation. But only if they were with their tribe. Out here, away from any support and scavenging for food in the last stages of winter?

It was a death sentence. Already, the Redfang warriors felt hungry again. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater went to look for more corpses. The rest sat and debated what to do.

It wasn’t a hard decision. To the Goblins’ uncomplicated minds, there was only death, and more death. To the north, there was merciless death, overwhelming death, the death of enemies from the Goblin Lord’s army. They couldn’t hide twice and they’d die in an instant against so many foes, Hobs or not. Surrendering to join the Goblin Lord’s army was…also not an option. They’d been seen fighting at Esthelm against the Goblin Lord’s army and besides that, the Redfang warriors had their pride.

South, then. The only way they could go. To Liscor. However, the Redfang Goblins were sure that meant another kind of death as well. Badarrow captured the idea by breaking a bit of ice with one hand. It would be a death of pieces, a slow death. They’d find food or starve. Or be hunted down as threats.

Bugear nodded. He kicked dirt over their fire and Headscratcher pointed. The Eater Goats were rising, already heading southwards for more food.

Yes, it would most likely be their deaths. But what other choice did they have? They were warriors. At least this way there was a chance. And if they had to die fighting, well…

The Eater Goats ran swiftly down the rocky slopes and onto the road, moving quickly, jumping incredible heights with ease. Their teeth were still red from their feast, their hides still matted with blood. They screamed a hunting call. The Redfang warriors followed at a distance.

If they had to die, at least they’d have a worthy foe to die fighting against. They hated those damn goats. But, as even Badarrow would concede, they were a lot easier to fight against than Gargoyles.

 

—-

 

“So you’re a [Farmer].”

“That is correct, Miss Solstice.”

“That’s cool. I mean, I don’t want to make assumptions. But it’s just weird. I didn’t think I’d ever uh, meet a Gnoll [Farmer]. Do you—is that normal?”

The Gnoll raised a furry eyebrow. His fur was a dirty blonde, and he’d paused in his chores long enough to chat with Erin. He shifted the empty pail as he considered her question.

“Hrm. No, I suppose it is not. My people, they do raise animals, but they do not plant, yes? However, we learned to farm the land from the Drakes, and so some of us abandon our travels to settle near cities.”

“Like Liscor. That’s what I never got. Why would anyone ever live in a village near the city? I mean, this is a nice hill you’ve got here. Very big. But…it’s uh, a bit undefended.”

The Gnoll bared his teeth as Erin gestured to the village she stood in. It really was a small place. A pair of farms, a few houses, and a ten-foot high wall were the only defenses. The Gnoll only shrugged.

“There is no safety anywhere, yes? So long as we do not stray beyond the walls, it is easy to defend. Stone Deceivers—”

“What? Oh, you mean Rock Crabs.”

“Rock Crabs? Hrm. That is a good name for them, yes. They do not attack walled settlements. Shield Spiders are a threat if they burrow, but they can be heard tunneling. As for Goblins and other threats…I have a bow and the others in the village are able to fight. The Watch patrols in the area. It is safe, and needed.”

“Because you feed the city?”

“Exactly so. Without us, Liscor would starve. Oh, there is fishing to be done in the spring, and [Shepherds] can keep their sheep within the walls if need be. But all cities save for the Walled Cities require [Farmers].”

“Right. I gotcha. And you specialize in milk, right?”

The Gnoll nodded.

“That is so. I keep many cows. They are curious creatures, or so I think. Even after raising them for many years, I find it odd, yes? But they give milk, which my people love. You said you wished some.”

“Oh! Right. I’d like to buy some, yeah. Krshia said she gets it from you and you were going to bring some in a day or two, but I’d like some today if you have any you can spare.”

“Certainly. It is expensive in the winter of course—”

“I’ve got money. Don’t worry. I just need some. You see, I have this little Gnoll I’m helping to look after—”

“Mrsha. Hrr. Yes. I know.”

Erin blinked.

“You do—but—right.”

The [Farmer] smiled. He gestured towards his house.

“We have different kinds of milks, yes? Some cows give better milk. Richer, fatter…and of course I have had the great luck of obtaining a Fischer Cow pair. Now I have several such cows. And goats. I believe a young Gnoll would like goat milk most.”

“Goat milk? Well, I wouldn’t mind having some of—what’s a Fischer Cow?”

“They like meat. Their milk is very rich, although the cows themselves…they bite.”

The [Farmer] showed Erin a scar on one arm. She shuddered.

“Meat eating cows. What’s next?”

“I would love to have one of the magical types of cows in my barn one day. But they are rare and hard to raise, yes? For now, I have several bottles of goat milk and more. Come, please.”

Erin sneezed. It was cold, and the Gnoll’s offer was very tempting.

“Okay. I might have to make a few trips to get all the milk I want, though. I’ll buy in bulk. I have a little sled—”

“It is no issue. I will be here all day.”

“Cool. Hey, do you want to buy some honey? Lyonette got a lot last time and I thought I’d ask. Don’t know if cows eat honey, but it’s good stuff.”

“…Honey?”

 

—-

 

“I am Bird. Bird I am. I hunt birds with my bow. This is my song. La. Lah, la…birds.”

Bird sang quietly to himself as he stood in his watch tower on top of Erin’s inn. His bow was in hand, and he was scanning the sky for birds. This was his purpose, but he was being extra alert today.

Because he had failed. Two people had died while he was on duty. True, one had died inside the inn, at the hands of a Named Adventurer and the other had been killed in the city, but the deaths weighed on Bird.

He was a guard. A protector. Revalantor Klbkch had impressed on him the grave nature of his duty. He had been given a chance, a chance to protect Erin to whom he and his comrades owed so much.

She had given him the bow he held. She had taught him chess. She had freed his fellow Workers. Freed them in their heads.

For that he would always love her. And he had failed her. Her guests were dead. Bird knew he didn’t understand things like Pawn did, but he understood failure.

So he stood in his watch tower, ignoring the cold. He hunted for birds. He would hunt for birds and that would make things better. One bird, two birds…if it took him a thousand birds, he would shoot them all down. That was the only way he knew how to make things better.

Bird didn’t know much about the world. He knew some things were bad. Some things he had to watch out for. Rock Crabs, Shield Spiders, Face-Eater Moths…these things weren’t birds, so the Antinium only identified them as threats. The world was hard and complex.

Not like birds. There were blue birds and red birds, yellow birds and black birds. There were birds that flew high overhead, birds who could fly through the clouds thousands of miles overhead. The Antinium was still trying to figure out how he was going to shoot them down.

There were birds who could fly faster than the wind. Birds who were larger than houses. Birds who flew through the sky and left trails of glowing air in their wake. Birds that were beauty and wrath, elegance and cunning.

They flew. Bird could still remember the wonder he’d felt the first time he’d looked up and seen a bird flying. The envy. And he could remember shooting one. He hunted birds because he was jealous. Because they were beautiful. Because they were food.

Because he loved to hunt. And if you had a bow, what was the point of shooting at slow things on the ground? The masters of the sky were true challenges, from the tiny birds that could dodge an arrow’s tip at point blank range, to the big birds that might take a full quiver to down.

Bird had an arrow in one of his hands as he scanned the horizon. Check for birds, check for threats. He looked up, and then down. No birds in the sky. But they’d be coming soon. His [Hunter] instincts told him so. The world was warming, and that meant food for the birds and a time for mating, nesting. He just had to wait.

Look up—a flicker behind one of the clouds, about two thousand and three hundred feet up. A bit too high to shoot. Look down. Bird saw something move. He turned and stared.

“Goats.”

There were about thirty of them. They surged across the snow, screaming. Bird could see their bodies covered with blood; one of them looked like it was missing half its face, but it didn’t seem bothered. Another had an arrow sticking out of its side. Bird thought about that.

“Goats. Goats are an animal. They are not monsters. Therefore, they are no threat.”

Satisfied with that conclusion, he turned to resume scanning the landscape when he noticed something.

“The goats are going in the same direction as Miss Solstice. Towards the farming village.”

He stared at the distant hilltop. At the goats. At the one missing half its jaw. Bird shrugged.

“Goats are food. Can you milk a goat? I will ask later.”

Again, he was about to turn, when he spotted something else. A group of six, crossing the snowy plains. They were distant, but Bird’s eyes were enhanced thanks to his [Eagle’s Eyes] Skill. He liked it because it was based off a Bird. And what he saw made him pause.

“Green. Goblins.”

Six of them, all moving fast. They all had weapons, if not armor, and they were larger than the average Goblin. Bird thought and amended his analysis.

“Hobgoblins.”

He paused, arrow in hand. Bird watched the Goblins running, and slowly opened his mandibles.

“Goblins. Goblins are a monster. They are a threat. However, Erin’s sign says not to kill Goblins.”

That was a paradox. Bird scratched at his head and brightened.

“Ah. It said nothing about Hobgoblins.”

He put the arrow to his bow, sighted, and held his breath. Halrac had taught him how to shoot. Bird was grateful. He wished the Goblins were birds. That would make things so much more fun. Land-based things were so…easy.

The Goblins were over eight hundred feet away, a vast distance and far further than his bow was capable of shooting. Normally. Bird had no idea about technical terms like draw strength, the materials used in the composition of his bow, and so on—he didn’t know that it was a recurve bow. But he did know how to hunt birds. He knew that an arrow might not pierce a bird if it was shot from too far away.

“That is what Skills are for. Now. [Long Range Shot].”

He pulled the arrow back, sighted, and loosed.

 

—-

 

The Redfang warriors were arguing and split on their argument. They’d followed the Eater Goats down the abandoned road, and they had seen the goats pick up a scent. They saw the village the goats were headed towards, and half of them were in favor of waiting for the goats to do their work, and the other half were in favor of helping. Somehow.

None of them were under illusions. The Eater Goats outnumbered them and they were deadly. One could kill an average Hob. Six versus thirty wasn’t a fight, it was a death sentence.

And yet, Headscratcher insisted it wasn’t right. And however much Badarrow and Shorthilt snarled at him, he was growing more impatient. The Goblins were running after the Eater Goats anyways; they’d have a brief window to loot the village regardless of what happened. Headscratcher was cresting a hill when Bugear looked up in alarm and tackled him to the ground.

An arrow whistled through the air, catching Headscratcher in the arm. If Bugear hadn’t pushed him, it would have caught him in the chest. The Redfang Goblins immediately dove to the ground. Badarrow snarled as he grabbed his own bow and raised his head.

Where? The Goblins looked around, keeping low, aware that their position might be open. Headscratcher snapped the arrow in his arm, raised his head and ducked down.

Nothing that way. Rabbiteater crawled rapidly to the left and looked around a small rise of snow. He growled.

Nothing.

As Numbtongue raised his head over the hill, all six Hobs heard another whistling sound. Numbtongue ducked, and the second arrow nearly took him in the head. He snarled, and all six Goblins poked their heads up. They looked around, but only Badarrow with his enhanced eyes spotted anything. He pointed.

There!

The Goblins looked. All six ducked. The archer in the tower’s next arrow thunked into the ground that was giving them cover.

A lightning-fast debate with hand signs took place as the Hobgoblins analyzed the situation, and then, as Bird was waiting for them to pop up again, all six suddenly stood up.

“What is this?”

The Antinium stared at the six very helpful targets that had suddenly appeared. He shrugged, not deciding to question it since they weren’t birds, and aimed for the one he’d hit first. He sighted down his bow, and then jerked back.

An arrow streaked past his head, shattering on one of the wooden posts of his tower. Bird stared at the broken fragments as they splintered past him, and then at the Goblin in the distance holding the bow.

Badarrow grinned savagely. His best three arrows were in his hand. He nocked the first, aimed, and loosed.

[Farshot Mastery]. He’d learned the Skill after sniping the Goblin [Shaman] during the battle at Esthelm. Unlike Bird he could shoot as many arrows as quickly as he wanted, uninhibited by a need to use a certain Skill. Badarrow advanced, loosing all three arrows in succession.

As he did, the Redfang warriors advanced. Not at a run, but at a quick walk. Those of them with shields had them raised. They were waiting for a return shot.

When it came, it was straight at Badarrow. The Hobgoblin [Archer] grunted, and stepped sideways. The arrow flashed by his chest, scoring a line and making him growl. But it was a miss.

Advance. Badarrows’ shots came three at a time, flying with incredible accuracy to land on Bird’s position. The Antinium took cover by the stairwell, wishing he’d asked for a place to take cover from enemy fire when the Antinium had built this place. But birds didn’t shoot back! Well, most of them didn’t.

When he rose, an arrow struck him in the chest. Bird stumbled back, stared at the arrow, and touched it gently.

“Ow.”

The other archer might have been able to hit him at range, but his bow wasn’t good. It didn’t have the power to pierce his carapace with a single shot. That knowledge was important. Bird looked and saw the Redfang Goblins had covered over two hundred feet while the other archer kept him suppressed. They were advancing quickly, now.

“Troublesome.”

He aimed and used [Long Range Shot] again, but the Goblins were a bit too quick, and his arrows had to travel too far. He grazed one on the arm, and nearly got one on the eye until a lucky shot hit one in the knee. That Goblin fell, rolling until he was obscured in the snow. Bird ignored him. The real threat was hitting his tower now, concentrating on volume rather than accuracy.

Two more arrows struck the Antinium. They were both in each other’s range now, and the second and third arrows penetrated his carapace. Bird fumbled with an arrow. He could not die here. If he did…he would have failed again. Unacceptable.

“My turn.”

The arrow was coming. All five Hobs tensed. Shorthilt was hiding in the snow, and he had a healing potion. He’d make it back to them if he could, but the arrows were fast and deadly. The next one came fast and high at Badarrow. The Hob twisted to avoid it, grinning—

And the arrow curved into his side. Greatly surprised, Badarrow spun. Headscratcher caught Badarrow as he nearly fell. The Goblin gripped him, pulled himself upright—

The next homing arrow struck Bugear’s shield. It had curved right for Badarrow’s head. The Redfang Goblins looked at the distant archer. Badarrow snarled as he grabbed arrows from his bow. Whomever this strange bug was, he was good.

And yet, he was only one. Bird had to take cover again as arrows lashed his position. The other Goblin didn’t have his curving arrows, but he was quick! Bird peeked up, and an arrow nearly took his eye out.

“Dangerous.”

They were too close now. Too close! Bird had to risk a shot. This time he’d hit the archer in the head! He stood and took a fourth arrow to the chest.

“Ah.”

The cracks in his carapace were spreading. Bird fell against one of the guard railings of his tower, and lurched upright. One arrow. He drew it to his chest, sighted. Time felt slowed. He aimed at the Goblin. They both were aiming. The one who fell won. He could take the other Goblins down if he could just—

Where to aim? Head, chest—head. Bird drew, and spoke as he loosed.

“[Homing Shot].”

His arrow curved through the air, heading straight for Badarrow’s head. The Goblin archer sighted down his bow, aiming for Bird. He didn’t move. The arrow flew towards his head—

And Headscratcher’s sword shot out. The Goblin’s sword blocked the shaft as Bugear thrust his shield in front of Badarrow’s chest and Numbtongue covered his groin with a second shield. Bird stared.

“Companions. I see. How regr—”

The fifth arrow struck him just below the neck and sent him tumbling off the side of the tower. The Antinium crashed into the roof of the inn and slid towards the end. It was a long drop down. Down—

To oblivion.

 

—-

 

In the silence after the pitched archery duel, Badarrow lowered his bow, arms shaking, breathing heavily. The other Goblins clapped him on the back as they patched themselves up.

None of them were hurt that badly. Badarrow’s stomach and Shorthilt’s knee were the worst of it. A healing potion was very carefully used to mend both wounds.

As the Goblins regrouped, they moved away from the inn. Whatever the archer had been doing up there, it didn’t matter. The bug was dead, but no one was going to loot the inn. It was too close to the city—the Goblins might have already been spotted. They headed in the direction of the Eater Goats, hungry and desperate.

They spoke not a word about their victory either. It wasn’t a miracle, or a product of Badarrow’s superior levels or Skills. It was simple teamwork. Both sides had good archers, but one had located their attacker together, covered their archer and provided targets to distract the enemy. They didn’t fight alone.

 

—-

 

Meanwhile, in a small village, Erin was dragging her sled towards the gates. Several huge containers had been filled with different kinds of milks and she was wondering if she’d be able to get it to her inn without breaking any of them.

She was rechecking the ties on her sled when she heard a sound outside the gates. Erin frowned and stepped up onto the platform that allowed her to peek over the walls. She looked down and saw a goat standing outside.

“Hey Mister Wirclaw! I think one of your goats got outside somehow!”

Erin turned and hollered at the Gnoll [Farmer] who’d helped her pack the milk. He frowned and trotted over with his son, a small Gnoll with light blonde fur. Both Gnolls peeked over the walls with Erin.

“That is not my goat.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I know them all and this one is clearly wild. It is strange, though, no? Where would such a goat come from in the winter?”

“Should we let it in? It looks hungry, poor guy.”

“Perhaps. But…hrm. Is…something wrong?”

Erin frowned. She felt it too. A prickling at the back of her mind. She looked at the goat. It was staring up at her with big, off-putting brown eyes. The pupils of the goat were a horizontal bar, not round at all. And it was staring. At her.

“Yeah. I think I feel my [Dangersense] going off. But it’s just a goat, right?”

Wirclaw hesitated. He looked back towards his house and nudged his son.

“Fetch me my bow. Miss Solstice, perhaps you should back up. I do not think that is—”

Then they spotted the second goat. It walked around the wall. It was a goat. Scrawny, its body a mix of black and brown. However, one thing separated it from the other goat.

It was missing the lower half of its jaw. Erin clapped a hand to her mouth as the goat looked up at them.

“Its teeth—

This goat had sharp teeth. Not sharp like a shark’s or a predator that just ate meat, but an omnivore’s teeth. And caught between the teeth and staining it was—

“Blood. And that is flesh. Miss Solstice, step back.”

Wirclaw grabbed the bow from his son’s hands and put an arrow to it. He sighted and shot an arrow before Erin could protest. The goat without a jaw stared as the arrow sped towards it and skipped to one side. The arrow thudded into the dirt.

Both Humans and Gnoll stared. Behind them, the few Gnolls and Drakes in the village were gathering. The two goats stared at Wirclaw and then turned.

And then a lot of goats popped out of the snow. Erin recoiled and Wirclaw growled. The goats stared at Erin and Wirclaw, and then screamed.

It wasn’t like a Human scream. Not at all. The Eater Goats screamed like a chorus of the damned, and then the first one rammed the gates. It had a set of slightly curved horns on its head and Wirclaw yanked Erin back from the wall.

“They’re trying to get in!”

He shouted at the others in the village and Erin saw them racing to get weapons. She scrabbled at her own belt pouches and pulled out a vial and a knife from a sheath at her belt.

“They can’t though, right?”

“The gates are thick. We should be fine—”

Wirclaw was aiming and loosing, but the goats were dodging. One of them backed up, its eyes on the Gnoll. It took a few jumps back, and then brayed. It charged towards the wall the Gnoll and Erin were standing on.

“It can’t get up—”

Erin was saying that when the goat leapt. It cleared at least seven feet and thudded into the wall. Too low. But the impact sent both Human and Gnoll scrambling backwards.

“Okay, they can jump! Real high!

Erin was shouting. Wirclaw opened his mouth. He might have been saying that their walls were still high enough when two more goats charged forwards.

This time one goat leapt first. He vaulted into the air, a good six feet up, and the second goat leapt on top of him. He jumped a second time, using the first goat as a stepping stone, and hurtled over the wall.

The goat landed lightly on the ground in the center of the village. It turned, and stared around at the small gathering of Drakes, Gnolls, and one Human. It cocked its head, seemed to sniff, and then bared its teeth. It screamed, and charged.

 

—-

 

The Goblins saw all of it of course. From their position, the Redfang Goblins could see the first Eater Goat clear the wall and hear the screams from within the village. They had predicted that would happen. The Eater Goats were suicidally fearless and almost immune to pain; that didn’t mean they were stupid.

Now they had a choice to make. Headscratcher stared at the village. He’d seen a young woman on the walls. A Human.

He looked at the others. They’d all seen the same thing. The Hobs looked at him, and then away. Badarrow spat. He’d made his position clear several times. It wasn’t worth it. They’d die, and she’d die. And for what? She was just a Human.

Just a Human. The other Goblins reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t the same. She wasn’t worth it.

And she would die. Headscratcher lowered his head and scuffed at the snow. His foot unearthed something. He stared, bent, and picked something up. The other Goblins paused. They turned, incredulously to Headscratcher and saw him holding—

A bug. It squirmed in his grip. He popped it into his mouth and crunched it. The Goblins all sighed. Headscratcher grinned. He cracked his neck and laughed silently at them. To ask them what they’d been expecting. He pointed.

The other Eater Goats were trying to repeat the trick and send their friends over the walls. Just one or two could wipe out the entire village. They’d kill everything within. They were too dangerous.

They all knew it. Fighting thirty? They’d die.

And maybe that was the point. Headscratcher reached into a small pocket he’d sewn into his clothing. He pulled something out. It was wilted, squashed, barely recognizable. But it was still a flower.

The other Goblins stared at it. Headscratcher looked at Badarrow. The other Goblin grunted irritably and pulled out an arrow. Headscratcher grinned.

Bugear scratched at one ear and nudged Shorthilt. They pulled out their swords. Rabbiteater lifted Grunter’s axe. Numbtongue sighed.

The Redfang Goblins slapped each other on the backs, grinned, and shook hands. They looked at the sky. Then they formed up.

They didn’t have the numbers for a proper formation. They couldn’t swarm their opponents. So they made a line. Badarrow raised his bow and put his best arrow to the string. He loosed one arrow, then another.

The Eater Goats were charging, trying to jump the walls again. The first arrow struck a goat in the back of the head. It dropped, and then stood up. The goat looked around for the source of the arrow, saw the Redfang Goblins. It bleated, a terrible, elongated scream, and the other goats turned. One seized the arrow in the first goat’s head and bit it off. The goat convulsed as the arrow was torn out of its head. At last it fell down.

And the Eaters charged. The goats raced towards the Redfang Goblins, screaming, a few staying behind to circle the village. The Redfang Goblins waited.

“Redfang!”

Badarrow shouted the word as he drew and loosed. He was running out of arrows. But he kept shooting, sending each one of his precious arrows into the mass of goats. His aim was flawless today. One by one they fell, but there were so many and they were fast!

“Redfang!”

The other Hobs shouted the word. The Eaters screamed. Headscratcher looked at his friends, and they looked back. It wasn’t a decision he’d made alone. They’d all made it.

It wasn’t about living. It was about dying right. It was about finding somewhere to die. Because they didn’t have anything to live for. They had no tribe, no leader. They just had each other.

And a memory. Of a girl, of a plea. And of that glorious, terrible moment when they had been something more than mere Goblins.

This is a story of a band of Goblins. A shattered, lost collection of souls. Dreamers, warriors who had tasted something else. This is a story about heroes.

Badarrow reached for another arrow and found none. He tossed his bow aside. Twenty goats remained. They screamed and charged. The Goblins did likewise. Six against twenty. Death.

Not one Goblin hesitated. The Redfang warriors raised their weapons and ran forwards. They were laughing.

And the young woman heard it.

 


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4.34

Six Goblins. Twenty goats. It wasn’t a heroic battle, the kind you’d hear about in stories. It wasn’t one anyone would celebrate or long remember. But it was a proper Goblin’s battle. Close, intense, and perhaps meaningless. But the Goblins fought as if it were the battle to end all battles.

Because it was that or die. And while this might be the place that they did die, so long as one Goblin was standing, the Redfang warriors refused to fall.

Headscratcher’s weapon was a shortsword. It had been a regular sword before he’d been a Hob. Now it stabbed into a goat’s side and his other hand was free, so he grabbed the goat and pulled it into the blade, spearing it.

It kept moving. The Eater Goats were inhumanly tough, which was understandable, but they were also tougher than any goat had a right to be. They swarmed the six Goblins, and it was only their teamwork that kept the Redfang warriors alive in the first charge.

Stand in a circle. Keep moving—defend each other’s backs, watch the flanks. The Redfang warriors had fought hundreds of battles like this, and they slashed at the goats, keeping them at bay while they tried to score a critical blow.

Fast. The Goats leapt and weathered cuts with their bodies, screaming, darting in to try and bite a leg or arm. Have one on you and it wouldn’t let go until it had eaten you or died, Headscratcher knew.

He spun and kicked as beside him, Bugear punched a goat into the ground and hacked at it. The goat Headscratcher was aiming at glanced off his leg, and he slashed futilely at it as it bounded away.

Too slow! Headscratcher raged against his own weakness as he took a step back, watching three goats circle around him, all waiting to pounce. This wasn’t right. He was stronger than before! But his body was so very weak. He was hungry. Headscratcher fought the feeling down. A weak Hob was still stronger than a Goblin.

A Goat leapt at the same time as two of its companions. Headscratcher dodged the first and knocked the second away with his sword, but the third bore him to the ground. He shouted as its gaping mouth was suddenly inches away from his face, biting—

Someone pulled the goat off him. Headscratcher rolled away and saw Bugear hurling the Eater Goat to one side. The other Hobgoblin never saw the second goat until it had leapt on his back. He whirled, and there was a brief flash of metal, a ripping motion, a spray of blood. The Eater goat leapt away, and Bugear stumbled.

His throat was missing.

Headscratcher rose. A goat charged him. He kicked it. Bugear was stumbling, swinging weakly. He fell. Headscratcher ran forwards as Badarrow and Shorthilt charged into the goats, screaming, and scattered them.

He caught Bugear. Headscratcher looked into his friend’s eyes as Bugear clutched at the remains of his throat. The other Goblin looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand, then turned. He grabbed his blade and rose. An Eater Goat fell as he drove the blade into its side. Bugear made a sound as his ruined throat bubbled with blood. He charged into the goats, mouth open in a silent scream.

So many. The formation was lost. Badarrow snarled as he slashed at a goat, a dagger in one hand, a shortsword in the other. Headscratcher ran after Bugear as the Hobgoblin was swarmed. No, no!

Headscratcher threw one goat to the ground and stomped on it. The goat broke. He turned and another caught his arm. It bit down to the bone and tore a chunk away as  Headscratcher raised his sword. He knocked the goat away and speared it on the ground with his sword.

The Hob turned and roared. The goats ran towards him and he cut them down. One. Two. Three. He was burning with rage. But the goats kept on coming. They were fearless. And he—

Something knocked him to the ground. Headscratcher fell. A goat was on top of him, and he was fighting it. And then he heard a whistling sound, heard and felt the thunk. The goat stiffened on top of him and he pushed it away.

A knife was buried in the goat’s back. Headscratcher looked around. Who had thrown it? He saw a girl, standing in the melting snow, staring at him. Then she raised a hand.

“This way! Hurry!

The Hobs looked up. Five of them, now. The Eater Goats were savaging Bugear. They all saw the girl and there was a second of hesitation. Just a second. Then they ran, and the goats followed.

 

—-

 

Watch out!

Erin was the first to react after the first Eater Goat leapt the walls. She hurled her knife and the goat dodged. It skipped left and the blade bounced off the ground. Then it ran at Erin, screaming.

“To the houses! Lock the doors!”

Wirclaw loosed an arrow at the goat. It pierced the goat’s side, making it stumble, but the goat came on. The other villagers ran for the doors. A few raced out as the rest barricaded themselves in, holding pitchforks, a cleaver, a rake—

“Take this!”

Erin had a small vial in one hand. She hurled it, and the goat caught it in the face this time. The vial exploded as it broke on impact, and the miniature fireball roasted Erin’s face. She yelped, turned, and ran. That was wise, because after a second the goat charged out of the flames. It was burning, and part of its face had been blown away. But it was still coming.

Monster!

A huge furry hand caught the goat as it leapt for Erin. Wirclaw hurled the goat to one side and both he and Erin rushed over. Before the goat could get up they kicked and stomped on it. They only stepped back when it stopped moving.

“Dead gods.”

Wirclaw bent over the goat, chest heaving, eyes wide. He had clearly never seen anything like it before. Erin looked towards the walls and scrambled for her knife lying in the ground.

“More are coming! Hurry!”

She and Wirclaw ran up to the watch post above the walls again. This time Wirclaw loosed arrows as fast as he could, aiming at the goats before they could perform their jumping trick. Erin was with him, another small vial in hand. She’d only thought to bring two! She saw the goats breaking away, leaving only six or so of their number behind. Why?

Then she heard the laughter. It was fierce, distant. She turned, and saw the Goblins.

Hobgoblins. They stood in a line, six of them. One was loosing arrows at the Eater Goats; the others were waiting for the goats to charge. Wirclaw spotted them and lowered his bow for an instant in astonishment.

“Goblins? Why are they here?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re—helping us?”

“Impossible.”

The Gnoll shook his head, but Erin was sure. She grabbed Wirclaw’s arm.

“Yes! They’re drawing the goats away!”

“They will be slaughtered. These goats are monsters!”

The Gnoll pointed to one of the goats below. The horrible thing had eight arrows lodged in its side, but it was still running about, bleating and screaming. Erin stared at the goats. She stared at the Goblins. Then she uncorked the second vial. Wirclaw recoiled as a viscous smell rose from the vial.

“What is that?

“Acid. Octavia makes it. It’s strong, so keep back. And cover me.”

Erin walked down and went to the gates. She unbarred it with one hand as Wirclaw roared at her. The gates opened, and the villagers behind Erin shouted as the six goats charged her.

Erin raised the vial in her hand. She tossed the acid onto the faces of the first two goats who ran towards her, and raised her fist.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Another goat went flying. The remaining three were outnumbered, and the villagers charged them, weapons raised. The danger was in their numbers as much as their insane resistance to damage! Erin ran out of the gates, hearing Wirclaw’s arrows thunk into the ground behind her. She turned and saw the Hobgoblins fighting for their life. And behind them—something else.

Erin stared at the distant figures and waved her hands. She pointed once, and ran towards the goats and Goblins. She hoped they’d gotten the message.

 

—-

 

Now.

They all ran. The Human girl, the young woman, waved her arms once and then raced away. Not towards the village, but just away, through the snow. The Goblins followed her, because they had no other choice.

The goats gave them a few seconds of lead as they fought over Bugear and their comrades. Then, sensing their prey might get away, the rest turned and ran.

There were eleven or so now, all injured, but Eater Goats never gave up. And they were quick! Headscratcher turned as one raced behind him. He shouted, and Badarrow twisted. The goat bounced off his raised arm. Numbtongue spat as he lifted one of the two swords in his hand and threw it. The goats dodged around the sword, slowing them down.

Now Numbtongue was down a sword. That meant he ran faster. The Hobgoblins were nearly caught up with the girl, and so were the goats. She was floundering in the snow. Headscratcher turned, ready to fight, to die—

An arrow shot past his head. It curved around Rabbiteater who was in the rear and struck a goat in the head. The goat dropped. His buddies halted and looked around.

On a snow-covered hilltop sixty feet away, Bird lowered his bow and reached for another arrow. He fumbled as he grasped for it, and his fingers brushed one of the newly-healed wounds on his chest.

“Ow.”

“Are you okay?”

Beside him, Lyonette turned anxiously. She and Drassi were standing in the snow. So was Mrsha, despite Lyonette’s attempts to keep her in the inn. All three had potions and other alchemist weapons in their hands. Bird nodded.

“I believe the arrowhead of one of the arrows is lodged in my carapace. It will not bother me when shooting.”

As he spoke he loosed another arrow. This one caught a goat leaping for Erin’s legs. It fell too.

Erin and the Goblins were all running towards them. Lyonette gulped. She turned to Drassi.

“Ready? When they come—throw!

The Drake was pale-faced but she nodded. Mrsha lifted a bottle and Lyonette would have grabbed it if her hands weren’t full too. More arrows were flying from the direction of the village, but the suicidal goats kept coming.

“Erin! This way! Duck!

Lyonette waited until Erin and the Hobgoblins were twenty feet away before throwing. Drassi threw at the same time. The Human girl and Hobgoblins covered their heads and ducked as they ran. The Eater Goats looked up and saw two vials spinning towards them through the air—

They turned as the vials plopped into the snow and exploded into crackling lightning and a shower of thorny spines several feet away. Bird stared at the [Barmaids] as he reached for another arrow. And then Mrsha tossed.

Her aim was good. Her arm was terrible. The red vial with a shining orange center spun lazily down, just above one goat. It would have missed. Would have, but the goat, eternally hungry, leapt up and bit the vial in midair.

It exploded. Fire and bits of goat rained down. The other goats scattered, and then backed away as Mrsha, Lyonette, and Drassi threw again.

A tripvine bag exploded, catching two goats in the thorny tendrils that raced along the ground. A vial of pepper potion was swallowed by a goat that hadn’t learned the lesson the first time. That goat rolled around, shrieking. And Lyonette’s vial of Silverfrost missed everything and exploded into a frozen cloud next to the Hobgoblins.

Bird loosed an arrow. Erin turned. She had no knives, but she raised her fists anyways. The five Hobgoblins turned. They saw two goats tangled up in vines, chewing their way out, one rolling around on the ground, and a final goat, charging at them and bleating.

The final goat stopped. It looked back and saw a trail of its fallen friends, arrows sticking out of their heads, a flaming bit of snow where one of its friends had exploded, and another goat riddled with arrows from Wirclaw. It looked at the Hobs.

To its credit, it didn’t hesitate as it charged. The Hobs cut it down in moments and then turned to the three immobilized goats. They butchered all three with swift, precise blows.

And then it was over. Erin bent, panting, forehead covered with sweat despite the cold air. The Hobgoblins stood, blades dripping with gore, staring at each other and the odd company on the hilltop. Bird carefully drew another arrow and aimed it at Badarrow.

“Are you okay?”

Erin said it first to Lyonette, and then to the Goblins. They stared at her. Lyonette was the one who spoke.

“I—we’re okay, Erin. We found Bird lying on the ground a few minutes ago and he told us there were Goblins—we saw the goats attacking the village from a distance and came here. But what—”

“Goblins? Wait, why was Bird—”

“They shot me, Miss Erin. I regret to inform you that I did not manage to kill any of them. However, that may be good since your rule stipulates not killing Goblins. However, they are Hobgoblins so I did try. But they had better teamwork and so I was shot and fell off the roof. It was quite painful, but fortunately Miss Lyonette had healing potions.”

Bird calmly aimed at Badarrow as he spoke. Erin’s eyes widened and she looked at the Hobs. They glanced at each other and Shorthilt covered his face as Badarrow glowered at Bird.

“Wait, but they saved me! I mean, the village we were in was under attack by those goats. Why did they attack you, Bird?”

The Antinium hesitated. He looked at the Goblins and they, remembering, glared back. Bird didn’t exactly meet Erin’s eyes. He shuffled his feet before he spoke.

“I may have tried to shoot them from afar.”

He glanced at Erin and hunched his shoulders.

“I am supposed to hunt monsters.”

“But they’re Goblins! Wait—”

Erin closed her eyes as she held up a hand. Everyone looked at her. She took a breath.

“Okay. I think I get it. Lower your bow, Bird.”

“What? Erin!

“It’s okay, Lyonette. Trust me. Bird, lower your bow. These Goblins aren’t going to attack. Right?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The Hobgoblins blinked at her, and then edged away from her and the others. They glanced back across the snowy plains. One of them took a step away.

“Wait—”

They turned to look back at Erin. The Goblins stared at her, and one raised a hand. Drassi screamed and Mrsha hid behind Erin as the Hob who’d raised the hand glanced at her. He turned away.

“Ancestors, Ancestors, oh Ancestors—

“Drassi!”

Lyonette grabbed the shaking Drake. Drassi had faced down the Eater Goats despite her fears, but close proximity to the Hobgoblins was making the Drake tremble like a leaf. Erin called out after the Goblins as they trudged away, and then saw a group of Gnolls and Drakes heading her way.

“Uh oh. I’d better deal with that—come on!”

The others followed her as she jogged through the snow. The villagers lead by Wirclaw caught up with her, holding bloody weapons. None of them were hurt, which was a relief. Wirclaw half-raised his bow as he spotted Bird, and then glanced towards the Hobs in the distance.

“Miss Erin! Are you unharmed? Why did you leave? Those Goblins—”

“They saved your village, Wirclaw. No, don’t argue about it. Look, Lyonette and Mrsha and Drassi here helped you all. Can you take them back to your village for a little bit? I want to bring back the milk with them, and I think Drassi needs to sit down.”

“Certainly, but—”

Erin turned to Bird, ignoring the Gnoll.

“Bird, you go with them. Keep your bow out just in case I guess, but don’t shoot anyone unless they attack! Got it?”

The Antinium nodded. He looked at Erin.

“And what will you do, Miss Solstice?”

Erin squared her shoulders and then twisted her neck with a grimace. She must have twisted something while she was running or fighting. A healing potion would sort that out. But first things first. She turned and looked towards the five Goblins. They were standing around the spot where they’d first fought the goats. There had been six of them, then. Erin nodded to the Goblins and looked around at everyone staring at her.

“I’m going to talk to them.”

 

—-

 

Bugear lay on the ground. Or rather, what remained of him lay there. Most of his body was gone but his head had been mostly spared from the savaging. Headscratcher knelt in the muddy ground and snow and picked it up. Bugear’s expression had slackened in death, but Headscratcher could still remember his wordless snarl as he charged the Eater Goats.

He had known he wouldn’t survive, so he’d thrown himself into the fighting to distract the goats. It had bought them enough time to survive. The other Goblins knew it. They stood around Bugear in silence.

There were no recriminations. No words of reproach for Headscratcher, or indeed, no words of any kind. It was done. They’d fought and now they were fewer. Again.

Redfang warriors did not weep for the fallen. They were warriors; they knew what their fates were. They did not cry, because their leader, Garen Redfang, didn’t believe in it. So the five Goblins did not weep for their brother.

“Um, hello?”

A timid voice interrupted their moment of silence. The Goblins turned. Headscratcher wiped at his eyes that weren’t full of tears. He stopped and stared.

A girl stood in the snow. The same girl who’d helped save them, the one whom they’d seen on the walls of the village. She stared at them. How could she know what thought was running through their minds? What memories, what tragedies?

There were no words. And Redfang warriors did not weep. So the others brushed a bit of sweat, maybe melted snow water from their eyes as they looked at her. She was Human, an enemy most of the times, prey others. But they had met one who was neither. Once.

How could she know? She couldn’t. But the young woman saw their tears. And because she stood in front of them without a sword or spell blazing in their hands, they listened. The Redfang warriors had no hope of anything in particular. They were just lost and very tired.

And the young woman looked at them, at the head in Headscratcher’s arms, and did something they had never seen a Human do before.

She bowed.

 

—-

 

“Thank you.”

Erin bowed to the five Goblins. The snow was stained red, and when she raised her head, she saw they had mostly wiped their tears away. The five Goblins stared at her. She said it again.

“Thank you. You saved us. I owe you my life.”

Silence. The Goblins looked at each other. Erin looked at them.

Five Goblins. Five…Hobs. She had only ever met two Hobs before in her life. Erin remembered the Goblin Chieftain, a lifetime ago, and the other Hob who she had met with Rags. These five were not like either.

They were ragged. They had loincloths, ill-fitting pieces of armor that were too small on their bodies, and weapons. Their blades were well looked after, but obviously well-used as well. Erin thought they were good iron, rather than steel.

And each of the Hobgoblins was injured. One, the one carrying the head, had a huge chunk taken out of his arm and a bad gash down one leg, but he didn’t seem to notice the blood running from him. Erin did.

“Thank you.”

She said it a third time, mostly because she had no idea of what to say next. The Goblins looked at her, and then each other. One, the only Goblin carrying a bow, growled and turned away.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

The other Goblins looked at Erin, and then at the head of their companion. They said not a word. Another Goblin broke away from Erin. The rest just stared at her as if they’d never met a Human before. Or rather, never talked to a Human before.

“Uh—”

What could she say? Thanks? She’d said that. I’m sorry? Ditto. Erin didn’t know what she should do. The Goblins had saved her. If they were anyone else—a group like the Horns of Hammerad for instance—she would have offered them money, asked where they were from and so on. But these Goblins…

One of them, the one with the bow, was retrieving arrows from the goats and butchering them at the same time. He glanced up and growled something at the others. Two more broke away and began helping him. His look was the least friendly as he stared at Erin.

“Are you…hungry?”

That was the only explanation Erin could think of. The goat meat didn’t look good and she would have bet it was stringy, but the Goblins were cutting them up quickly. Her words made the Goblin with the bow look up. This time he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I got that. You’re hungry. Do you want something to eat?”

Five growling stomachs answered her. Erin stared at the Goblins. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it might be a bad idea. But they were staring at her, and there was nothing simple in their eyes. One of them, the Goblin cradling the head of their friend, was staring at her like—like—

“Would you like to come with me? I have food to eat. You can have it. Free. You don’t have to pay.”

It popped out of her mouth, and once said, it was impossible to take back. The Goblins all turned. The one with the bow straightened. The one with the head dropped it, and then scrambled to pick it up.

“I—I have an inn.”

Erin felt she should explain as the Goblins looked at her. She pointed, and they stared across the rolling snow-covered hills towards her inn in the distance. They exchanged a look.

“You can go there if you’re hungry. I have food. Lots of food. And you could bury your friend…”

Erin’s voice trailed off. The Goblins were just staring at her. There was nothing hostile about their gazes, but they were so bewildered. So lost. She coughed.

“You know what? Meet me there. No one will hurt you, I promise. I’ll have food. You don’t have to come, but if you do…food, okay?”

She mimed walking to her inn. The Goblins stared at her. One nodded. Erin stopped pretending to walk, feeling silly. They weren’t stupid. Rags had never been stupid. If she were here, she would have been rolling her eyes, making rude gestures and telling Erin she got it already.

But she wasn’t. So Erin pointed again, and slowly backed away. Then she went to find Lyonette and the others.

“We might be having guests in a bit. You all okay?”

They stared at her. Erin pointed at her sled, still carrying all the milk she’d bought.

“Come on, let’s go back. Bird, I’ll pull the sled. Mrsha can ride on it. Let’s go.”

She turned and pulled by momentum more than anything else, her employees and Mrsha followed. Erin walked slowly back to her inn, hearing Drassi burst out into nervous chatter after a while and Lyonette soothing Mrsha. But her eyes were on the Goblins all the while. And when she made it to her inn and paused at the open doorway, she could tell they were still watching her.

 

—-

 

In the Redfang tribe, stories were still told of Garen Redfang and how their Chieftain had once walked through Human cities, often wearing a mask and a hood to conceal his features. He had spoken with Humans and other species, traded with them, and fought as a Gold-rank adventurer for a time. More than a few Goblins had dreamed of doing the same, but only dreamed.

It was a legend, a myth. No real Goblin would ever walk through a city unless they were there to be executed, or if their tribe was raiding it. And while the Redfang warriors had entered Human dwellings before, they had never gone into one without swords in hand.

Now they stood outside of an inn just a short distance away from Liscor and stared up at it. Not one of the five Goblins had a sword in their hands. It was a surreal experience. Headscratcher hesitated at the wooden door to the inn for several minutes before he pushed it open. Numbtongue stared up at the inn’s name as the other Goblins walked in.

“You’re here!”

The instant they stepped through, a voice shouted. The Redfang warriors flinched and braced themselves, but all they saw was a girl. The girl. And she was smiling at them.

True, it wasn’t a great smile. It was tinged with nerves and a bit of fear, a bit of uncertainty, but it was still a smile. The Redfang warriors were too afraid to smile back.

“Come on in, don’t be shy. Sit. Here’s a table—sit down. I’m just going to get—Lyonette!”

The Goblins jumped as the young woman ran through a door behind a counter. They looked at the table and hesitantly pulled at the chairs. Chairs were another odd thing, but the five Hobgoblins perched on them hesitantly. Rabbiteater’s ears kept twitching, and he turned his head sharply a moment before the Human girl rushed back into the room.

“Here. I have this—I know you need it.”

She had an armful of potions. The young woman carefully approached the table and the Goblins just as carefully leaned back. She hesitated and then dumped them onto the table. Headscratcher caught one before it could roll off and onto the floor.

“Thanks—”

The young woman froze at the same time the Goblin did. He’d reflexively started to hand the potion back to her, and she’d unconsciously begun to take it. It was a universal experience, and they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before breaking away.

“You keep it. It’s for you. For your injuries.”

The young woman backed away as Headscratcher lowered his hand. She pointed to his arm. He started, and then glanced at the crimson bandage he’d tied to his arm. The other Redfang warriors blinked too, and then recalled.

Yes, their injuries. Some were quite terrible. Headscratcher might lose that arm to infection or never gain its mobility, such was the damage. Badarrow had bites that went down to his bones on his legs, and the other Goblins were just as injured. And the potions were—

Healing potions? They had to be, but for them? The Goblins stared at the young woman, expecting, suspecting a trap. They eyed the bottles on the table.

Remembering the ones that had exploded earlier, the Goblins were hesitant, but then they recognized the liquids within. Most Goblins couldn’t read, so they identified potion types by their appearance. And these looked like healing potions.

But who would give healing potions to a Goblin? That was what made the Goblins sure it had to be a trick. Not that they suspected the young woman of tricking them, but—

Logic warred with the evidence before their eyes. It was Numbtongue who moved first. He picked up a vial and squinted at the tiny label on it. After a moment he nodded and the others immediately uncorked the vials and bottles and poured it on their injuries. Then they received another surprise.

The healing potions were high quality. Headscratcher gaped as the chunk of flesh missing from his arm regrew over the course of a minute. This was good stuff! He looked at the young woman. She smiled hesitantly at him.

“Good? Use more if you need to.”

Mind boggling. The Goblins treated their wounds and then hesitantly recorked the bottles and pushed them together on the table. They felt guilty, as if they’d used too much, and eyed the diminished potion levels in the bottles uncertainly.

“You’re done? Cool. Let’s—why don’t I sit? I’ll sit here and we can…talk.”

So saying, the young woman scooted a chair out from another table and sat facing the Goblins. They looked at her. She looked back. The silence was unbearable.

“I am Erin. Erin Solstice. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

The Goblins stared at Erin. She coughed.

“Um. I know I said thanks, but thanks again. You saved me. I don’t know where those evil goats came from, but you were just in time. And I know your friend died…I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry that Bird shot at you. He’s the Antinium. The one on the tower.”

Silence. Erin shuffled her feet. The Goblins wondered if they should say something. And if so, what? They looked at Numbtongue. He shrugged.

“Are you with the—the Goblin Lord?”

Every head snapped back to Erin. She leaned back a bit and raised her hands.

“Not that I’m angry if you are. It’s just—I hear he’s not a great guy. But if you think he is, that’s fine! I’m not judging. But I just uh—”

All five Redfang warriors shook their heads at the same time. Erin looked relieved.

“Really? That’s great! You know, I thought he was a jerk, especially when his soldiers shot arrows at my inn, but I was thinking, here’s a bunch of Goblins and his army was just here, so…ahem.”

She broke off, and Headscratcher looked at the others. He raised a hand and crooked it towards her, tilting his head and baring his fangs. It was a quick statement, but he’d conveyed a general surprise that any building would have been left standing after the Goblin Lord had passed by. Shorthilt’s raised eyebrow and glance at one window told the others that his personal opinion was that this building had to be enchanted in some way.

The Human got none of this. She was fidgeting, glancing around, muttering under her breath. She looked at them and all five Goblins snapped back to attention.

“Okay. This might be weird, but…do you know a Goblin named Rags?”

Four jaws dropped. Badarrow’s eyes narrowed. Erin glanced from face to face. Her eyes widened. Rabbiteater nodded fractionally.

“You do?

The Redfang warriors glanced at each other. How did she know Rags, let alone by name? Erin was bombarding them with questions while Badarrow kicked Rabbiteater under the table. He nodded to Erin, and then twirled his finger around, indicating the room as a whole.

The other Redfang warriors followed his gaze. They stared at the Human girl, looked around the inn, her inn, and put the pieces together at last. The five Hobgoblins shuffled their feet and exchanged awkward glances.

This was so embarrassing.

Of course, Erin had no idea what they were thinking. She only saw their postures.

“Wait, what’s wrong? It’s not Rags, is it? Is she okay? I haven’t seen her in a long time—is she mad at me? Or…?”

Again, the Goblins shook their heads. How could they explain the inter-Goblin politics that had seen Rags absorb every tribe in the area to repel the Goblin Lord? Erin stared at them.

“Do you know where she is?”

They shook their heads. She hesitated.

“Okay. But is she well?”

They shrugged. Erin had to think.

“Do you…where are you going? Do you know where you’re going?”

They shook their heads again. Erin looked from face to face. Each Redfang warrior met her eyes, and then looked away. It was just a moment, but somehow, each felt like she’d seen a bit of the pain and despair they carried with them. Just for a moment.

“Okay. Okay…um…”

She wavered. As she did, Rabbiteater’s belly rumbled. Everyone stared at him. Erin shot to her feet. Rabbiteater nearly tumbled out of his chair.

“I’m so sorry! I totally forgot. I promised you food, right? Wait right here!”

She dashed into the kitchen. The other Goblins exchanged a look of wild surmise. Food? They’d buried a lot of the Eater Goat meat in the snow just in case, and they were hungry. But after the potions, they had to wonder. Would she actually feed them? Actually? With—with forks and the fancy tools Garen had told them all about?

Would there be anything to drink?

They heard banging in the kitchen, and Erin’s raised voice, arguing with someone else. The Goblins stared at the kitchen anxiously. All but one.

There was a blackboard with words written on them in chalk hanging from a ledge above the bar’s counter. It was a menu, although it had only been written once and never updated. Most people ignored it, but one of the Redfang warriors had spotted it.

Numbtongue studied the words written on the menu written above the bar’s counter. He nudged Shorthilt, grunted and pointed. Shorthilt stared blankly at the letters. He shrugged. Numbtongue sighed. He carefully studied the words written on the menu until Erin came back.

“Here! Food, as promised!”

She had a huge platter and five plates awkwardly stacked on them. They were thick, filled with heaping mounds of spaghetti pasta, and covered with little black things. The other Goblins had no idea what the black things were. They were squishy, and looked edible, and that was good enough. Rabbiteater reached for one of the plates as Erin carefully placed it in front of him, but Numbtongue caught his hand. He shook his head and the other Redfang warriors, seeing the motion, froze.

“What’s wrong?”

Erin looked at them, concerned. Numbtongue hesitated. He sucked in his lips, and then scowled. He hated doing this. Reluctantly he opened his mouth and pointed to the plates and black things on them.

“Acid flies? Blue…fruit?”

Everyone stared at him. Erin’s jaw dropped. She stammered.

“How did—buh—I mean, I don’t have any acid flies. Those are olives! They’re healthy, I swear—I didn’t know they existed, but—this is spaghetti and olives! It’s uh—I’m out of blue juice too. Did you—can I get you something—wait, I have more!”

She rushed into the kitchen. The other Goblins stared at the olives. Badarrow picked one up and sniffed at it with deep suspicion. Rabbiteater gave into his stomach and popped one into his mouth. He chewed, brightened, and began to shovel spaghetti into his mouth. The other Goblins looked at him, and then seized spaghetti in both claws.

Erin came back to find the Goblins shoveling spaghetti down their throats with incredible speed. If not delicacy. Watching Shorthilt tilt a plate back and slide all the spaghetti into his waiting mouth was an education in itself. The amazing bit was that not a single speck of spaghetti or olive was dropped. The Goblins cleaned their plates.

Slowly, the Human girl approached and the Goblins stopped eating. They stared at the mugs in her hands. Erin smiled and weakly raised the mugs filled with ale.

“I’ve uh, got drinks! Does anyone want a second helping?”

 

—-

 

Erin had watched eating competitions on television when she was younger. It was a thing. She hadn’t exactly liked seeing someone wolf down over forty hotdogs in one sitting, but she had to admire the speed at which it was done.

However, one of the things Erin had objected to was that in a food eating competition, none of the contestants ever seemed like they liked eating the food. It was about getting as much food as possible inside them as they could, not savoring the food.

By contrast, the Goblins sitting in the common room of her inn were a joy to watch eating. Because they clearly loved every bite. Oh, they still ate like starving wolverines, but every now and then one would pause and close his eyes while chewing, or make a grunting sound that expressed pure satisfaction.

Erin got to see only a bit of this, because she was rushing into the kitchen and out of it every few seconds. The Goblins didn’t stop with the spaghetti, or the meatloaf, or the lasagna, pizza, or even the steak! They ate and ate, and ate!

Erin kept going into the kitchen and coming back with more pre-made dishes and watched them disappear. The Hobgoblins ate as if they were starving, which they must have been. They didn’t look that scrawny, but Erin realized that if she compared them to the Hobgoblin she’d met before—the one who’d come in with Rags that one time—they were definitely a lot thinner.

She was worried they’d puke or their stomachs would get full, but the Goblins seemed to be able to digest the food as quickly as they ate. Their thin bellies inflated very slowly. As Erin grabbed a whole fried chicken seasoned with hot peppers, she decided she had to take a break. She turned to the Drake who was shakily cleaning dishes.

“Drassi, I need you to take over. Take this chicken out to the Goblins, will you?”

What?

The Drake jumped. Her pale scales grew paler and she raised her clawed hands.

“Erin, I can’t. I can’t even—I don’t know how you can have them here! Here! At least have Bird come downstairs with his bow! We should be calling the Watch, or, or—I can’t do it.”

Erin shook her head.

“Just serve them, okay Drassi? They won’t be dangerous and Bird is right there! Lyonette’s upstairs with Mrsha—I need to make more food or we’ll run out!”

“But—but—”

“Go out. Like this…hi guys! This is Drassi. She’s going to put the chicken down on the table. I said down on the table, Drassi—okay, why don’t you put it on this table?”

Erin managed to get Drassi to put the chicken down on the table and get her back into the kitchen. Drassi was trembling so hard she’d nearly dropped the whole thing. Erin had a suspicion that if she had, the Goblins would have picked it off the floor or just sat down and eaten it there.

“Okay, was that so hard?”

Yes!

Drassi glared at her. Erin sighed.

“But you did it. Just put the food on another table, okay? I’ve got to make more food. Uh…where’s the butter? And sprouts? They could probably use some greens with all the heavy food they’ve been eating.”

She began to fry greens, put together a soup, and start a few loafs of bread all at once. Drassi took out a few more dishes very reluctantly, but reported the Hobgoblins did indeed seem to be slowing now. Erin let her finish putting all the food onto platters for later and tending to the soup—and mountains of finished dishes, and walked out into the room.

Five pairs of eyes instantly focused on her. Erin froze, and then waved. One of the five Goblins waved back. The others just watched her.

Drassi’s fear was understandable, Erin felt. Each time she moved, the Goblins all stared at her. Erin waved at them and pointed.

“I’m just going upstairs. Okay?”

They didn’t reply, but watched her as she climbed the stairs. Erin found Lyonette and Mrsha’s room and hesitated before knocking on the door.

“Lyonette? Mrsha? Are you two okay?”

“Erin?”

She heard a lock turn and then the door opened. Lyonette opened the door a crack.

“Come in.”

Erin edged into the room and saw that Lyonette was sitting on her bed with Apista and Mrsha. The bee was crawling onto her pillow and Mrsha was shivering in Lyonette’s arms.

“Is Mrsha okay?”

“I think so. She’s not that afraid any longer, are you Mrsha? She’s just—she can smell the Goblins downstairs, Erin.”

Lyonette didn’t quite look at Erin as she ran a soothing hand over Mrsha’s back. The Gnoll flinched when she heard the word ‘Goblin’. Erin paused.

“Right.”

Mrsha had her past with Goblins. Erin had almost forgotten that. She sat by the bed. Mrsha looked at her. Erin offered her a hand and the Gnoll licked it.

“It’s okay, Mrsha. They’re not bad, I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

Lyonette spoke for the both of them. Erin hesitated. She looked at Lyonette. She realized she’d made a mistake. She’d assumed Lyonette would understand the Goblins being here, but the other girl was clearly as upset as Mrsha was. Erin paused, stroking Mrsha’s head.

“You never really knew Rags, did you?”

“I remember seeing her and screaming. But I didn’t, no. I’m sorry.”

“Right. And she was only here…look Lyonette, I know you’re nervous. Drassi definitely is. But these Goblins aren’t dangerous. I’d feel it with my [Dangersense] if they were. And they helped us.”

Lyonette nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. She stared at the floorboards, and then Apista as the bee crawled up a wall. She took a breath.

“I know your friend—Rags—was a guest here. But Erin, I have to say it. These aren’t normal Goblins. They’re Hobs. They lead other Goblins and they’re very, very dangerous. One Hob is a match for most Silver-rank adventurers. More than a match, sometimes.”

“I get that. But Lyonette, they saved us. They saved me, and they didn’t have to.”

“I know. I saw. They saved you from the goats, but they also shot Bird. I was the one who heard him fall. Erin, he would have died.”

Erin nodded. Her hand clenched. Bird was upstairs. He had a small room on the third floor and she’d ordered him to rest after his near-death experience.

“I know. But it was self-defense. And I owed them something. Look, I’ll feed them for now and we’ll see what happens, okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

That was a bad answer, and Lyonette clearly wasn’t happy about it, but it would have to do. Erin nodded, relieved. Then she bent down to Mrsha.

“I know they’re—I know they’re Goblins, okay Mrsha, honey? But they’re not like the other ones, I promise. They won’t hurt you.”

The Gnoll was still shaking, but she raised her head as Erin spoke to her. Erin was prepared for tears or fear, but that wasn’t what was in the Gnoll cub’s gaze. Her eyes blazed. They narrowed as Mrsha stared at Erin. There was anger there. Anger and deep reproach.

She had no words. But Mrsha made her opinion clear. Erin froze.

“Mrsha? They’re going to stay a bit longer. But they won’t come upstairs. Got it? If they cause any trouble, they’re gone. I promise. Just wait here, okay? I’ll get Drassi to come up with food—”

For once the promise of food didn’t satisfy Mrsha. The Gnoll swiped at Erin’s hand and she stared at Erin until the young woman left the room. Erin walked down the stairs and took a deep breath. Then she groaned.

“Oh no. What now?”

Someone had entered the common room ahead of her. An Antinium was holding a bow, and the room had frozen. Drassi was standing, shaking, mugs in hand, and the Goblin warriors had frozen, half of them about to leap out of their seats.

“Bird!”

Erin ran down the stairs. The Antinium turned his head, but his arms kept the bow trained on the Goblins.

“Miss Erin, they were attempting to leave.”

“What? Leave?”

Erin looked at the Goblins. They hesitated. One pointed towards the doors.

“You want to go? Why?”

Again, hesitation. The Goblin pointed down. Everyone stared at his crotch. Erin’s face went slack until she realized what he meant.

“Pee? You want to—Bird, he just wants to go to the bathroom!”

“Oh. That was the reason I descended as well.”

The Antinium slowly lowered the bow. The Goblins relaxed just as slowly. Erin strode between them, raising her hands, trying to play peacemaker again.

“Let’s all calm down. We don’t want any accidents…especially the yellow kind. There’s outhouses for everyone. The bathroom’s right outside. Here, I can show you—”

That seemed to be unnecessary. The Goblin shook his head as he walked towards the door. He put a hand on the handle and pulled it open. The door revealed a startled Jelaqua Ivirith, her hand raised to push at the door. She stared at the Goblin, and her eyes went wide. The Goblin stared back.

Jelaqua backed up. Her face was always dead white, but now she seemed to be stunned. Horrified. She opened her mouth and stared at the Hobgoblin standing in front of her.

“Garen?”

The Goblin stared back. He recognized the word, Erin saw. He opened his mouth.

“Redfang?”

A giant hand reached past Jelaqua. Moore grabbed the Goblin and threw him across the room. The Hobgoblin crashed into a wall. Jelaqua sprinted into the room as the other Hobgoblins shot to their feet.

The Goblin who’d been thrown struggled upright. He swung wildly at Jelaqua—she grabbed one arm and then brought his head down to meet her knee. The Hobgoblin stumbled, and she knocked him flat with one punch. Jelaqua stood over the downed Hobgoblin and looked around. Then she looked at the unconscious Goblin at her feet.

“Oh. It’s not Garen. I was worried there for a second.”

The other Hobgoblins leapt over the table at her, roaring. One jerked as Seborn clotheslined him in midair and slung him to the ground. The Drowned Man leapt on the Hobgoblin and started beating him down with his fists.

“Stop, stop!

Erin shouted, but Moore’s staff was already spinning. He flattened one Hob, and kicked the other. Jelaqua’s gauntleted fists flashed and the final Hobgoblin jerked back, stumbling from her punch. He feinted and jabbed at her; the Selphid let both punches meet her armor and hit him in the gut and chest with solid, heavy blows that made the Goblin stumble.

Enough!

Erin’s shout this time was backed up by more than just sound. The air in the inn cracked and the floor rumbled. The Halfseekers paused, eyes wide, and the two Goblins still on their feet halted as well.

Slowly, very slowly, Erin turned to look around the room. Jelaqua’s eyes flicked to the Hobgoblins, to Drassi poking her head out of the kitchen, and Bird who opened the door and paused when he saw the chaos. She looked at Erin and groaned.

“Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

The other two Halfseekers looked around. Moore shook his head. Seborn got up slowly.

Miss Solstice, I believe we’re owed an explanation.

Erin looked from face to face and tried to smile weakly. The normally jovial Halfseekers didn’t return the smiles. Right. They didn’t like Goblins either. She gestured to the tables.

“Why don’t we all sit. Does—does anyone want a drink?”

 

—-

 

The drinks did help, but barely. The Goblins sat in a corner of the room, their injuries healed once again with Erin’s potions. Jelaqua shook her head grimly as Erin finished the story.

“And so you invited them in. Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s just—they saved my life, Jelaqua.”

Erin spread her hands helplessly. Jelaqua turned and glared at the Goblins. They flinched. There was a clear distribution of power there, and they could tell they were on the losing end of it. The other two Halfseekers looked just as grim.

“We like all kinds of species Erin, but our group has its problems with Goblins. You do know we lost half our members to one?”

Jelaqua’s statement made the other Goblins sit up at their table. Moore’s eyes were shadowed as he watched them. Seborn’s gaze could have fried the egg in front of him. Erin waved her hands, trying to defuse the situation.

“I know, I know! But these are good Goblins, guys! Just give me a moment. They might not be here long. I’m just feeding them!”

“Right. Well, you’d better explain that to the others.”

Jelaqua glanced towards the door. Erin looked as well.

“What others?”

“Your usual crowds. Who else? I saw the Horns finishing up their request at the Adventurer’s Guild a while back. They’ll be here soon too, and a bunch of people from Liscor. You’d better have a good explanation ready for them, too.”

“Oh no. Wait here. Drassi! Go to Celum and make sure no one comes through! Jelaqua, Goblins—stay here!”

Erin ran for the door. She threw it open and saw the Horns of Hammerad and a number of other people trudging towards her inn through the snow. Her dinner crowd, as usual. Erin raced down the hill towards them.

“We’re closed! Go away! Shoo!”

The people heading towards her inn hesitated as Erin ran towards them. She shouted, waved her arms. Ceria frowned as Erin shouted at the others.

“Erin? What’s going on? What do you mean you’re closed?”

“Does this mean there is in fact, no food?

Pisces peered at Erin, looking concerned. She grinned desperately.

“That’s right! No food! We have a—a thing going on. A thing with the food! I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back later! Not you, though.”

She grabbed Pisces as he turned around and dragged him back. The other Horns of Hammerad clustered around Erin as she whispered to them.

“There’s a minor thing in the inn, okay? We’ll all go up and nobody scream, okay?”

“Goblin!”

Every head turned. A Drake who’d approached the inn from a different spot on the hill backed out of the door, scales pale. He turned to them and ran down the hill, waving his arms and screaming.

Hobs! There’s five Hobgoblins in there! It’s an invasion! Run for your lives!

Erin groaned. She saw her guests turn and began fleeing towards Liscor’s gates. Alerted by the commotion, the guards on the walls began shouting down at the people below. In moments, horns were blowing.

Ceria looked at Erin. Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Pisces did likewise. Slowly, Erin turned and grinned weakly at them. Ceria crossed her arms.

“Erin. What have you done?”

 

—-

 

Human!

Erin flinched as the door to her inn slammed open. The five Redfang warriors would have jumped to their feet, but the two adventurer teams kept them seated. They tensed as a group of heavily-armed guardsmen led by Zevara herself stormed into the room. The Drake Watch Captain halted when she saw the Hobgoblins, and then rounded on Erin.

“I didn’t believe it when I heard it. I thought even a Human, even you wouldn’t be stupid enough for this. Harboring five Hobgoblins? Now? While the Goblin Lord is marching on our cities? Have you lost your mind?

“I can explain!”

Erin strode forwards quickly and put herself between Zevara and the Goblins. She saw Relc standing behind Zevara with a group of Drakes in full plate armor. He and the other guardsmen were ready for a fight. But it couldn’t come to that.

“Speak quickly Human.”

Zevara lashed her tail as she stared at the Hobgoblins. Her sword was half out of its sheath, and the [Guardsmen] behind her looked ready to fight. Relc’s eyes smoldered as he stared at the Goblins. They were tense, but they waited for Erin to speak.

She explained as fast as she could. Zevara was incredulous.

“You were attacked by goats?

“Eater Goats, Captain. They have to be. Those buggers are nasty. If there’s a herd coming down from the High Passes—”

One of the guardsmen murmured to Zevara. She turned to Erin.

“We’ll inspect the bodies. But if these Hobs fought them, so what? Monsters fight monsters.”

“But they did it to save the village! I’m sure of it! They attacked the goats when they were about to jump over the walls! Look, Captain, I know they’re Goblins, but remember Rags?”

Behind Zevara, Relc twitched. Zevara glanced at him, then at Erin.

“I remember a group of Goblins starting to raid the roads around Liscor before they vanished. If that’s your argument—”

“These Goblins aren’t a danger! I promise!”

“Hah! And I’m supposed to let five Hobgoblins sit here while—”

“It’s five Goblins.”

“Five Hobs! Do you understand how dangerous that is? A Silver-rank team wouldn’t be a match for them! And why are they without a tribe? They could be spies, saboteurs—”

“Why did they sit in my inn and eat food for the last two hours, then?”

Zevara hesitated. She eyed the Goblins. One waved at her. The other raised his middle finger.

“It could be a Goblin ploy—”

“Oh come on. Really?”

Some of the guardsmen shifted behind Erin. One murmured.

“She has a point, Captain. That would be stupid, even for a Goblin—”

“They might have heard there’s a softhearted Human with a fondness for Goblins around here. Maybe they lured the Eater Goats here themselves. I don’t know, but I’m not having them here! And you, why would you think this is a good idea?”

The Drake Watch Captain glared at Erin. She glared back.

“Haven’t you seen the sign outside my inn? Didn’t you see what it read? It says, ‘no killing Goblins’!”

Zevara paused.

“That’s not—”

Erin glared at her. She rounded on the other Drakes and Gnolls in the Watch, raising her voice.

“Did you think that was a joke? That I wasn’t serious? I am. Unless the Goblin is attacking me or other people, or stealing or—or being a jerk, I won’t let you harm them.”

Zevara’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“This is Watch business, Human. You may not be in Liscor, but you’re close enough to fall under our jurisdiction.”

“So what, you’ll kill them right here and now because you think they might be a threat?”

The Drake hesitated. She eyed the Goblins. They were watching her. At last, she nodded.

“That was our intent.”

All five Redfang warriors shifted at once. The Watch did likewise. Zevara held up a hand.

“We won’t have a fight here. I’d rather force these Goblins to leave the area than risk any deaths.”

Slowly, the Redfang Goblins relaxed their grip on their weapons. But Erin was the one who objected this time.

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“They’re starving. Can’t you see?”

She pointed at the Goblins. The Redfang warriors glanced at her in astonishment. Erin spread her hands.

“They were hungry when they came in, and I think they’re on the run. They aren’t allied with the Goblin Lord—I think they’re part of Rags’ tribe. Look, Captain Zevara, why can’t I let them stay in my inn for a day or two?”

Everyone was gaping at her. Zevara shook her head.

“You really are as crazy as Relc says. I won’t allow it.”

“Well, I won’t let you lay a hand on these Goblins! Give me a day or two and I’ll let them go—maybe out of Celum. But no one’s hurting them here.”

Zevara stared incredulously at Erin.

“And what will you do if we decide to move them? Stop us? By yourself?”

She glanced around the inn. Both the Halfseekers and the Horns of Hammerad were present, but they didn’t seem inclined to stand up for Erin the same way as they had before. Erin nodded.

“If I have to.”

Someone in the group of guards people laughed. Zevara stared at Erin.

“Stand aside. We’re removing the Goblins.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“Try it.”

For a heart-thundering second, Zevara’s hand tightened on her sword’s hilt and every warrior in the room tensed. Then the door opened. Half a dozen swords cleared their sheaths, but the figure standing in the doorway made everyone hesitate.

“Enough. Watch Captain Zevara, stand down.”

Zel Shivertail stood in the doorway. He glanced around, pinning the Redfang warriors with a glance. The Drakes backed up and he strode forwards to speak with Zevara. The two Drakes bent their heads. Erin couldn’t hear anything, but she saw Zevara’s tail lashing and caught a few words.

“—on my authority—can’t be s—quite. The situation—won’t allow—follow orders.”

At last, Zevara turned. She looked like she was ready to blast Erin with flames, but she held back. She clenched her claws into fists and glared pure murder at the Goblins.

“If they hurt anyone, it’s on your head, Human!”

She whirled and stormed out of the room. Slowly, the guardsmen followed her. In the newfound still, Zel Shivertail looked at Erin. He sighed.

“A word, Miss Solstice?”

 

—-

 

They stood outside and spoke in the cold.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

Zel inclined his head slightly. He glanced through a window into the inn, where the Redfang Goblins were still sitting, tense, watched by both adventurer groups.

“Truthfully, I don’t know if I should have. Goblins are dangerous, Miss Solstice.”

“I know that. But I think these ones are good. Why did you help me, by the way?”

Zel grimaced.

“Call it instinct. Not mine. Yours. You picked out Regrika Blackpaw and her associate’s treachery. If you can do that, perhaps you’re right about these Goblins. But truthfully, I have ulterior motives.”

“Which are?”

Erin studied Zel, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t say. Regardless, I managed to convince Watch Captain Zevara to back down. However, if those Goblins cause any kind of disturbance—”

“I’ll make sure they won’t. And they won’t necessarily stay here. I just—I couldn’t leave them alone, you know?”

Erin shrugged helplessly. The Drake [General] eyed her and sighed.

“No, you really couldn’t, could you? Well, I will let you handle this at your discretion—however many misgivings I have. But if you…no. I’m afraid though, that if you do intend to shelter the Goblins, I won’t be staying at the inn.”

“Why?”

Erin stared at him. Zel Shivertail paused.

“I fought Goblins back in the Second Antinium war, and countless times before and since. They’re monsters to me, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t be able to sleep under the same roof as them. I’m sorry. I’ve seen what they can do, and while I can trust your word…I’m sorry.”

He looked at Erin. She hesitated, and then nodded slowly.

“I get it. But I think…I think I will offer them a place to stay for now. I don’t think they have anywhere to go. And I…want to know about Rags.”

Zel nodded.

“In that case, I’ll move out before tonight. I wish you luck, Miss Solstice.”

He turned. Erin called out behind him.

“Why did you do it? Stand up for me? And why were you sure I’d give them a place to stay?”

Zel looked back.

“You’re kind to strangers, Erin Solstice. That’s all. And that’s not a bad thing. If you can prove some Goblins are worth living, well, who am I to stop you?”

Then he walked into the inn. After a second, Erin followed him.

 

—-

 

“Do you…have names?”

Erin sat with the Redfang Goblins. They stared at her, and glanced behind her. Zel Shivertail was talking quietly with Lyonette, who was upset with Erin, and he was talking to Mrsha, who was clinging to his leg. Sitting around the room were the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers, who were both watching them as well.

Erin tried to ignore all of them. She focused on the Goblin ahead of her.

“I’m Erin. But you know that. Do you have names?”

They hesitated. The Goblins looked each other, and shrugged. They weren’t proper names, not like Rags had. But they were something. Erin looked at Headscratcher and pointed to him.

“Okay, what’s yours?”

He scratched his head. She waited. The Goblin looked at her and scratched his head again.

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head and the pointed to it. He slowly and deliberately scratched his head.

“Headscratching?”

Pisces coughed. He cleared his throat as Erin looked at him.

“I believe, Miss Solstice, that the answer is far simpler. That is his name. And rather than Headscratching, I believe you would call him…Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher nodded in relief. Erin stared at him.

“What, really?”

The skepticism in her voice hurt more than any ridicule. Headscratcher drooped and Erin tried to reassure him.

“No, no, it’s a great name! I’m just surprised. You’re Headscratcher. That’s cool. And uh, what about you?”

She pointed at Shorthilt. The other Goblin began to pantomime as well. Erin’s brows furrowed as she tried to work his name out.

“Short. Right. I got that. Short…short…sword? No? Short hilt? Shorthilt? That’s your name?”

He gave her a short nod and stared challengingly at her. Erin sucked in her lips.

“Right. It’s uh, a good name! Very original. I think.”

Slowly, she went around the table, getting each name from each Goblin. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were hardest to figure out, especially because Erin had neither rabbits nor numbing agents in her inn. But they got there.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badapple—sorry, sorry! Badarrow, Rabbiteater, and Numbtongue, right?”

They all nodded. All four Goblins had repeatedly elbowed Numbtongue throughout the conversation, but he’d refused to open his mouth. Now Erin smiled at them. Goblin hearts did odd things in their chests and more than one Goblin poked at his heart experimentally.

“Good to meet you all. Sorry about everything earlier. Let’s do this properly. I’m Erin, this is Ceria, Pisces, Ksmvr, Yvlon—Drassi’s hiding in the kitchen. She’s the Drake. Lyonette and Mrsha are upstairs…Mrsha’s the cute little Gnoll. And uh, this is Jelaqua—”

The Selphid leaned over her table. She wasn’t smiling.

“Where is Garen Redfang? How do you know him?”

The Redfang warriors looked at her. Her eyes were fixed on them. Slowly, Headscratcher raised one finger. He pointed at himself and the others, spoke a word.

“Redfang.”

Erin stared blankly at Jelaqua. The Selphid frowned. Someone else spoke up.

“They must be his tribe.”

The Halfseekers turned and looked at Yvlon. The armored woman cleared her throat as everyone stared at her.

“I know a bit about them. I don’t know about Garen Redfang himself, but the Redfang tribe…they’re a notorious Goblin tribe around here. They’ve been active for years and no one’s managed to defeat them or find their lair. They live in the High Passes.”

Seborn shifted in his seat. His gaze hadn’t shifted from the Goblins since he’d sat down.

We heard about that. What else do you know?

Yvlon conferred with Ceria for a moment.

“They’re supposed to be the most dangerous Goblin tribe around the High Passes. The best at fighting—some of them ride Carn Wolves, and they’re rated as a threat that no single Gold-rank team should try to handle alone. By all accounts, they’ve done away with several Gold-rank teams and quite a lot of Silver-rank teams over the years.”

The other Redfang warriors looked proud. Headscratcher kicked them under the table and they paused, and then shuffled their feet. Jelaqua shook her head.

“That’s what we heard. But I only care about Garen Redfang. Your leader. Where is he?”

She looked at Headscratcher. He and the others all shook their heads and shrugged at the same time. Jelaqua made a sound of disgust and rose to her feet.

“Great. I can’t sit here. Moore, come on. Seborn, you stay in case something happens.”

She stomped out of the inn. Erin watched her go. Then she looked at the Goblins.

Now then. Now, after all the drama…she still didn’t know what to do with them. Part of her wanted to go tell Zel that they were leaving and he could stay. The rest of her knew that she’d made up her mind as soon as she’d seen them.

Goblins. Hobgoblins. Did it matter? The five who sat at the table warily eying her and the others in the room were like Rags and unlike her in so many ways. They were bigger, all male, and clearly trained warriors, but their eyes were the same. There was the same hurt there, the same curiosity when they stared at her magical chessboard or saw something new.

And they had seen too much. She remembered seeing their wounds and they had too many scars. They had been starving. Their stomachs were bulging, but they still looked like they could eat.

And one more thing made Erin sure. A memory. That last time she had seen Rags, she had turned her away. This time…Erin closed her eyes. She took a breath, and looked at them.

“I know a lot of people came by and threatened you. However, you all don’t seem to know where you’re going, am I right?”

The Redfang warriors shuffled their feet. Shorthilt nodded. Badarrow kicked him under the table. Erin smiled for a second.

“In that case…stay, okay? No one’s going to kill you. Not while I’m here. Stay. If you’re looking for Rags, well—you can stay here for a while at least. You need to eat, and sleep. I promise you, if you’ll stay, you’ll be safe.”

The Goblins looked at her incredulously. So did the Horns of Hammerad, Lyonette, Drassi, and everyone else in the room. Zel just sighed and hefted his pack onto his back. Erin hesitated. She looked into Headscratcher’s eyes.

Was she making a mistake? Yes. No one would come to an inn with Goblins. No one. The door to Celum had opened twice despite Octavia’s attempts and the people had fled screaming when seeing the Goblins. Zevara was angry, Relc was angry—Erin had no idea if Klbkch and the Antinium would be too. This was not smart. And yet—

A Goblin’s tears. She looked into Headscratcher’s eyes and remembered. Crying for their friend. Who’d died to help protect her. Without thanks, without a grave. Without a word spoken.

“Stay.”

She reached out and offered her hand. The Goblins stared at her. Slowly, Headscratcher raised his hand. He raised it and slowly extended it. His palm was callused, his grip as tentative as a feather. His blood pulsed beneath his skin, and he looked Erin in the eye.

She smiled. And then she turned and looked around the room.

“Who else is staying?”

 

—-

 

It might be no one. Lyonette was willing to stay, but Mrsha might have to go the city, in which case Lyonette would go. Erin wanted to try a single night at the inn, but she wasn’t sure. As for the Horns of Hammerad, they had a quiet discussion in a corner. Ceria was very upset, which in turn made Erin upset.

“Look, just be cool, okay? They can stay in the—in the basement for tonight. Okay?”

“Erin! We sleep in the basement! And these are Hobs! I get Rags, I really do, but—”

“Ceria. It’s not a discussion. I’m sorry, but if you really can’t deal with them you’ll have to go somewhere else. But look—they’ll be in the basement but you won’t.

“What do you mean?”

Ceria frowned. Erin smiled weakly at her.

“I finished upgrading my inn, remember? And I have all those new rooms—I was going to offer them to you anyways. You’ll get rooms on the second floor if you stay. Okay?”

The half-Elf looked at Erin uncertainly, and exchanged a glance with Yvlon. Beside her, Pisces’ eyes lit up. He nudged Ceria in the side.

“Take the offer, Springwalker.”

“Oh come on. You can’t be serious, Pisces—”

The half-Elf turned and glared at him. He glared back.

“I would live with a Creler in the basement if it meant a private room for myself, Springwalker. Five Goblins is a small price to pay for an upgrade.”

“Plus, you’ll all get separate rooms! And mints on your pillows as soon as I learn how to make them! Please? Come on Ceria, you remember Rags. She was cool! These guys are cool too! Probably.”

Erin pleaded and begged, and in the end Ceria gave over, mainly because rooms at Erin’s inn were infinitely preferable to cramped rooms in Celum or Liscor, especially with the prices they might have to pay. That was one issue solved.

The other one was more serious. Erin had two new hires, and she suspected both objected to the Goblins in no uncertain terms. At least, she knew Drassi did. She hadn’t seen Ishkr for a while. He was still in mourning.

In any case, Ishkr was still missing, but Drassi was on the roster for tomorrow and the day after as well. Erin sat with her as the Goblins…did something in the basement.

“Honestly, Erin, I don’t know if I can. I—it’s not that I don’t like you or trust you, but having monsters under this roof—”

“I get it Drassi, I do. And I know you’re upset Jelaqua, Moore, Seborn. I wouldn’t blame you if you left, but please give this a chance?”

She was begging with the Halfseekers as well. They were hesitating for the same reasons as Ceria had. There weren’t many places that catered to Selphids and half-Giants both. Still, Jelaqua’s jaw was clenched and she kept glancing towards the trapdoor leading to the basement.

“Just tell us why, Erin. I get that they saved your life, but a meal’s thanks enough. So these Goblins are lost. So what? What makes them worth trusting?”

“I don’t think they’re monsters. I think they’re lost. They look lost, Jelaqua. And so…so sad. I couldn’t just tell them to wander off and get killed by adventurers or monsters.”

“And you trust them? You trust them not to slit your throat in the night? Because they could. You’re in danger, and everyone in this inn. You might trust them, but…how sure are you? Are you willing to bet your life on this?”

The Selphid eyed Erin. Drassi looked at her as well. Erin bowed her head. Then she raised it.

“I am. I believe in people. I believe that Goblins are more than monsters. Because they act like people. They might act like monsters, but—don’t people say that about Selphids? To a Human like me, a Drake might be a monster. Or a Gnoll. But they have feelings. And so do the Goblins. They might not speak, but they cry. And I think that if you can cry, you’re a person.”

Erin clenched her hands on the table. Drassi looked at her, and then blew her nose—or rather, nose holes—noisily on a handkerchief. Jelaqua stared at her, and then looked at Moore and Seborn. Moore brushed at his eyes. The Selphid sighed. Seborn looked at his human hand and his crustacean side. All three Halfseekers had the same look, bordering on tears of their own in their eyes. They nodded. Jelaqua made an unhappy face.

“When you put it like that…how can we up and leave? We’ll stay too. Just in case you need us. But we won’t hang around with them, Erin. I just can’t.”

“I get that. I can serve you breakfast whenever, or make up a bag—thank you so much.”

Erin rose and grasped Jelaqua’s hands. The Selphid laughed and shook her head.

“Do you know how many people shudder when they hold my hands? Do you know how many people think Moore eats people? A chance. Dead gods, I guess I’ll try anything once.”

“Once upon a time, I remember you saying the same thing when a Hobgoblin wanted to join our group.”

Moore’s eyes were distant. Seborn nodded.

We were betrayed once. But remember what Ukrina said? ‘If we do not give other species a chance, what hope is there for the rest of the world?’ Once more, Jelaqua.

The Selphid turned to Erin and gave her a crooked smile.

“You heard them. Sentimentalists, that’s us. Okay, let’s do this.”

 

—-

 

And that evening, Erin stood in her common room and felt a strange sensation creeping up on her. A familiar feeling.

Emptiness. Silence. Isolation.

Her inn, normally bustling, was deserted. Her upper floors were almost empty. Mrsha, happy Mrsha, refused to come downstairs. Drassi was hiding in the kitchens and the fire in the common room was low.

And yet, she didn’t feel terrible. Erin stood in the common room and felt a chill. She brushed her arms and realized only part of that was coming from the fire. She went over and fed it fuel, but the feeling persisted.

Rags. Goblins. A dying Goblin lying in her kitchen. The smell of burnt oil. Erin couldn’t give the feeling in her heart words, but perhaps. Perhaps what Zel, what Jelaqua said was true. Was she making a mistake or—

A foot creaked as it met a floorboard. Erin whirled, and saw a big shape hunched by the open trapdoor. A Goblin crouched, crimson eyes on her. Erin stepped away from the fire, heart pounding, and the figure was cast into relief.

Headscratcher crouched by the trapdoor, frozen in place. He stared at Erin. She stared back. He wasn’t holding a weapon or anything. And he wasn’t wearing anything. That was very apparent.

Her eyes travelled down. Headscratcher was very naked. Erin raised her voice.

“Drassi? Go into the city and buy some pants, would you? I think the Goblins need extra pairs. Their loincloths are, um, bloodstained.”

“What? Pan—

Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen and stared before screaming. Headscratcher shuffled down the trapdoor, looking very embarrassed. Erin turned away and heard the trap door open and close. She hesitated, and then went into the kitchen to calm Drassi.

When that was over, Erin laughed to herself. Silly Goblins. For some reason that reassured her. If you could be silly, if you could be embarrassed, you weren’t a monster, right? You were only a monster if people called you that.

Her eyes travelled back across her empty room. Yes, the word had spread. Now everyone in both cities knew. She had Goblins. Erin laughed. So what? They weren’t evil, she was sure.

And this time, Erin swore, she’d treat them better. As Drassi hurried out of the inn, Erin found the sign that had been buried all winter in the snow. She eyed it, dug it out of the frozen ground after much swearing, and replanted it. Right in front of her inn, by the door. For the world to see.

“This is my inn. Mine.”

Erin spoke to the warming world, into the darkness. She rested a hand on the cold wood. Yes, this was who she was. What her inn was.

The Wandering Inn. It had one rule. No killing Goblins. Erin smiled to herself. Yes. This time she’d do it right. She’d be better. And show them—show everyone—there were some Goblins who weren’t evil.

She turned and froze. Headscratcher, Badarrow, and Shorthilt all froze as they crept through the snow. They were all naked, and all, apparently, in dire need of the outhouse. She stared, and then shouted.

Put some pants on!

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.35 E

Day 72

 

In this world, the main method of transportation between settlements is with wagons. True, you could argue that Runners and magic play their own roles, but the price for such deliveries is usually out of reach for the common villager. They might be able to afford a letter in a bulk delivery or a trinket to send to a loved one or relative, but as regular, reliable transportation? Never.

Indeed, you could say that Runners are by and large more useful for their discretion and ability to deliver messages and items without fear of interception. The best Runners in the world deliver for [Lords] and [Kings], after all. Whereas magic trivializes the issue of sending letters between two [Mages]—but at a higher cost. Accordingly, sending a small package instantly from one spot to a point across the world is possible, but the cost is beyond prohibitive.

So wagons rule, at least for bulk deliveries. Or, at least, they would if bags of holding hadn’t been invented. Give a Runner one of those and they can deliver goods faster and more reliably than a caravan. So extremely rich cities with powerful Runner’s Guilds like Invrisil can actually out-muscle the local Merchant’s Guild. But bags of holding are very expensive, so wagons rule in low-income areas with less substantial urban development.

The point I’m making with all of this is that wagons are important, so roads are important. Keeping a road maintained and free of monsters or bandits is crucial to a small town or village’s survival. The problem is that the said bandits and monsters know it.

The Goblin raiding force hit the caravan of [Traders] just past dawn. They streamed out of a cave where they had been lurking for the last few hours or so and charged down the hill towards the wagons and armed guards. The Humans, lone Gnoll and two half-Elves screamed and tried to form a circle with the wagons, but the Goblins were too quick.

The raiding force met the few caravan guards hard, killing two of the armed warriors in the first clash. Three Hobs lead the lesser Goblins, smashing aside warriors. The [Traders] fought back with their guards, but they were outmatched. They hadn’t brought enough guards for a long trip; they’d trusted to speed to get them from one town to another. They could make the journey in an hour or two. Less, with Skills.

But that window was all the time the Goblins needed. They only needed ten minutes, in fact. Away from any kind of large militia or the walls of a city, they could raid and be gone too quick for pursuit. And the [Traders] could hardly afford Silver-rank teams to protect them, could they? And if they could…three Hobs were more than a match for a single team.

A flawless strategy. Or rather, it had been flawless until now. Because despite all their preparations, the way the Goblins had carefully snuck into the cave through a back entrance and their [Stalkers] had crept along the road, out of view, they had still been seen. And preparation was everything.

“Are we too late to save the caravan?”

I’m miles away from the stretch of road, too far away to see the desperate fighting among the wagons or the way the blood mixes with the mud and snow on the ground. Too far to see with my eyes, that is. But my [Emperor] senses can see the Goblins—thirty or so—pushing forwards, shouting wordlessly. And I can also sense the second force, not [Traders] or Goblins, approaching at speed out of the woods.

In the silence of my mind, I can see a figure racing ahead of the group, see him put a horn to his lips and blow. There is no sound in the vision in my head, but I can see the Goblins turning, reacting to the horn call. I smile. Hello, Goblins. Allow me to introduce myself.

I’m Laken. An [Emperor], ruler of Riverfarm, Protector of Durene’s Cottage, and now sovereign lord of Windrest, Tunslaven, Kiquel, and the surrounding areas. Some call my territory the Unseen Empire, but I think that’s a bit too arrogant. Anyways, I may be blind, but I saw you coming. And this is my army.

The Goblins brought thirty, so I sent sixty. Simple math and it’s pretty much our entire force, so I don’t feel worried about leaving people behind. Not that there’s much danger; I can sense any threat coming and react accordingly. Like this. And my army has fought Goblins before.

This is how it goes down. The Goblins are still reacting, still turning to see the force of armed warriors on foot racing out of the woods when Beniar’s [Cavalry], [Riders], and lone [Cataphract] crash into them from the side. They actually take down one of the Hobs in the first clash; a lance straight through the armpit. I wince as I sit in Prost’s house. Nasty.

The riders fight for a second and the Goblins, used to battle, turn on them, trying to swarm the riders off the mounts. But Beniar’s already pulling back, circling for another charge. He’s timed it well or Wiskeria has; the infantry crash into the other side of the Goblins in tight formation. Leading the charge is a tall half-Troll I watch with anxiety and pride alike.

Durene. She’s still not wearing armor because none fits her, and her club’s still made of wood, but her shield is better than the old door she used to use. She shouts a word as she leads the assault on the Goblins’ rear. I sense her body begin to glow and Goblins shrinking back, shouting wordlessly.

Now, what would she be shouting? Probably the Skill. [Radiant Courage]! Durene’s body is shining with light, but the glow doesn’t bother the soldiers around her. They charge, shields raised, into the Goblins and reap the benefits of their enemy’s sudden blindness. Durene smashes two Goblins with her club like a hammer. Her Skill is devastating in group fights like this, where she can blind her enemies while keeping her allies safe. Now Durene charges forwards at the closest Hob.

He’s dangerous. This Hob has a battleaxe and he turns, the sharp blade dripping with blood, towards Durene. And he seems less affected by the light she emits. He lashes out with his axe and she raises her shield. I see Durene shouting again. Now her shield glows. The Goblins and Hob around Durene stumble back as a wall blocks them from swarming my beloved [Paladin]. Durene grits her teeth. I see her plant her feet in the mud, raise her shield and shove. Goblins go flying through the air and the Hob stumbles back.

[Shield of Valor]. It’s a Skill that [Knights] and other classes learn; a powerful tool for holding back the enemy or, it seems, creating an opening. The Hob loses his footing and Durene capitalizes on it. She swings her club up and down—

I shift my vision away, although part of me sees the splatter. The battle’s over. The remaining Hob is smart enough to try to run, but he and the Goblins are boxed in now by their greed. Beniar runs down stragglers and the soldiers finish off the remaining Goblins, fighting defensively, wearing out their opponents rather than taking a risk. That’s thanks to their leader, who calmly sits atop a horse from the back and blasts the Hob with small jolts of lightning until she—the Hob is female—drops with two swords in her belly.

It’s over. I see Durene turning, wiping sweat with one hand as she rests her club against a wagon and the frightened [Traders] rushing towards my little army, waving their hands, shouting their relief no doubt. There’s no need to watch the rest; Wiskeria knows what to do.

I probably didn’t need to watch after the second Hob went down, in point of fact. But I do worry. Whenever Durene fights I can’t help but watch over her. That and make sure each battle is one stacked as heavily in her favor as possible.

That’s all I can do. I sigh, and get up from the table I’m sitting at. It takes me a moment to center myself. Suddenly I’m not on the muddy road, but many, many miles east of there. I’m standing in Prost’s house in a village known as Riverfarm, and I can hear the shouts and voices of countless people in the distance around me.

“That went well.”

Slowly, I make my way towards the door and pause with my hand on the doorknob. I wait, and then open it slowly. Outside, I sense a man turning towards me and nod.

“Mister Prost? The battle is over.”

“Over? That’s quick, your majesty!”

“Yes, well, the Goblins attacked a bit sooner than Wiskeria thought. We were almost too late getting into position so there were a few casualties among the caravan. However, no one else died.”

Prost’s sigh of relief is huge. I nod towards him as I step out into the street. My feet slip a bit and Prost catches me before I can slip onto the ground. I steady myself and thank him as he lets go quickly. It wouldn’t do for an [Emperor] to fall on his face now, would it?

Even though I can sense mud and other debris underfoot, I can’t always predict what will happen. Plus, I’m bad about watching where I step when I use my [Emperor] senses. For a blind man, there’s probably nothing more ironic.

“Thank you, Prost. Please let everyone know what’s happened. I’m sure Tessia will be relieved to know Gamel’s alright.”

“I will let her know directly, your majesty. Do you believe the caravan will continue onwards?”

I pause for a moment and cast my senses east again.

“I believe so. Yes, the wagons are already moving. Sensible of Wiskeria. They’ll get to Trottvisk within the hour, I think. Which will help immensely when we begin our negotiations with them.”

“I should imagine so, sire.”

Prost steps with me out of the muddy street, and I frown as I notice how much snow’s already melted. Not that we get as much snow as some places on the continent, but it certainly makes for bad footing. There’s mud everywhere, but ahead of me the ground feels…firmer for some reason. I frown as I try to make out what I’m sensing. Not dirt, but something else. Wood? What is it?

“I know we agreed that you should be the one to talk with them, Prost, but perhaps we should leave that to Wiskeria? I could alert her with a [Message] spell and I really can’t afford for you to go even for a day. We have so much to do—and I’m adding a paved street to our lists. This mud is too dangerous, and the last thing we need is for someone to slip and break something.”

I can sense the man nodding. My [Steward] leads me onto a dryer patch of ground. Oh! Sawdust! That’s what I was sensing. How sensible, and so much easier than digging up the entire street. Prost’s ahead of me as usual.

“Yes, sire. I will make plans directly—we have a good deal of stone from the quarry we’ve set up, and I’m sure one of our [Diggers] has a stone-related skill. If not, there’s always mallets…but on the topic of sending someone to Trottvisk, your majesty, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for them to come to you?”

I pause and rub my chin.

“Perhaps. But I’d like to talk with them sooner rather than later. We could use a steady supply of goods, and if we wait for them to make the first move—”

Prost coughs gently and I break off. It’s interesting how we’ve developed a system already. He would never interrupt his own [Emperor], and yet, he does just that by coughing or making some other sound when I’m being an idiot. So I wait and let him speak.

“I think, sire, that it would be simplest to send a messenger requesting them to come here. You are an [Emperor], your majesty.”

“I—do you think they’d really come?”

“Certainly. [Lords] and [Ladies] do the same, and it would spare us having to send a party ourselves…”

“…And we get to negotiate on our own ground. Excellent idea, Prost.”

“I’ll see to it at once, your majesty.”

“Good. Now, we’ve now expanded the totems to the roads between Trottvisk and Acran, but I’m still not sure about our northern borders. Obviously we don’t want to annex other villages, but can you have someone replant the markers down the…oh, the forked road just past Kiquel?”

I scratch my head.

“I can’t tell what’s at the crossroads there and it’s making me uneasy. And I know Jelov’s overworked, but I could really use another marker around that pond we found north of here. It gets fuzzy if they’re too far apart, and I could swear something is living down there…”

Prost follows along as I walk and talk. Around me, people call out, waving, speaking my name. Houses are going up, men and women are carrying wood and stone to new foundations, and in the distance, a group of [Farmers] is breaking new ground for fields. They want to plant now, and spring is only a month or so away by their reckoning.

I take it all in, part of me still amazed everything is happening. This is my empire. And it’s growing. Three villages are already pledged to me including Riverfarm, and we’re building new houses as fast as we can to keep everyone under a roof. And if a town decides to join, well—

I’m lucky I like to stay busy.

 

Day 73

 

There is a dignity to being an [Emperor], but naturally that dignity is compromised according to each situation. I’m aware of the sins of hubris, and so I try to tell people that I’m as much of a man as I am a leader. With that said, I know the people of my village cherish my reputation, so I try to be dignified as well.

It’s debatable how well I do. For instance, I still live in Durene’s cottage because I love it there, and Durene and I need…special time now and then. The village is not a good place for privacy. Everyone wants to live near me, and though Kiquel and Tunslaven are still standing, people keep coming here. Because they feel safe.

I’m going to have to do something about that. I’ve already made plans with Prost to expand both villages when we have time. There are good pastures in Kiquel and Tunslaven is too nice to abandon. However, it might be that Riverfarm eventually gets so big that both of the other villages become districts that are only a stone’s throw away from the main empire. Now that’s an intimidating thought.

Nevertheless, where was I? Intimacy. Right. Prost goes over every architectural decision with me and since I have a view of my entire kingdom in my head, I can organize the upcoming houses, fields, barns and so on in a very efficient manner. I can also make it so that no new expansions are being built in the direction of Durene’s cottage. That can stay as it is, thanks.

And yet, in public it’s still on me to preserve my image as an [Emperor]. I can’t walk around inspecting spots forever; I need a throne. Everyone says so, from Durene to Wiskeria to Gamel. Beniar doesn’t, but he thinks I should have a chariot. I was against a throne since I want to be active, but we all found an…unusual compromise.

“Good morning, Emperor Laken!”

“Good day, sire!”

“Hello, Cinney. Good morning Siccy. Why is there an egg in your pockets?”

The young boy turns guiltily to me as I move through the village on my throne. He shuffles and clears his throat.

“It’s a snack, sire! My ma boiled it and I was going to eat it, but I forgot—I’m sorry.”

I smile at him.

“Ah. I see. Never mind then, I was just curious. Your mother’s quite smart—boiled eggs are a favorite snack of mine.”

“I’ll tell her you said so!”

Siccy’s bright voice makes me smile as I ride on. I can sense him watching me as I continue sitting on my throne. Yes, it’s certainly impressive. Eye-catching? Most definitely. Comfortable…not exactly.

I shift, and my ‘throne’ grunts a bit. It plods down the street and the villagers give it a respectful distance, but they’re used to the Mossbear enough by now to call out greetings to me as I pass by. One daring girl even offers my mobile throne a piece of dried jerky, giggling as it snuffs and licks her fingers. Her father scolds her for getting in my way, and I smile and wave.

Yeah. I ride the Mossbear around from time to time. It’s…regal? I’d grant that it’s impressive, but I personally feel like I’m in some kind of satire of a certain world leader each time I sit on the Mossbear. At least my bear is docile; I’d hate to try and ride him when he’s running about.

It’s thanks to my [Beast Tamer] class that I can have a bear as a throne, anyways. Or maybe my [Emperor] class and my [Beast Tamer] class? I can’t help but feel like a Level 9 [Beast Tamer] is a bit too low-level to have forged a bond with a bear already. But hey, what do I know? And speaking of animals with bonds—

“Frostwing!”

I raise my arm and call out. I sense a shape diving towards my arm and I’m glad Frostwing decides to land on the leather armguard rather than my shoulder this time. The large and, apparently, blue bird preens herself as I stroke her head.

“You’re learning to fly really well, aren’t you? Good job! Maybe now you’ll be able to feed yourself, rather than gobble meat all day. Would you like that? I can tell you’re going to poop now. Don’t do it on me, please, or the bear.”

A beak pecks at my fingers and I sigh. A tiny little tongue licks my fingers—Frostwing must have noticed the honey biscuit snack I had for lunch. A real treat I had to share with the bear as well. He’s a surprisingly docile fellow for someone so big. I’m told Mossbears camouflage themselves and attack deer when they get hungry. Or people. I’m just glad it’s possible to tame him with hot, buttery mashed potatoes.

“Okay, okay. You’re hungry and you’re a terrible hunter. Ow! Don’t peck. We’ll get you something to eat. Let’s all just go see Prost, okay? Prost. That way.”

I nudge the bear mentally and with my legs and he ambles left. Frostwing flutters down to land on his back and sits with me as we proceed down the street. The bear. I haven’t come up with a good name for him yet. I’m thinking something German would be nice, but I’m really not inspired. And he’s not exactly fussed—it’s just that having [Lesser Bond: Unnamed Mossbear] in my head is a bit…well, I feel bad for him.

“Emperor Laken, good morning, sire!”

“Prost. What have we here? Hello Durene, we meet again.”

“Laken!”

Durene turns as I approach a cleared space with a lot of wood, nails, and busy people hammering and cutting wood. My half-Troll lover reaches up and strokes the Mossbear’s head. He whuffs at her as Frostwing caws impatiently. Prost edges around both bear and bird as I slide off and coughs nervously. I think he’s afraid of both animals, which is perfectly understandable. I step to one side and investigate the scene with my senses.

“That’s a lot of wood. A lot of nails and screws, too. Do you think you have all the materials you need?”

Prost hesitates. He glances around.

“I think Mister Helm’d be the better man to speak to that, sire, but I see he’s busy. I’m not an expert, but from what he and the other [Carpenters] and [Blacksmiths] say, building this…thing should be easy.”

“Trebuchet, Mister Prost. It’s called a trebuchet.”

“Yes sir. I’ve never heard of it as I said, and the other folk say they haven’t either. Then again, you hear about odd weapons being used in Chandrar and Baleros—do you think we can truly make it, sire?”

I have to hesitate.

“Possibly, Mister Prost. It’s worth a shot at any rate. I uh, can’t read the designs Ryoka gave me, but you told me they look good?”

“Oh, yes sir. It’s a very simple design. It’s just the size of it that’s stumping us, sir. You say these things are meant to hurl blocks of stone hundreds of feet away? I’ve heard of magical catapults that couldn’t do the same!”

“Well, these are siege weapons, Prost. In fact, I’d prefer a catapult, but Ryoka couldn’t remember how uh, torsion siege weapons were made. Trebuchets are a lot easier, according to her. Someone apparently made one out of duct tape once.”

“Duck tape?”

“Never mind. If you think you can make one, I’d love to use it on any attackers. Put it on wheels, maybe make them smaller since we’re not exactly firing at castles here and…well, why not? Just think about it, Prost. Six of these aimed at a group of Goblins and we wouldn’t have to fight a battle.”

“I can’t argue with that, sire. And it’s such a simple thing too. One arm goes up, a heavy block goes on the other end, and it all rests on this uh—”

“Fulcrum.”

“Yes, that. I’m most worried about whether the wood will stand up to all the weight, sire. Our first trial broke the fulcrum thing as you know. However, the lads—and the three ladies—are very excited about it. Miss Tessia’s almost as keen as the boys are to see this thing throw something. And on that note, I learned yesterday that three of our folk have a new class, sir!”

Prost leans over and whispers to me confidentially.

“They’re [Tinkerers], sir. Not [Engineers] like you’d hoped, but I’m told that’s the first step. To have three in one village, well, it’s extraordinary. Begging your pardon of course, I know you’d hoped for more.”

I shake my head, smiling broadly.

“That’s great news, Prost. I didn’t think [Engineers] were that likely, but I’d hoped, that’s all. You see, to gain the [Engineer] class I think the people would need the right tools, more knowledge about how to build things, and perhaps the right mindset. As it is, the [Tinkerer] class will probably become [Engineer] about, oh, I’d say Level 15 or so. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

I can tell Prost is giving me an admiring look. It’s completely undeserved.

“You know so much, Emperor. How did you learn about so many classes?”

I cough. I might have said too much. I hesitate over my reply.

“Someone…told me, Prost. Anyways, these [Tinkerers] have useful Skills?”

“Yes, sire. Tessia learned [Detect Flaw], which is a great help in itself. It’s a Skill that lets her know if we’ve cut something wrong or there’s rot in the wood and so on…I wouldn’t mind her going to all of our houses later on to check on them as well.”

“I think that’s a fine idea. At your discretion, Prost. Now, I know Durene’s helping you lift things, but could you spare her later on? I haven’t had much time to see her after she got back.”

I can sense Prost’s posture shift, and I studiously ignore the small smile on his face.

“Yes, sire. I could let her go right now—”

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

I cough again, and turn away. An [Emperor]’s dignity. I try not to blush. I turn back to the Mossbear as Prost returns to the construction and sigh. When everyone and their dog knows about your relationship—and worse, now approves of it and actively tries to give you space—it’s nearly as bad as the prejudice.

Seid doch nicht so pervers. At least today I got to see the trebuchet fire. True, the rock went nearly straight up and crushed half of our experimental model. Prost and I concluded that the testing had better be done from far away using a long rope—and everyone should wear helmets just in case. But it’s a start. Hell, more than one. I’m building trebuchets now. Where does it stop?

I guess this kind of technology will help level the field against [Mages]. Our best mage is Wiskeria, and she’s a [Witch]. That’s a concern for later, though. Our new empire is still stronger than it has any right to be. Hopefully all these little tricks—the palisades we keep rebuilding further and further out, the network of totems, my ‘eyes’, and things like the trebuchets will keep us safe, keep my people safe from now on.

And maybe if no one else dies, the nightmares I’ve been having will someday stop.

 

Day 74

 

Today I had my first audience. It was spontaneous—I didn’t realize the messenger had arrived until he was riding in on horseback—largely informal, and took place while I was sitting on my throne. The Mossbear. Given those circumstances, I can’t see how it couldn’t have been a success.

“I’m deeply grateful for the gifts, from Trottvisk, Mister Rencil. And I understand the trading caravan gave my people several tokens of their appreciation as well. However, it was our pleasure to help fight the Goblins. They are a common enemy that transcends alliances and feuds.”

“Just as you say your majesty. But we are deeply grateful for your protection. I ah, am instructed to tell you these are only the smallest representations of our esteem. Our town did not know there was such an—an esteemed personage so close by, or we would have sent a delegation earlier, of course.”

The [Messenger] stammers as he tries to control his nervous horse around my bear. I smile and dismount. I think my closed eyes bother the young man on horseback as much as the bear.

“Please, allow me to offer you some refreshments and food. It’s the least I can do.”

“You are too kind si—I mean, your majesty. However, I couldn’t intrude. I’m—I was only instructed to deliver the gifts and report b—I mean, return at full speed.”

He’s stumbling over himself and almost falls over himself as he hands Prost the gifts—some wax candles, a bundle of fine cloth, and a bottle of some kind of drink. Probably alcohol. He clearly doesn’t think it’s a fitting gift, but I don’t really care. Mainly, I’m a bit concerned that my reputation as an [Emperor] has spread so far already. Rumor and gossip are one thing, but how—

Ah. Wiskeria and my soldiers must have talked. Drat. Regardless, I smile up at the man and offer him my hand. He fumbles with his glove and his hand is sweaty as it grasps mine.

“I shall await the delegation eagerly. I feel that mutual ties between my empire and Trottvisk would be beneficial for us both. You may know that my army keeps the area around my empire safe from monsters and bandits—I would like to do the same for your towns with their permission.”

“I will tell them that at once, your majesty. I’m sure we could provide you with anything needful—we have lots of goods—for your protection.”

“Uh, that wasn’t what I—”

Too late. The messenger is already promising me whatever Trottvisk can offer if we’ll keep the Goblins from sacking their town. I sigh over it later when he’s gone, but Prost and the others are approving. Protection for tributes. It feels wrong, but Wiskeria puts it into plainer terms for me.

“You have a finite force at your disposal, your Majesty. Fighting battles—even ones where you know the enemy is coming—will cost you time and lives. Why shouldn’t other towns offer you some sort of support for your protection? Going out of your way to keep the roads patrolled is enough of a boon as it is. Normally adventurers have to be paid vast sums to do the same.”

“I suppose you’re right, Wiskeria. And on that note, I hope you can find more recruits soon. We have half a dozen adventurers, around fifty warriors and archers, you, Durene, and…a Mossbear as our standing forces. That’s not exactly reassuring if a larger group of Goblins comes calling.”

My [General] nods calmly. She’s rarely in the village, often dealing with a threat or talking to other villages, but I trust her perhaps most of all my close advisors because she is so competent. She’s taken to her role as well as Prost has.

“Beniar knows some adventurers and I have my own contacts, but I believe we’ll find the most success recruiting old veterans and training new warriors from the villagers. The army might be small now, but it is substantially more powerful than most towns’ militias, in my opinion.”

“True. But we need more gear. If all we have is weapons taken from Goblins…well, let me know if there are any more [Knights] you would like me to dub. I think I could make about ten more.”

Wiskeria shifts as she laces her fingers together and frowns slightly.

“I think it might be best to wait, your majesty. I understand Gamel and the others are leveling quickly and that [Knights] are far superior to [Warriors], but if they are limited—”

“—I should wait for truly promising recruits. I understand.”

I grimace. Making [Knights]. Of course, it’s not without their consent and each person I’ve dubbed has told me how honored they are—Gamel still seems stunned and his girlfriend, Tessia, is over the moon about it—but it still feels wrong. Like I’m forcing them to become something they’re not.

“Emperor Laken?”

“Hm? I’m sorry, Wiskeria. I drifted off there. What were you saying?”

Silently, the [Witch] offers me a cup of the tea she brews and keeps in canteens at her saddlebags. I accept it gratefully—she brews very strong tea which has more caffeine in it than coffee. It also has a very refreshing minty taste.

“I was saying, that appointing [Lords] and [Ladies] might lure in even Gold-rank teams, if you so choose. Their loyalty might be bought, but if you’re concerned, I could ask about trustworthy groups…”

Her tone is cautious. I frown, but not because I’m disagreeing with her. Appointing…? Oh, right. That’s a good idea. But…alas. I sigh.

“Unfortunately, Wiskeria, I don’t have any more such titles to give out, at least not now. I could probably name one or two more [Lords] and [Ladies], but nothing more. I, uh, gave the other titles away to save my village a while ago.”

“I see.”

She’s looking at me with that piercing, inquisitive gaze. And adjusting her spectacles. I keep my face smooth. I trust Wiskeria a lot after it was revealed Odveig was the spy and she was loyal all along, but telling someone about making a bunch of Frost Faeries [Baronesses] and so on is a bit…well, let’s just say that it’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of mental health.

“I’m willing to offer other groups land, or some kind of title, but I’d rather have people who are loyal rather than here for personal gain, Wiskeria.”

“I understand. In that regard I think we’ll be fine either way.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Wiskeria counters my raised eyebrow with one of her own. She nods towards the door. I gave Wiskeria one of the first new houses we constructed, but she’s already hinting she’d like a personal home when we finish building the essentials. That’s fair. Her neighbors are already complaining of the smells her witch brews create.

“You just received a messenger from Trottvisk, your majesty. I imagine the other nearby villages and towns will have heard about that and your army, and will be sending their own envoys shortly. I expect at least one village will pledge themselves to you, and there will certainly be at least a handful of older warriors among their number. And that’s besides the gifts you’ll receive.”

I cough on the tea.

“You think so? But we already got tributes—”

She shrugs dismissively.

“Tokens of esteem. Tributes for an [Emperor] would be far more substantial, I imagine. Which is why spreading word of your name and class is important.”

I stare at her. Well, turn my head towards her while keeping my eyes closed. It’s practically the same thing.

“Did you plan all this ahead of time, Wiskeria? Is that why rumors about me keep spreading?”

She only smiles and sips at her tea. Witches. They’re so…mysterious.

 

Day 76

 

Goblins attacked a distant village and burnt it to the ground. The people were slaughtered or taken prisoner. I heard about this through a [Message] spell sent to Wiskeria. There was no word on how many Goblins attacked or if there were Hobs, but I told Jelov I needed more markers done now.

There is a limit to how much ‘space’ each marker can cover. We need more to extend our vision past the few towns and villages around my empire. Winning a battle is all about knowing where the enemy is coming with as much advanced notice as possible. If a large force does come here…we have to be able to set traps, lay in ambush. We don’t have the soldiers yet—

But I am leveling up. And if I need to I will fight. Order my villagers to fight, even when their bodies are spent. Even if that means seeing more of the dead faces in my dreams.

 

Day 77

 

The delegation arrived on horseback around midmorning, as I was about to visit Jelov the [Carver]. I would have seen them right away, but Prost insisted there was a formality to everything. He had their horses saddled and the visitors given a meal in the newly-built townhouse that also doubles as the main storehouse and kitchen, and I went to visit Jelov in the meantime.

“Your majesty, I’m so happy to see you! Can I offer you a seat? Whoops, there’s a chisel there…and that’s no good—let me just brush off some wood shaving here. Please, please, have a seat!”

I smile and sit as the [Carver] sidles around me, fussing over me. I get him to sit only after a lot of coaxing. But then, it’s probably only natural that Jelov is glad to see me. My usage of the marker totems that define my territory—and thus the limits of my [Emperor]’s sight—have made him an important man in the village, where before he was something of a hermit.

Now he has his own house, respect, and two apprentices. Jelov practically gushes all this out as he sits a bit too close to me, and I recall why I don’t visit him all the time. Spit is good for the skin. I keep telling Durene that.

“I’m working on more markers as we speak, sire, but my hands ache so. I carve all day, which isn’t to say it’s not worth doing! But I’m afraid you can’t rush art.”

I smile. Art. Each totem Jelov comes out with is subtly different. The symbol at the top is always the same of course—it’s the illuminati eye, known as the Eye of Providence. But Jelov takes liberties carving the rest of the eight-foot totems, sometimes illustrating battles, sometimes carving names or other weird symbols into the wood—I don’t mind, and he clearly feels like uniform totems would be a crime.

“I understand you’re working your hardest Master Jelov. And I’m not here to demand more of you—rather, I wanted to know about a little rumor I’ve been hearing. Something about miniature carved totems popping up around the village with my symbol on it?”

“Ah.”

Jelov gulps audibly. I put my cup to one side and turn my head towards him.

“What’s this about, Jelov?”

“Well—it’s nothing sire. Just a little sideshow, a distraction. A hobby more like. It’s just these—why don’t I show you one? Here?”

He rushes about his workshop and comes back with several objects that are all about the size of my hand. I study them in my mind’s eye. They’re…well, they’re scaled down models of the markers, carved in the same way, polished and rounded down at the edges.

“Miniature markers?”

“Totems, sir. Just like you said. Trinkets, really. It’s just a little thing I’ve been doing for the other folk who live here.”

“Why?”

He sounds surprised.

“Why, because they ask for them sire! Everyone wants one of these in their homes. They think it gives good luck. Or protection! If I wasn’t carving these large markers I’d be making these little ones all day. The demand’s through the roof! Err—not that I take time off to make them, not at all! These are just a bedtime occupation. A bit of carving between the sheets, before I sleep, sire. Honest!”

I have to shake my head. I know the markers are essential and people take pride in this empire and me, but this? I pick up one of the little totems Jelov’s carved and frown as I trace the etchings on the wood.

“You say people want this Jelov, but how do they pay for it? No one has any money to spare—unless they’re giving you something else?”

It was a hesitant request, but the villagers gladly gave me what little they had. I in turn traded with the various towns for more food, more supplies on their behalf. What was left over Prost insisted was mine, as I ruled everyone. Jelov crabs sideways, and his voice is…shifty.

“Well, y’see your majesty, there’s coin and then there’s a bite of food, some fresher pillows, maybe a scented candle…small things to exchange, you know? There’s no harm in it.”

“Bartering. Of course. But if people need money—”

“There’s time enough for that when we’re all eating rich, milord. Us simple folk just like having something to give and take with our spare time, that’s all.”

Jelov’s voice is surprisingly firm. I hesitate, and then relent and put the half-finished totem down.

“Just don’t let it take too much time, Jelov. And tell people the totems don’t work like they’ll hope. I can’t see everywhere at once and I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“Ah, you say that sire, but didn’t you rescue little Evvy when that old wall collapsed onto her? You were shouting for people to dig her out before we’d even noticed she was missing!”

“That was luck, Jelov. I can’t do it every time.”

“Once or twice is better than none, your majesty. And a bit of hope’s what folk like. Not to mention my carvings look good on the mantelpiece or by the bed.”

“I wish they wouldn’t put them there.”

“Why?”

I bite my lips on my reply. People are people, and I can’t help what I sense. But having an image of a couple…or trio…having sex in vivid details is not one of my interests, thank you. Villagers they might be, but the people of my empire have surprisingly kinky tastes. I could have lived without knowing that.

“Never mind. Why don’t they put them by the windows? That’s a very proper place for it. Far from the bedrooms. Maybe over the mantle?”

“You’d know best, wouldn’t you, sire?”

Jelov twinkles at me and I glumly resign myself. At least there’s no real harm in it, and if people like it—I turn as Jelov lifts up a tiny carved illuminati eye on a round wood ball with a flat base.

“Now this is a little trinket I came up with yesterday. Very small and convenient it is. Perfect for a pocket or as a gift. I’m told some folks are making their own—not as good as mine of course—and sending them to relatives.”

Wonderful.

“You think so? I think it could use a bit of color, myself. Do you want one, milord? I could get one painted and all special like. Maybe as a gift for Miss Durene?”

“I’ll think about it, Jelov. Just don’t let your hobby overtake your work.”

Sighing, I leave the [Carver]’s shop behind. Little illuminati totems. And people want them staring at them. What next? Well, next is arguably less fun. I wipe the spit off the side of my face, and then begin the negotiations.

They go well. Riverfarm, or rather, the Unseen Empire might not produce any agricultural goods, or trade goods, or any goods of any kind at the moment, but we’re currently the most powerful force in the area. And because I can see everything in my territory, I can promise safety without it being a lie. It’s funny how much people are willing to offer for that.

 

Day 78

 

Word spreads quickly about the Goblin attacks. Two more delegations arrived and another village, Batte, asked for my protection. I couldn’t give it. They were too far away. So the villages decided to come here.

Now the three closest towns and almost all of the villages accessible in a day’s journey are under my protection. Under the protection of the eighty-some warriors and Wiskeria, a [General], but a low-level one. My champion is Durene, a Level 14 [Paladin]. I’m worried. But Wiskeria comes by with a proposal, and it’s such a good plan that we send out messengers that night to each town and village. We have a plan in case the Goblins come in force. I hope we never have to use it.

 

Day 79

 

“Delivery for…Emperor Laken Godart? Yes, sir. My name is Thasius Griff. I am a City Runner from Invrisil. I have a delivery—several deliveries for you, your majesty. Do you have a seal?”

I stare at the City Runner in front of me. My eyes drift sideways to Prost. The man shakes his head and grimaces. I look back at Thasius.

“No. Should I?”

“It isn’t required your majesty, but a specialized and unique seal for our uh, wealthier clientele speeds up our deliveries. May I ask you to place your hand on this truth stone and declare your name?”

“Certainly. I am Laken Godart.”

There’s a delicate pause. Thasius coughs. I wait a beat. So, that’s what they want, is it?

“I am an [Emperor].”

“Thank you, your…your majesty.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, the smooth stone is taken back. Thasius steps backwards and fumbles with his bag of holding, a bit more hesitant than before. I tilt my head. I can’t see inside the bag of holding with my [Emperor] senses, so I’m as curious as my advisors around me.

My advisors. That means Beniar, Wiskeria, Durene, Prost, and Gamel. In truth, Beniar’s more of my cavalry leader, but he’s a solid adventurer and he sometimes has good advice. Durene’s here because I love her. Prost and Wiskeria are both intelligent and run my empire. And Gamel’s here because I want him to be here.

“I have—excuse me—I have several gifts from various clients, your majesty. If you will allow me, I will present them one at a time so you may confirm delivery.”

“May I ask who sent each gift?”

Thasius nods. He’s holding the first parcel in his hands, some wrapped, bulky set of objects.

“Each client specifically requested their name be mentioned with their gifts, your majesty. There is no request for a return message, but I will deliver any verbal or physical replies free of charge as part of the service.”

“I see. Very well then.”

The City Runner nods and clears his throat.

“The first gift I have is from the Merchant’s Guild in Invrisil. They offer you their profound thanks for rescuing two of their caravans from Goblin and monster attack respectively, and offer you a small gift as their thanks.”

He unwraps the cloth parcel to reveal…bottles. I frown at them, sensing the liquid inside.

“Forgive me. I cannot see what these ah, gifts are. Prost? Will you tell me what they contain?”

Prost steps forwards and the City Runner offers him the bottles. There’s a moment of fumbling, and Prost’s voice catches.

“These are—healing potions, your majesty. High-quality ones. And this is a—a perfume?”

“Scented oils, I believe. And this one is a potion of Armorskin, a powerful one. I believe they’re the same quality as the ones used by Gold-rank adventurers.”

“We can certainly use them.”

Wiskeria murmurs in my ear. I nod, but keep my face straight. I know my reactions are being watched by Thasius, so I nod while showing little emotion.

“An expensive gift. Please return my thanks to the Merchant’s Guild and assure them that I hope for continued prosperity between my people and theirs. What else do you bring?”

“A gift from a [Merchant], your majesty. Specially scented soaps.”

“Soaps?”

Yes, soaps. Some are clear red, others are light purple, one’s pink…Durene and Wiskeria touch them, exclaiming over them softly so I let them take the bundle. Soaps. Apparently they’re very expensive. And this merchant’s sending them to me as a gift.

Hmm. This time I just nod towards Thasius.

“Please thank your client for the expensive gifts.”

I don’t mention the [Merchant]’s name or go on. And Thasius notices. And I notice that he notices. Now I think I’ve got the tune of this game, so I go on.

Eight gifts were sent my way, from eight people who live in the general area of Invrisil or nearby. And, coincidentally, each one was delivered at once. Was it the Runner’s Guild who arranged that? Or were the roads not safe until now?

Curious. I recognize two of the gifts as being from the same senders as the letters I’d received over a week ago. I remember thinking hard over what to do with each letter, but I eventually did exactly what I’d been advised to do.

My reply to the various letters I’d received had been uniform, polite denials to their requests to meet. I’d told each person, from the [Merchants] to the nobles that I was busy, invited them to pay me a visit at their convenience and so on and so forth, and expressed my best wishes for the future. I’d signed it simply as ‘Laken Godart’ and not added any titles.

It seemed like the thing to do. Pique interest, keep them occupied wondering what my game was, and move on with the important business while they schemed. And so, after a week of waiting, the next move these powerful figures did was to offer me gifts. And while some were useless, like the soaps and received my scant thanks in return, others were intriguing.

“This comes from Lady Rie, your majesty.”

Thasius has to struggle with his next delivery and for good reason. I blink as he pulls out a long, long, package and small wrapped parcels of powder, tiny vials, and most curious of all—

“Milk?”

Yes, several large jugs of goat’s milk. I stare at the odd collection of items that sits on the table in front of me, and Thasisus explains.

“Lady Rie delivered a short message with the gifts. She understand your majesty is uh—uh—”

“Blind?”

“Um. Yes. So she ordered me to deliver the message verbally. It is as follows.”

I sense Thasius closing his eyes and he speaks slowly and carefully.

“To [Emperor] Laken, I am Lady Rie Valerund of Invrisil. I offer you my greetings and hope that the people you have chosen to protect fare well in these troubled times. I understand you have taken several villages under your aegis, and offer these medicines, ointments, and powders that have been created to ease children into this world. The young are our future, and the taxing requirements of raising them should be lessened if at all possible. I hope and trust we shall meet in the future as circumstances allow. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, Lady Rie.”

The young man is panting when he finishes. I stare at the gift Lady Rie has sent me. Piles of—of—baby powder? And milk? I can’t help it.

I laugh. The sound makes Thasius start, but then I stand up. For a second I debate making him memorize a reply of my own, but then I relent.

“Please tell Lady Rie that I am most grateful for her thoughtful—and insightful gift. I would welcome a meeting between us and hope I can return her gift in time. I am most humbly in her debt as Emperor Laken of the Unseen Empire.”

Chuckling, I sit down. Thasisus stares at me before scrambling to break the next gift out. That night I share around soaps, candied treats, and other goodies. I don’t really want any of the things myself, and Wiskeria can use the potions. The only thing I keep is three of the soaps. They’re useful and Durene wants to use them. We try the first soap that night and conclude that the soaps are good, but we need a bigger bathtub. A hot tub would be very nice.

 

Day 80

 

The trebuchet arm broke, but at least we knocked down a tree. Now, if only we could aim the damned thing. Ryoka said the arm had to be…what was it? A ratio of 1:3.75? That’s really hard to put into practice.

And yet, a trebuchet…I see Tessia’s eyes shining as she fires a tiny, prototype and it sends a rock flying across the village. It’s a good idea. I just have to make sure none of the kids make models of the trebuchet themselves. The stone brained Mister Helm and nearly cracked his skull.

 

Day 81

 

Another town attacked. This one fought the Goblins off, but at heavy cost. The attacks are all coming around a mountain far to the east, and there’s a rumor going around that some kind of Great Chieftain of the Goblins lives there. All the better—or worse, I suppose. A Great Chieftain sounds bad, but if they’re further away, it means raiding parties won’t bother to travel this far. We’d have to have something they really wanted for them to attack, and the Unseen Empire’s greatest asset is that we’re poor.

We’re poor. Hold on, what’s moving down the north road? It’s just at the limits of my senses, but it feels like it’s headed north. And isn’t that where…?

 

Day 82

 

The attack was sudden, fierce, and came at dawn. Over two hundred and twenty Goblins poured out of the snowy landscape, and twenty six Hobs were leading them. It was a force that might take a town, or raze a village in less than an hour. But it was not a village nor a town that was attacked.

It was a mansion. Nestled comfortably adjacent to a small town, the home of Lady Rie and the Valerund family’s estate was in theory safe from bandits. The magical wards on the walls and the lady’s own private guard were more than a match for any monster or bandit attack.

But not Goblins. A [Shaman] blasted the wards off as the other Goblins swarmed through the town, setting it alight. Hobs cut down the shocked defenders as people fled towards the mansion.

No one made it.

The Goblins encircled the mansion, pounding on walls, trying to break the magically-reinforced glass. One Hob managed to bash through a window, but magefire and a hail of arrows dissuaded other Goblins from entering that way. Too dangerous. Instead, the [Shaman] began dancing in front of the door and the remaining Hobs brought out the battering rams. They began pounding on the doors as the lesser Goblins around them shouted, whipped into a frenzy by the [Shaman]’s dancing and spells.

Inside the mansion, Lady Rie Valerund and what remained of her guard sat and counted weapons. They had few bows, although there was a surplus of arrows for each one. Her servants and protectors were all gripping weapons, but they were only good steel, not enchanted. The Valerund family was not heir to the Reinhart legacy, and their bloodline had been whittled down over the years to one sole member.

The scion of the Valerund blood sat in one of her upholstered chairs and looked towards the captain of her guard. He, a brawny man who’d been an accomplished [Street Brawler] before she’d met him, was injured. Blood ran thickly down one arm before he poured a splash of healing potion on the wound. Lady Rie eyed the bloodstains on her carpet and said not a word about it.

“Have you sent a [Message] spell to Invrisil, to Lady Reinhart?”

She turned to her [Mage], a young man who had attended Wistram but failed to received his mage certification. The pale-faced man nodded.

“I did—but they said that help won’t arrive for hours yet!”

“In which time we shall be dead. And Lady Reinhart?”

Lady Rie’s face was calm. Only one shaking leg betrayed her, but she kept the motion hidden by one of her gowns. Her captain of the guard, the man who’d been known as Geram Redfist, looked at his mistress and then away. The young [Mage] gulped.

“She—was unavailable, my lady. I tried and tried, but the [Mage] who answered said—said there was nothing she could do anyways.”

Rie tapped at one lip thoughtfully. A loud thump echoed down the corridors and her face paled, but she went on as if she hadn’t heard.

“Either her magical carriages have broken down again or her staff are…indisposed. No aid from her, then. It seems the Goblins will break in within the hour. Unless I am wrong, Geram?”

The big man lowered his head. He carried no weapons, but he had two gauntlets on each hand and he had beaten the Hob who’d entered to death with his bare fists.

“They’ll be in sooner than that, Miss Rie. That damn [Shaman]’s creating something big out there and the Hobs are breaking the doors bit by bit.”

Lady Rie bit her lip.

“I thought those enchantments were meant to hold a Troll off. They were Wistram-certified. Nesor, you told me they were powerful.”

Nesor, the young [Mage], gulped.

“They are, Lady Rie. But—but no enchantment lasts forever! If you could shoot the Goblins or—or chase them away, the magic might replenish. I could cast a spell—”

Geram shook his head.

“Open a window and you’ll be filled with arrows before you can raise your hands, boy. There are Goblins climbing the roofs. They’re banging on the windows upstairs.”

“They won’t get in, surely.”

Rie looked at Geram. He shrugged.

“Before the Hobs bust down the doors? No.”

She understood what he was saying. And what he wasn’t saying. Rie looked around, at the frightened faces around her and stood up slowly.

“Well then. It appears we all have an engagement with destiny. My loyal staff, Geram, Nesor, it has been a pleasure, truly.”

The gathered servants, [Maids], lone [Gardener], and [Cook] stared at their mistress in horror. She looked around and sighed.

“For all my scheming and plans, I didn’t expect it to end like this. Not…not so inelegantly.”

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can. I’ve already barricaded the main corridor and we’ve got every bow at each end. We’ll make them bleed before they get to us, I swear.”

Geram clenched one fist as the thundering blows on the door intensified. Outside the Goblins screamed and the [Shaman] roared a word that made the silverware on the tables flash for a second. Rie flinched. Geram looked towards Nesor and the [Mage] hesitated before hurrying towards the makeshift barricades. The captain of the guard drew closer to Rie and lowered his voice. He took something off of his belt and handed it to her.

Rie stared at the object. It was a dagger. She looked up at Geram’s face. The man’s expression was grim.

“I won’t lie, Lady Rie, there’s no way out for us. I could try opening a window and making a break for it, but the Goblins would catch us before we went half a yard. As for holding here—we don’t have the manpower for it.”

She nodded and tried to laugh lightly.

“I suppose I should have hired that Silver-rank team like you’d always advised me, shouldn’t I, Geram?”

He smiled back. Someone screamed and his head turned. It was only a servant, seeing a Goblin’s face pressed against one of the windows. He shook his head.

“Three Silver-rank teams wouldn’t have made a difference, milady. But here.”

He offered her the dagger again. Rie stared at it.

“For me? I’m sure I’ll fight my best Geram, but I’m no warrior. If there’s someone who can use it better—”

“We’re all armed, milady. No. This is for the last.”

Geram’s bald head was sweating. He looked into Rie’s eyes.

“I’ll die fighting, with a Goblin’s throat in my hands. But milady, the Goblins are known to capture—that is, take prisoner women and—”

Lady Rie’s face paled further. Geram hastily raised a hand in case she fainted, but she caught herself.

“I see. I understand Geram, but that won’t be necessary.”

“But Lady Rie—”

She drew something out of her pocket with trembling hands. Geram stared at the viscous orange liquid within. Rie smiled bitterly.

“We all have plans for the end, Geram. In this case, this poison will kill me quicker than any dagger. And better, it will poison my body. If I am to die, I will make sure any…indignities…are repaid in kind.”

The bald man looked at Rie and smiled. He offered her a hand and Rie took it as if she were being led onto the dance floor at a ball. The two proceeded towards the barricade. Heads turned to follow them as they walked. Geram lowered his head towards her as he walked.

“It has been an honor to serve you, my lady. I was nothing until I met you.”

Rie whispered.

“Nonsense. You were always worthy. Now. It is time.”

The doors were splintering. The Hobs roared as they smashed the battering ram into it again and again. The magic wards were failing. Rie turned and raised her voice. It could hardly be heard above the shrieking of the Goblins just outside, or the pounding at the doors, but still her words reached each one of her servants.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is it. The end. I am afraid we will die here. Perhaps horribly. And that is our fate.”

They stared at her. Lady Rie’s chin lifted. The shaking in her knees stopped.

“Did you expect otherwise? No. I did not. No matter how much we beg or plead, there is no mercy here. This is Izril. Here we fight and live and die without respite, all of us. Life is a battle. We use words like knives and fight with politics and swords. None of us are ever safe, and it is an illusion to say otherwise.”

She paused. A thundering roar came from outside. Rie closed her eyes, and then opened them. She looked each of her servants in the face.

“But remember this. We will be avenged. Because that is Izril as well. We repay death with death. These Goblins may win today, but they will not celebrate long. We will be avenged. Remember that, and sell your lives wisely—”

Milady!

Nesor’s voice, desperate and shrill. Rie closed her eyes. He had lost his grip, the poor child. She opened her mouth, tried to speak over him.

“Remember that! Do not give the Goblins any quarter—”

Milady Rie!

“Silence!”

Geram roared at the young [Mage]. He strode over to Nesor, and froze as the [Mage] pointed out the window. He stared. Rie turned, aware that something was happening.

“What’s going on? Nesor? Geram?”

No one answered her. Rie strode over to one of the windows. Her first impression was a heaving sea of green bodies, but then her eyes focused on something in the distance. They widened.

“What on earth…?”

There was another sound. Rie turned left and saw Nesor falling backwards. His eyes were flickering and she saw the telltale signs of an incoming [Message] spell. He gasped and she rushed over to him.

“What is it?”

“It’s—a [Message]. To you. Lady Rie. It says—says—”

Nesor was a poor [Mage], unable to process [Message] spells like an experienced spellcaster. Normally Rie didn’t care, but at the moment she couldn’t bear to wait. She shook him impatiently.

“Well? Out with it!”

The young man choked. Geram pulled Rie back, and then Nesor’s head rose. He spoke slowly, each word ringing in the sudden silence outside.

“Lady Rie. I thank you for your gift. Though it is humble, I seek to return the favor. In this dire hour, I offer you the gift of swords.”

Slowly, Rie’s head rose. She looked back towards the window and all the pieces fell into place. She walked towards the windows, and saw the army, shining as it marched towards the Goblins. She breathed the words slowly.

“Emperor Laken.”

 

—-

 

An army halts within range of the mansion. I have to pause when I see the numbers. Over a hundred—two hundred Goblins. And so many Hobs! And one of them is a powerful spellcaster.

It’s a force that could swallow Riverfarm whole. Far greater than the last one we faced or any since. And normally I wouldn’t dare risk my army fighting them. But it’s not just my army here.

Wiskeria gallops her horse forwards. Her voice is a shout that echoes as Goblins break away from pounding on the mansion’s doors and stream towards us.

“[Archers], aim! Hold, hold I said! Wait for them to draw nearer. Cavalry, on my signal! Infantry brace!”

A hundred bows rise at her order. A hundred. Or more. I didn’t count. They’re not our bowmen, not just ours, at any rate. No, they’re [Guardsmen], retired [Hunters], warriors, even a few adventurers. From each town and village we could reach. And not just them. Rows of armored [Warriors] brace themselves in a line while mounted warriors line up. They’re carrying banners, and Beniar’s voice raises with Wiskeria’s. He trots them left as the Goblins approach.

Loose!

A shower of arrows shoots upwards. Goblins scream and race towards us, some returning fire. Bodies jerk and tumble downwards. The Hobs are charging from the front. I see Durene standing tall, her shield and club in hand.

I’m at the back. I raise my hand as I hear a rumbling growl next to me. The Mossbear roars as the Goblins stream at us.

“Wait. Not yet. Wait…”

Wiskeria is shouting.

Loose!

Another flight. Now Beniar’s cavalry circles the Goblins, searching for their flanks. I see the Goblin [Shaman] dancing, casting huge jets of fire at the riders, burning them. From our midst, several robed figures with wands loose spells at the [Shaman].

And then they’re here. The Goblins charge into our ranks. Wiskeria turns and points. The soldiers surge forwards. My hand tightens on the Mossbear’s fur for a second.

Go!

He roars and charges forwards. Durene is trading blows with a Hob, and I stand, watching the battle in my mind’s eye. It’s all hazy. The markers are barely working. But I’m waiting. Wiskeria shouts my name.

“Laken! Now!

Kneel.

My words break across the Goblins as Beniar charges in to their midst. Some fall to their knees. Others just hesitate. The soldiers cut down the hesitating Goblins and charge forwards. I stand where I am.

An army. Over four hundred soldiers all told, including our forces. A levy. I stare towards the mansion where Lady Rie lives, a hazy shape in my mind’s eye. Is it worth the cost? Is it worth the dying men and women around me? I don’t know. But the Goblins are a threat. And so I raise my finger.

The [Shaman] is laughing; blocking spells with one hand and shooting globs of acid that melt the soldiers fighting around me. Wiskeria is blasting Hobs with lighting, and the archer’s arrows swerve before they reach the [Shaman]. I point at the laughing Goblin and speak into his ears.

“Look this way.”

He does. His head turns towards me and his attention wavers. I see him frown, then turn his head, eyes widening. Too late. Beniar rushes towards him and leaps from his horse. My [Cataphract], my [Captain], impales the [Shaman] with his sword and falls to the ground, hacking at the Goblin. I stand as the bloodbath continues. I am Laken, and this is my war.

I can sense each soldier that falls. I heard them screaming. Some beg for life, others curse the Goblins as they die. Others die silent, surprised. But never alone.

I hear them all. And I do not ask them for more. Not today. The battle is won. The Goblins, outnumbered, fight to the last. The Hobs do terrible damage to my forces, but they do die. I watch them fall.

And when it’s over, I meet Lady Rie. She says not a word, but walks out of her mansion, face pale, blood soaking the hems of her dress. Near the end I saw the doors open and her servants and personal guard rush out. They fought well, especially the bald man in armor.

She says not a word as she approaches me. I stand as the Mossbear whuffs and licks at an open cut on its side. Durene sits next to me, covered in blood, injured and alive. I walk over to Lady Rie, wondering what I should say.

She says nothing. As I approach, she drops to her knees in the muck and blood. I stare at her, and see the bald man and the young man in robes drop to their knees beside her. Lady Rie lowers her head. I watch her kneel, and sense the other soldiers around me doing the same. I look around.

The other soldiers kneel. A disparate group, soldiers and retired warriors, fathers and mothers and retired veterans from different homes. People who know this land, who rose up at a chance to defend it. It was nothing special, what I did. I proposed an alliance, offered them a chance to fight as one. Anyone could have done it.

But I did it. And now they kneel to me. And some shout my name.

“Laken! Emperor Laken!”

“The Unseen Emperor!”

“The Emperor of Beasts!”

That last one is new. I glance backwards and sense the Mossbear licking Durene’s arm. I have to smile. It’s a story, and I’m a bad actor in it. But I’m slowly learning my lines. Because this is what I have to do. The road’s been set and I have to walk down it.

I am Laken, and it’s begun.

My empire.

 

[Emperor Level 19!]

[Skill – Imperial Levy obtained!]

[Skill – Empire: Blacksky Riders obtained!]

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.36 O

Of all the inns in Liscor, it was fair to say the Tailless Thief run by Peslas was without dispute the best. No other inn had the same quality of food prepared by a [Cook] with [Advanced Cooking] and other Skills, or a high-level [Innkeeper], or the advantageous placement that Peslas’ inn enjoyed. So Olesm would agree it was the best inn. Within Liscor, of course.

But he was growing sick of it. It wasn’t just that Peslas was an intolerant old egghead in Olesm’s opinion, or that he missed another, younger, more intelligent and certainly more attractive [Innkeeper]. No, it was the drinking.

Peslas’ inn served Drakes of all colors, and it was a Drake-themed establishment. That meant that spirits manufactured by Drakes were served almost exclusively, although it had to be said that Peslas had a very nice store of wines from around the world.

However, it was a Drake custom to have a shot of the fiery spirits they loved to brew before anything else. Even wine. The burning sensation added to the following experience of drinking wine, or so it was claimed.

Personally, Olesm didn’t particularly enjoy the alcohol that had made Izril famous. The Drakes’ signature Firebreath Whiskey for instance had the same reputation as the Drake species that made it. It was offensive, hard to tolerate in large doses, and usually the prelude to the fight if imbibed too heavily.

But it was a purely Drake drink, and so every time Wall Lord Ilvriss went drinking, Olesm would have to down at least a shot or two of it. He’d grown to associate Peslas’ inn with such drinking experiences, and so hated it.

“Another round, Peslas! And fill young Swifttail’s glass. Don’t be stingy! Everyone who drinks tonight does so on my coin. A Lord of the Wall from Salazsar treats his brethren away from home with due respect! Never let it be said otherwise!”

Olesm groaned as he sat around the full table of Drakes and heard the cheer go up. It was predicted of course; Ilvriss had been here last night, and the night before that, and Peslas’ inn was packed.

“Here you are, sir. And for you, Olesm.”

Peslas himself bustled over with a refill. Olesm glumly watched as the glowing orange liquid was splashed generously into his mug. He turned and raised it to the Drake in armor sitting two places away from him.

“Your health, sir.”

“And to you, young Swifttail!”

Wall Lord Ilvriss raised his mug and drank down the fiery liquid, not stopping until he’d drained the mug to cheers from the officers, mages, and other members of his personal escort. Other Drakes, officials in the city or influential individuals, tried to emulate the Lord of the Wall with mixed results.

Olesm drank more slowly, gulping down the spirits and cursing Peslas for filling his mug so high. He got half of it down in the end and Ilvriss slapped his back, laughing heartily.

“A fine attempt! We’ll have to teach you to drink properly while I’m still here, Olesm! A [Tactician] should be able to drink with his commanding officer, especially if he’s to rise through the ranks. And I fully expect you to in due time. A young prodigy at my table! It reminds me of when I was young.”

“You’re too kind.”

Olesm murmured and tried not to rub at his shoulder. He sat next to a high-level [Lieutenant] as Ilvriss began recounting one of the tales of when he’d been young. The other Drakes leaned forwards, laughing and interjecting comments or questions. Olesm tried to look interested and died a bit inside. It was always like this.

He hated being here, hated having to drink with the Wall Lord—just past breakfast for goodness sake! But, and here was the tricky bit, it was a real honor to be invited to such a gathering. Olesm wouldn’t have been allowed near this table if Ilvriss hadn’t requested him sit with him. Yes, it was an honor. Because Ilvriss liked Olesm.

As the son he’d never had. Or perhaps as the student to whatever Ilvriss was mentoring. Maybe the Wall Lord was just bored, but after a few meetings with Liscor’s council, the Lord of the Wall had begun inviting Olesm to spend more time with him in Liscor. He seemed interested, pleased with Olesm’s ideas and what he termed ‘youthful invigorations’.

Ilvriss had taken Olesm under his tail, and as such, Olesm was often forced to go drinking with the Wall Lord and his personal retinue, or listen to long conversations about politics or the good days when the damned Ants weren’t here, Drakes were Drakes, and the Humans were nearly ready to crumble because they were cowardly fleshbags.

Despite the aforementioned honor of being invited, Olesm still might have dared to avoid such gatherings for his own health, if he weren’t under strict orders to the contrary.

It had been explained to him very thoroughly. Part of his job—rather, his real job—was to keep the Wall Lord happy while he was staying in Liscor. Due to the presence of the Goblin Lord’s armies, it was impossible to assure his safe return to his home city. In fact, Hawk, the lone Courier in Liscor, refused to try and make the trip.

Olesm personally thought that was a bit cowardly of the Rabbit Beastkin. Hawk was a Courier, and Olesm knew for a fact that his levels and Skills would probably allow him to survive any encounter on the roads, even if he ran straight into a raiding army of Goblins.

But that was Couriers for you. Some were cautious, and others were brave to the point of suicidal. Hawk was pragmatic. He’d seen both a Wall Lord and General Shivertail himself suffer defeat at the hand of the Goblin Lord, and after that, the destruction of two Drake armies. True, General Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss hadn’t been prepared and their armies had both been worn down from tearing each other to shreds, but the Courier didn’t want to risk his ears.

So Ilvriss was stuck and antsy with it. He’d already gone out twice and slaughtered one of the Hollowstone Deceivers—the Rock Crabs as Erin termed them—and wiped out a number of Shield Spider nests. When he wasn’t consulting with his various allies and contacts via [Message] spell or taking part in one of the innumerable strategy meetings going on in Liscor, he was here. Drinking.

The Drakes around the table roared with laughter as Ilvriss said something that might have been funny and Olesm tried to pretend he’d been listening. Inside he writhed in agony.

All Olesm wanted to do was go back to the Wandering Inn and sit there, drink something, and have a tasty snack while he played chess with Erin. He longed for that, those fleeting moments he kept in his memories. They had been simpler times.

But he couldn’t now, although he wanted to. Olesm knew it would be impossible to get Ilvriss to shift his daily drinking session there because Erin didn’t stock Firebreath Whiskey, she wasn’t a Drake, and she was now hosting Hobgoblins in her inn. Olesm would have dearly loved to know what had possessed Erin, but the upshot was that he’d probably get Ilvriss to agree to chop off his own tail before the Drake agreed to drink under the same roof as a living Goblin.

What a mess. Olesm traced on the table with one of his claws, devoting one earhole to Ilvriss’ account of his first battle. Erin really was in it this time. Watch Captain Zevara was furious and everyone was talking about how stupid she was for taking in Goblins. No one was willing to visit Erin’s inn to get to Celum at the moment. Olesm sighed. He wondered if Erin would go out of business if she didn’t kick the Goblins out. Why were they here, anyways?

More complications. It really had been better before, when Erin’s inn was small and Olesm could walk in and have a chat with her without someone interrupting. But those days were gone, and Goblins were ruining everything for everyone.

And now the army was coming back, or at least, a small taskforce to help out with the Goblin situation. Olesm shuddered. He didn’t have to be a [Tactician] to predict that there would be trouble if the Goblins were still in Erin’s inn when they got there. They’d cause trouble.

Actually, they’d cause trouble even if the Goblins were nowhere to be seen. They always did every time they came back. And the commanders in Liscor’s army made Zevara look relaxed. She was relaxed compared to how they did things.

“And there I was, broken sword in hand, staring down a damned [Blademaster] with an enchanted bastard sword of his own. I backed up and looked around but there was no help coming. Fortunately, I had been given a ring by my mother for my first battle, so I raised it and twisted it—the very ring you see here—and…”

Everyone seemed to be hooked on Ilvriss. Olesm’s [Tactician] senses told him now was an ideal moment. He carefully lowered his mug and poured the rest of his drink onto the floorboards underneath the table. No one noticed; quaffing had been undertaken earlier this morning, and the room was already messy.

Drinking in the morning. Olesm shook his head. Half of the Drakes here would have to get to work. The rest, like Ilvriss, probably had livers made of steel because they’d be drinking and talking all day if no one interrupted him.

Then again, that was their right. They were high-level [Warriors], experienced soldiers, and veterans of numerous battles all. The Drakes who surrounded Ilvriss at all times could lead armies with the Lord of the Wall. Olesm felt small around them.

And yet, Ilvriss kept telling him he was a prodigy. Which was actually warranted, Olesm knew. He was a Level 27 [Tactician]. And he’d been Level 22 a few months ago. Olesm could hardly believe it. That kind of leveling was insane outside of wars. It was probably one of the reasons why Ilvriss had taken an interest in him.

But prodigy? It might be fair to say, but Olesm didn’t feel smart at all. He might be Level 27, but Erin had reached Level 30 in the same amount of time. From Level 1. From nothing. Remembering that, it wasn’t hard to stay humble. Meek.

Absently, forgetting he’d already gotten rid of his drink, Olesm raised his mug to his lips. Ilvriss noticed the Drake blinking into his mug and raised his voice.

“What’s this? Done so soon? Good lad! Another round for young Swifttail!”

“Oh, no, please—”

If he had to down another mouthful, Olesm thought he might actually puke. He waved a hand and Ilvriss laughed again.

“Don’t be so modest, young Swifttail! We’re drinking in part to celebrate you! A Level 27 [Tactician]? When I was your age I hadn’t reached Level 20! Soon you’ll be a [Strategist], and when you are, you’ll truly be a person of influence in your own right.”

He waved a hand expansively at the two [Strategists] that were part of his own retinue. Olesm had met the male and female Drakes—they were a married couple—and he ducked his head at them, noting their approving smiles. They treated him like a son as well.

“You’re too kind, Wall Lord.”

“Am I? Am I? Perhaps. But if I am, it is only because I recognize talent. A [Strategist] may be essential to every army, but they are hardly common! You could join any army with that class. I know you’re a citizen of Liscor, but it would be a shame to waste your abilities in a mercenary army, even one as acclaimed as Liscor’s. When the day comes that you reach that level, I hope you might consider moving to Salazsar. The Walled Cities have need of fresh minds like you.”

This was beyond a compliment. Olesm went red, and the table of Drakes laughed. He stammered, trying to change the subject.

“I uh, I’m not sure I’m that close. Is [Strategist] that simple of an upgrade from [Tactician]? I thought it was a Level 40 class, at least.”

That was a flat lie, but Ilvriss took the bait.

“Level 40? Hah! What prank have you fallen for? [Strategists] are Level 30. Or…I’ve heard they can be lower if you combine a military rank with the [Tactician] class. A Level 20 [Tactician] and a Level 10 [Sergeant] or something, you understand? But that’s a shortcut. A diluted achievement. Young Olesm’s pure.

There was a slur in his voice. He was already drunk. Another Drake, an obsequious [Merchant] who always flattered Ilvriss, raised his own mug.

“Hah, yes! A pure young Drake. We should be careful we don’t sully his youth before he gets a taste for the world. Young Olesm here needs to taste more of life’s pleasures before he enters politics, Wall Lord. More drink, more time in battle…and in bed, I should wager!”

Ilvriss howled with laugher and banged on the table with the others. Olesm rolled his eyes and twitched his tail irritably. There had been a lot of talk like that. Olesm hadn’t ever taken part in a war, so to all the veterans he was fresh-tailed, and they made jokes at his expense.

It was time to go. Olesm knew he shouldn’t play this card too often, but he had a job to do today so it was a legitimate card. He pushed back his chair, bowing apologetically to Ilvriss.

“Much as I’d love to drink, I’m afraid I really do have pressing obligations, Wall Lord.”

“Ah. I’d forgotten.”

Ilvriss paused and scowled, as if the bright sunlight streaming into the room were an afterthought. He glanced at Olesm impatiently.

“Can’t you postpone whatever needs doing?”

Olesm made an apologetic face.

“I’m afraid not, sir. I…it would be wrong of me to abandon my post, no matter how honored I am to be here. I must stick to my duty.”

Something changed in Ilvriss’ face as he listened to Olesm’s careful words. Quick as lightning his mirth disappeared. He lowered his mug, and Olesm saw the other Drakes around him quiet down and watch the Wall Lord warily.

“Duty? Ah, if duty calls one must obey, mustn’t they? But be cautious, young Olesm. Duty is a harsh mistress and she asks much. Death walks with you, and sometimes it cannot be avoided. Even if you had known—even if—”

He broke off and looked into his mug, all the mirth of a moment ago lost. Olesm exchanged glances with the other Drakes sitting around the table.

Wall Lord Ilvriss had been maudlin recently. Ever since the battle with Regrika Blackpaw and the other Gold-rank traitor, Ikriss. He was prone to snapping at others, drinking to excess, and fits of melancholy—not too different from his usual self, in other words. But the sadness was new.

Someone had to bring him back to his good spirits. This time it was Peslas. The [Innkeeper] hurried over with a hot plate of grilled fish and a mug of wine.

“Yes, to duty! Young Olesm must go, but surely you have more tales to tell, Wall Lord? I’d be grateful to hear more—it’s not often a legend sits in my inn!”

Ilvriss brightened a bit as he saw the food. He accepted plate and mug and nodded as all eyes fell on him again.

“Well, I suppose if I must—go, Olesm. I’ll remain here. As for stories, if that’s what you want Peslas, I have one about my finest subordinate. Periss. She was—a warrior and leader beyond repute. I remember the day I first met her. She’d downed a Wyvern. By herself! I was in my tent and I heard about a patrol that had been ambushed by monsters, so I rushed out and saw her there…”

Olesm backed out of the inn, grateful for the reprieve. Besides, he really did have a job to do. He was Liscor’s dedicated [Tactician], after all. Every Drake city needed one and Olesm worked hard at his job. True, there wasn’t always work to do, but recently there had been a lot. So much so that he’d only gotten the issue of the dungeon today. Or more specifically, what lived in the dungeon.

 

—-

 

Shield Spiders. Crypt Worms. Various undead. Enchanted suits of armor, Bog Wraiths, a trap full of Face-Eater Moths, giant infested slugs, the Children, the lists went on. Olesm was privy to almost every report that went to Watch Captain Zevara and other members of the Council and so he knew that Liscor’s dungeon was host to a huge variety of very nasty monsters.

Some were documented, others were variations on known threats. It was an adventurer’s job to handle them, and Olesm’s only input into the situation with the dungeon was to consult with Zevara about containing any threats that escaped from either the Dungeon’s official entrance or the rift in the snow. Plans were already being made to set up a more permanent set of fortifications around both.

However, there was one variety of monster that had been spotted by the teams going in and out of the dungeon’s rift that were… concerning. Among the monsters that roamed the maze of trapped tunnels were groups of Goblins and strange, Gnoll-like monsters who used weapons and fought with brutal efficiency.

The first group to encounter them (and survive), Vuliel Drae, had brought back several heads. Olesm had inspected them and they certainly looked similar to a Gnoll’s. However, the heads were far larger, sported vicious canines and apparently came from bodies far bigger than any Gnoll had a right to be.

The Adventurer’s Guild hadn’t been able to identify the monster when they’d sent the image of the head to other guilds for analysis. However, several of the older Gnolls had reacted strongly to the heads but refused to say what they’d recognized. Thus, it fell to Olesm to tactfully ask what these not-Gnolls were about.

He decided to go to Krshia, since he knew her the best and she was one of the leaders of the Gnolls in the city. Olesm rubbed at his head and swerved down the street, greeting Drakes and Gnolls he knew as they waved to him. The Gnolls sniffed and remarked about drinking so early; Olesm grunted about Ilvriss and they only laughed.

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wasn’t at her stall today, which was unusual. Olesm had to ask where her apartment was. Thankfully two other Gnolls at the small marketplace were able to direct him.

They knew him of course; Gnolls were very conscious of figures of authority and Olesm had made it a point to consult with the Gnolls who represented the unofficial figures of authority in Liscor. It was a shame none of them had a place on the Council; a few Gnolls might nicely balance out the idiots who thought with their tails.

Unlike Erin, Olesm didn’t regularly visit Krshia. In fact, he’d been staying away from both Erin and the Gnoll recently. Olesm still felt guilty about telling Regrika about Ryoka. That had led to Brunkr’s death, and, it seemed, Ryoka’s disappearance. He knew it was impossible to have known that Regrika Blackpaw, the famed Named Adventurer, was a murderer, but still. Olesm hesitated in front of Krshia’s door for several minutes before he reluctantly knocked.

The apartment was silent for a long time. Long enough that Olesm was turning to go when he heard someone shuffling towards the door. He waited, and Krshia slowly pulled the door open. She blinked at him and he stared up at her.

“Um, good morning, Krshia. Are you well?”

She didn’t look well. The Gnoll was barely dressed and she had bleary eyes and disheveled fur. She looked terrible, in short. Olesm cleared his throat as he glanced into her apartment. It too was a mess.

“I ah—I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could speak to you as a representative of the Gnolls in Liscor. I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’re occupied, however…”

Only now did he realize he might be intruding on her grief. But Krshia blinked at Olesm and seemed to wake up a bit. She shook herself, and then nodded.

“I—hrr. Yes. As a representative, you said? What is this about? Come in—let me freshen myself and put on tea.”

She invited him in. Olesm was hesitant at first, but Krshia seemed glad of the company. She rushed about, clearing a space on the sofa—it looked like she’d been sleeping there—and putting on some of the spicy Gnoll tea. When she sat across from him and offered him some sliced raw meat, she looked a lot more awake than before, and curious, too.

“It is not often that Olesm Swifttail comes to my residence on official business, yes? That is what this is, yes? Has the Council decided something, or is this more informal?”

“It’s…formal, but not related to any decision the city has made.”

Olesm carefully chewed at the meat and sipped from his cup, grateful for both after drinking. Krshia nodded encouragingly and he went on, watching her expression carefully.

“I believe you have heard about the reports from the dungeon, Miss Krshia? Part of my job involves identifying monsters who may be threats to the city, particularly if they are unknown. And a recent team that went into the dungeon recovered several, uh, heads of a strange creature they claimed was fighting in tandem with Goblins. They um…”

The Gnoll’s forehead wrinkled and Olesm broke off. Krshia hummed to herself and nodded. Now there was a sharpness to her eyes that Olesm recognized with relief.

“Ah. I see what this is about. You wish to ask about these creatures which resemble my people so much.”

“Yes. Yes, the other Gnolls wouldn’t talk about it. However, if these—these creatures are a threat, or worse, are related to Gnolls—”

“They are. Both threat and related. It is an uncomfortable topic among my people, Olesm. Many of the young do not know of these…things. But I saw one of the heads and yes, I do know what they are.”

“Ah. Would you be willing to share your information? I promise, we only need tactical data, not anything—”

Olesm broke off delicately and Krshia shrugged.

“Tactical data? I do not know if it will help, but the story is only uncomfortable, not taboo. I will relate it to you. If you have time?

“Please, I would be most grateful.”

Krshia nodded with a slight smile. She sipped at her cup and chewed on more slices of meat. Her stomach rumbled a bit and Olesm wondered if she’d had breakfast. He took another slice, chewing appreciatively. Gnolls liked their food to be eaten when they offered it. A full bowl of snacks after a discussion was a disappointment.

“Hrr. Yes. Where to begin? I think we must delve into history first, Olesm. You see, the origin of these creatures that resemble us goes back to when the continent was first inhabited by our peoples. Drakes and Gnolls.”

The Drake paused as he reached for another slice of meat. He stared at Krshia.

“That long ago? But that’s ancient history. Thousands of years old!”

Krshia nodded. She smiled a bit as Olesm stared at her.

“Yes. Is it surprising I would know tales from back then? It is true few books survive so long, enchanted or not, but history is told through our tribes differently from the Drakes. It is spoken, passed from Gnoll to Gnoll. And we remember things in ways you do not. For instance, long ago it was said that Izril was not known as the home of Drakes and Gnolls, but as the home of Dragons.”

“Our Ancestors.”

Olesm murmured respectfully and with a hint of longing. He had never seen a Dragon before, only heard rumors. One in Terandria for instance, that preyed on livestock. But Ancestors, real Drake Ancestors, were supposed to be wise and cunning, full of magic and wonders. And greed, of course. That’s where Drakes got it from. Krshia nodded. She sniffed and chewed on a bit of the raw meat in the bowl. She clearly had no longing for the past.

“Yes. I have heard what Drakes say. But that is not the Gnoll experience, no. Our people remember a time when Dragons ruled and their descendants, Drakes, built vast and impregnable cities to shield themselves from war with their elders. Dragons and Drakes fought, but both preyed on a common species. Gnolls. We were food for Dragons. Drakes too. Our peoples lived in terror of the skies.”

Olesm shifted uncomfortably. Krshia smiled gently.

“It is not your fault for the past Olesm, yes? Regardless, in order to survive, it is said that we Gnolls dug deep and learned how to hide. We found refuge in caverns, lived underground. And down there, some of us…changed.”

“Changed? How?”

The Gnoll paused as she sat across from Olesm. She looked uncomfortable, but she shook her head and shrugged in reply to his question.

“It was dark in the ground, Olesm. Dark, or so the stories say, and we Gnolls are not meant to dig so deep. We spent years, decades, in hiding. Longer, I think, but the stories are not clear. In any case, we spent so long down there that some of us went mad from the deepness of it. Mad and wild. Their bodies changed as they forgot the ways of civilization—and we Gnolls are civilized, for all that you call us tribal creatures.”

“I have never thought so.”

“Hrm. No? Well, others say it and there is some truth to it. But these other Gnolls lost those hints of civilization. They became bestial, more like monsters than people, yes? That is when Gnollkind split. In the darkness, one group remained Gnolls and others became—not.”

Olesm stared at Krshia.

“How is that possible? You’re saying Gnolls as a species changed? How?”

She shrugged.

“It was only some. As to how, perhaps it was magic, or perhaps it was just a difference in what they ate. Or what they did.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The others, the not-Gnolls. They longed for the light, yes? That longing can be a terrible thing. They lost their mind in the darkness. Became as savage as the things that dug around them. Ate and killed, and gained strength for it. They gave up their levels, Olesm.”

Memory stirred. Olesm remembered hearing about Ryoka’s refusal to level. But he still couldn’t believe it.

“Impossible. As a people? You mean…”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] nodded.

“It was a trade, I think. A curse willingly taken, or—or something else. These not-Gnolls turned their backs on what made them Gnolls to become stronger. They obtained powerful forms, dangerous abilities…but at a price. They lost their ability to level in exchange for bodies like steel, strength beyond other Gnolls. But they lost their minds, became warlike, hungry only for blood and flesh. Again, at a price. It was said of these Gnolls that they underwent strange changes in the moonlight. Only during the full moon would they regain any measure of sanity.”

Olesm tried to imagine such creatures. It wasn’t hard, actually. Take away the intelligence of a Gnoll, replace it with a primitive mind and make them stronger—he shuddered as he imagined a tribe of them living deep in the darkness.

“I take it that the other Gnolls who didn’t change didn’t like these new Gnolls?”

Krshia nodded grimly.

“They began to hunt us. As if we were not their family. And so we fought back. In the darkness, Gnoll fought not-Gnoll and the difference between us became great. In time, the others were no longer Gnolls at all, but different. We called them Raskghar and they are our enemies.”

“Were your enemies, you mean.”

The [Shopkeeper] shook her head.

Are. We thought them wiped out long ago, but if they remain, they are our foes yet.”

“But hold on, you said that was thousands of years ago. These Raskghar—these cave Gnolls are only in Liscor, in a dungeon we just discovered. Doesn’t that change—”

Krshia was shaking her head again and again. She fixed Olesm with one steady eye as she sipped from her cup.

“We declared war on them, Olesm. As a people. Gnoll tribes may war and make peace as they choose of course, but when we make war, it is as a species. We do not lay down our arms until all tribes have agreed. So. If these creatures do live below Liscor, then we are still at war with them. Time is meaningless to our feud.”

“But—”

Olesm forced himself to break off. He was dealing with a different culture here, a different species. Krshia eyed Olesm and relented a bit.

“Recall that during the war, our people fought without peace against yours for hundreds of years, Olesm. The war did not end, though both our species suffered greatly. When we emerged from the ground we declared war on the Drakes, now that the Dragons had lost their hold on the continent. We declared it as a people, and such was the bloodshed that there has not been a greater loss of life since, not even from the Antinium.”

Olesm nodded. The war. Of course he knew that bit of history. People, mostly Humans, liked to talk about the Antinium Wars as the great wars of the century, but to the Drakes and Gnolls, there would be only one great war. It was the war. The war between their species.

“As I recall, the Gnolls were present throughout the continent but strongest in the north. They destroyed many of the Walled Cities built there and several in the south. There was countless death on both sides. However…it may be an unpopular opinion, but my analysis of the histories makes me believe the Gnolls were winning during that time.”

Krshia blinked. She seemed surprised, which was unusual for her.

“Oh? What makes you say this?”

Olesm shrugged self-consciously.

“It’s nothing conclusive. I’ve hardly done an in-depth study of the history, but it’s just that Drakes were famous for the cities we built. We kept most of our populations behind the Walled Cities—we still do, only in smaller and more numerous cities. But when we were fighting in the war, the Gnolls were slowly destroying our homes, breaking down the enchanted walls one by one. [Shamans], leading armies of hundreds of thousands, warrior-kings, bloody battles…we both lost, but Gnolls could always regroup and live anywhere on the continent. While we Drakes were losing our homes. So I think we were losing.”

He paused. Krshia was blinking at him and he could tell she had something to say. She sipped deeply from her cup and then refilled it. And his. Krshia smiled at Olesm.

“Hrr. Rarely have I met a Drake who is willing to say such things. Your people dislike admitting defeat. But that is the opinion of we Gnolls. We were winning. For that truth Olesm Swifttail, I thank you.”

She bowed her head slightly and Olesm felt his scales changing color.

“It’s nothing. Just facts. It’s just the facts, Miss Krshia. And as you said, the war was terrible for both sides regardless of who was winning.”

Krshia sighed, reluctantly agreeing.

“But of course. It matters little, yes? The Humans took half the continent while we squabbled. The Five Families destroyed the last of the Walled Cities and drove both our peoples south, past the High Passes.”

Olesm nodded gravely.

“The Gnoll tribes fought to the last for their lands, if I recall. Your people suffered a terrible loss.”

“One we have still not recovered from. That is why we as a people sued for peace with the Humans. Why we do not march north each year with your kind. Oh, some city-born fight in your armies, but the Gnolls will not die. Our tribes grow and we replenish, but our people are a fraction of what they were.”

“True, but the Gnoll populations have been on the rise historically. I remember seeing some figures…the Antinium Wars barely halted your growth. Why, if your population kept rising the way some of our [Strategists] and [Historians] are suggesting…”

The Drake was searching through his notepad. He paused as a thought struck him and peered suspiciously at Krshia.

“Miss Silverfang? Exactly how many tribes would you say are formed every year? And how many of those tribes double or triple their numbers every decade?”

Krshia’s eyes twinkled. The Gnoll averted her gaze and sipped at her tea thoughtfully. She spoke cattily, her ears flicking back and forth as she peeked at Olesm’s face.

“If my people do have plans that involve Drakes or Humans, it would only be in a few more generations, yes? Numbers matter. And I…hope it would be peaceful. All we wish to do is reclaim our old lands. If that means living next to Humans, so be it.”

“I see.”

Olesm filed that information away for later. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you for the history. It seems these Raskghar are a threat, both to your people and in general. I don’t think the Council or the Adventurer’s Guild would argue that point. May I ask what you know about their combat abilities? If they don’t level that’s one relief, but just how strong are they in general?”

The Gnoll pondered the question for a while.

“Hrr. It is too long ago for specifics to be passed down, but I would imagine a single one of these Raskghar would be a match for a Silver-rank adventurer. They were said to be strong, immune to pain, and have hides that were proof against iron. But those are legends. I imagine the truth is that they are simply stronger. Primal, primitive Gnolls who cannot level but have more strength than our kind.“

“I see. Well, thank you for your time, Krshia. I will have to relay that to the Adventurer’s Guild. I think these Raskghar would be classified as a threat similar to Hobgoblins. Unless you disagree?”

Krshia was shaking her head. She looked serious as she pointed a finger of her paw at Olesm.

“Not at all. Hobgoblins are dangerous, like the ones in Erin’s inn, yes? But they are a danger because of numbers as much as their skill. Raskghar are brutes. They may be stronger naturally than Hobs, but they lack levels so they would fall behind in strength. What makes them dangerous is that they are born to the darkness, Olesm. They hunt in places without light. They are not warriors, they are predators. They track their prey and ambush them. That is the danger.”

Not warriors, but creatures adapted perfectly to an environment with mazes and traps. Ambush specialists. Olesm nodded.

“I’ll emphasize that in my report and make sure the adventurers know to be careful. Thank you very much, Miss Krshia.”

“You are welcome, Olesm.”

The Gnoll smiled at Olesm and he sensed that she was in better spirits than when she’d first opened the door. Krshia eyed the scraps of meat left in her bowl and stood up.

“I have enjoyed your company. But you do not need to leave right away, yes? Sit. Let us talk. I have heard rumors about Erin, although I have not seen her in days. And I have more snacks—let us have some breadsticks. I have some honey…I would not like to waste it. And there is more tea.”

Olesm smiled at Krshia. He had not missed the shield and sword carefully propped up against one wall, or the way Krshia kept looking around. The apartment was empty. There was a vacancy in it. For a while he could fill it.

“I would be honored to sit, of course. Please, tell me, what do you think about this issue of the Goblin Lord?”

 

—–

 

It was a good two hours more before Olesm could leave Krshia’s home, but he considered that time well spent by comparison. Olesm first waddled over to one of the public toilets and relieved himself of half a pot’s worth of tea. Then he walked down the street. The snow had completely melted in Liscor, but it was still chilly outside. Olesm tugged at the cloak he wore and fished at his belt pouch.

He pulled out a pad of tightly bound pieces of paper; a luxury compared to parchment, but one the city paid him for. He also had an enchanted quill that drew ink from a pot without him needing to dip it, a very useful invention. Olesm walked and wrote, muttering to himself as he did.

“Gnoll breeding strategy. Talk to Gen. Shivertail or Wall Lrd? Concerns—future generations.”

Olesm paused as he stared at the cramped handwriting. Then he sighed and scribbled over the words. No, not a good idea. This was him being a hoarder, thinking too narrowly. Gnolls were not the enemy. Come to that, Humans weren’t the enemy. Not anymore. They’d lived here for generations. Didn’t that mean they had a place? They weren’t the ones who’d razed Drake cities and put thousands to the sword, no matter what the elders said.

No, the real enemy was the Antinium. And Olesm wasn’t sure if all of them were the enemy. Sighing, Olesm crossed out the words a few more times and jotted down the notes about the Raskghar.

“Did I spell that right? Oh well. It’s good enough. Now…”

Olesm hesitated and looked around, tail twitching as he stood in the street. He could go back to the inn and file the report later, but that would mean drinking. On the other claw, Olesm was fairly sure that Selys was at the desk in the Adventure’s Guild at the moment and he could probably spend hours filing a report in person and chatting with her. Also, there was that thing that had been nagging at Olesm for days. Maybe he could resolve it today?

It certainly beat drinking. So Olesm turned around in the street, waved to one of his chess-buddies, and hurried over to the Adventurer’s Guild. It was packed. As usual. Humans, Gnolls, and Drakes were all waiting in lines, or sitting out of the cold and talking.

Olesm was pleased that there was less of a crush than before; while it was true the adventurers were here for the dungeon, Erin’s door to Celum had allowed a lot of the pressure to be taken off of Liscor’s guild. Now adventurers were saturating the region around Liscor, rather than all crammed into the one city and causing trouble exclusively here.

Still, he had to wait in line. There were four counters open and each [Receptionist] was busy. Olesm spotted Selys and saw there was only one person in front of him. He hurried over and then recognized the Human arguing at the desk.

“—and furthermore, I object to your characterization of my talents. I am offering you an equitable, nay, charitable solution to an unresolved crisis in your city, and you are not considering it, let alone relaying my request to your Guildmaster!”

Pisces put his hands flat on the counter and glared at Selys. The Drake [Receptionist] glared back and leaned over the desk so that Pisces had to lean back or receive a slow head butt. Her tail thrashed behind the counter.

“First off, it’s Guildmistress. My Grandmother’s in charge and she doesn’t like [Necromancers]. In fact, she likes them less than I do. Furthermore, I can’t authorize putting a dangerous monster in the sewers—”

Dangerous?

Pisces spluttered. He was receiving a lot of unfriendly looks from around the room Olesm noted, but he was focused on Selys. He leaned forwards until he was nose-to-snout with Selys.

“It would be under my control at all times. True, it would be remotely, but it would operate under precise instructions—”

“Oh? Like the one you gave Toren before he abandoned Erin and went off and killed a bunch of people?”

The [Necromancer]’s teeth ground together audibly.

“That was a separate case with an autonomous creation with free will, not—”

“You have your answer. Next! Oh, hi there Olesm! How can I help you?”

Pisces was incandescent with fury, but Selys calmly pushed him aside and smiled sweetly at Olesm. He smiled back. Suddenly, Olesm recalled why he hadn’t ever really talked to Selys before they’d both known Erin.

She was a social personality, always talking, but she had an edge when she got mad. Selys and Olesm ran in different circles. Olesm coughed and stepped forwards, tail twitching apologetically as Pisces glared at both of them.

“Hello, Selys. I’m actually here to deliver a report about those Gnoll-like monsters that were found in the dungeon. I’ve investigated the matter and they’re a primitive offshoot of the Gnoll species. Some kind of throwback or…well, they’re clearly dangerous and they’ve adapted for the darkness. The Gnolls hate them and I have a few details on how they might fight.”

“Really? Freakish Gnoll offshoots, huh?”

Selys’ nonexistent eyebrows rose. She glanced out the window and made a face.

“It sounds important, and I’d love to hear about them, but I’m nearly done with my shift, Olesm. This jerk—”

She pointed towards Pisces with her tail and the [Necromancer] glowered. He still hadn’t moved away and was making Olesm uncomfortable.

“—took up a lot of my time and I’m actually meeting with Erin right after this. Can I call over my replacement and have her get all the details? Or better yet, can you send a report through all those official channels? It’s not that we can’t do it, it’s just that we’re a bit overworked, you know?”

She made a face. Olesm floundered, and then nodded. That wasn’t what he wanted, but what could he say?

“Of course. That would be fine.”

“Cool. Oh, and so I can mention it to Erin—what are these not-Gnolls called?”

“Raskghar. I think.”

“Got it. Hey, Maviss! Can you take over? Thanks!”

Selys walked out from behind the counter and another Drake took her place. Maviss, a Drake with light pinkish-red scales, smiled sweetly at Olesm. A bit too sweetly. Selys winked at her friend and Olesm edged back from the counter.

“Ah. Ahem. Selys tells me you’re very busy, so I’ll file that report and submit it tonight—”

“Are you sure? I’m sure I could write it all down if you want.”

Pisces was trying to chase after Selys until she tripped him up with her tail. He stood up to laughter, flushing with anger, and Olesm shook his head. He cleared his throat and then lowered his voice. There was one other reason why he’d come to the Adventurer’s Guild, and that was to follow up on a hunch.

“I wonder, Miss Maviss, whether your guild has the records of the recent expedition into the crypt by four Silver-ranked adventuring teams? The one with the attacking undead, led by the creature known as Skinner?”

Maviss’ smile vanished. She nodded. Everyone in Liscor remembered that night of horrors.

“We have lots of files. But don’t you get all of them as a [Tactician]?”

He shook his head.

“All the ones about the attack of course, testimonies, statements from the [Guardsmen]…but when the adventurers were uh, recovered and their remains were counted, that report got sent to your guild. If the city kept a copy, it’s lost somewhere. I was hoping I could see it. I’m especially interested in what the [Guardsmen] found. The possessions of the deceased adventuring teams that were confiscated and so on.”

The [Receptionist] thought about that and then nodded.

“I can get that for you. It might take a bit. Why don’t you wait here? Unless you’d like to help?”

She winked at Olesm. He blushed.

“I uh, no, I’m sorry. I have uh, a lot of pressing engagements. With the Wall Lord. I do apologize.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

Looking disappointed, Maviss sighed and walked out into one of the back rooms where files were kept. Formal documentation might not exist in Human guilds, but Drakes were sticklers for reports and filing, so Olesm was sure a copy of the report he needed was back there. He turned, intending to take a seat while Maviss searched, and jumped as he saw Pisces standing behind him.

“A report from the events surrounding the crypt and the attack of the undead horde? Why would you be interested in that?”

The [Necromancer] eyed Olesm, arms folded, completely unapologetic about eavesdropping. Olesm coughed.

“Good morning, uh, Pisces.”

“Olesm.”

The [Mage] and [Tactician] stared at each other. Neither quite knew what to say. True, they’d met and played games of chess against each other, but that was because both of them knew Erin. They weren’t exactly acquaintances; neither one could remember really having a long conversation together.

Olesm shifted.

“I uh, I’m following up a discrepancy with the reports, which is why I requested them.”

“Ah. I see. And what is it you have uncovered?”

“Confidential, I’m afraid. City business. What were you asking Selys about? It seemed important.”

“Confidential.”

Pisces’ tone was acerbic as he looked down his nose at Olesm. His gaze flicked to the Drake’s face, to his tail, and then to the notepad Olesm was still holding. The Drake hurriedly put that away. He didn’t like how Pisces always seemed so…so perceptive about things. For one thing, the [Necromancer] was one of the few Humans who watched Drakes’ tails for their reactions. Olesm kept his very still and raised his voice casually.

“How’s uh, the adventuring business? Doing a lot of fun…killing monsters? How’s Ceria doing?”

He winced. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Even if he had meant to ask. Pisces blinked. He studied Olesm and the Drake just knew he was recalling Olesm’s very brief fling with Ceria and the moment when she’d rejected his request to join the Horns of Hammerad. The memory made Olesm want to gnaw on his tail.

The [Necromancer] betrayed none of what he was thinking, though. He lifted his shoulder fractionally and sniffed.

“We have been undertaking mundane requests of little worth as of late. There are few worthwhile tasks to complete as I’m sure you’re aware. Oversaturation of adventurers…I believe Springwalker and the others are resting in the inn. They were most upset after our last mission.”

Olesm’s heart began to pound.

“Why? Is she—I mean, is everyone alright? I haven’t visited the inn in a while.”

Again, Pisces sniffed.

“Nothing damaging. Rather, we had accepted a rather odious task to clear an infested cave of vermin. The mission was hardly dangerous. Physically, that is.”

“Vermin?”

“Yes. An infested cave a few miles from Liscor. It was filled with roaches. Cockroaches. About ten thousand of them. Our task was to eliminate their nest and as many as possible. There were…complications.”

Pisces brushed at his robes. Only now did Olesm look down and notice several smears on the robes. They were enchanted to resist staining and dirt of course, but the liquid on the robes was sticky. There were black bits of shell and wing and a few legs—Olesm’s tail twitched and Pisces grinned.

“Ice magic is futile against those kinds of roaches. We had to burn them. Unfortunately, there were larger variants with nasty bites and they swarmed us. Well, I say ‘us’ when I mean my other three companions. They got into Yvlon’s armor and onto Ceria…Ksmvr was most helpful in eating them. I believe he and Ceria consider the roaches as snacks and were more offended by the bites than anything else.”

He seemed amused by Olesm’s reaction. Pisces looked around the room, meeting a few gazes before they quickly averted. He shook his head and sniffed a third time.

“I was intending to do more work today, but it seems my presence is unwelcome here.”

That was an understatement. Adventurers watched Pisces with folded arms. Some turned their backs to him. One made a gesture. Olesm winced. He knew [Necromancers] were unpopular in Liscor and the rest of the continent—well, most of the world, really—for good reason, but Pisces’ attitude seemed to exacerbate the issue.

“I got the report! Olesm, I have them and—oh.”

Maviss returned, holding a sheaf of parchment and stopped when she saw Pisces. He looked at her and she hurriedly shoved the file into Olesm’s hand before retreating behind the counter. Olesm paged through the report.

“It seems like everything I need. Miss Maviss, can I return this at a later date?”

“Absolutely! Uh—can I help you?”

Maviss stared at Pisces, tail twitching nervously. He looked at Olesm and then at her and shook his head.

“Not in the slightest, I would imagine.”

He turned. Olesm looked at Maviss.

“Thank you for the files. I have to be going.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t you like to stay for—”

The Drake hurried away and out of the guild. Olesm walked quickly, pausing to greet an adventurer he knew, and then hurried down the street. He wanted to open the report in his apartment, but realized someone was striding along in the same direction as him, practically at the same speed.

Olesm and Pisces halted in the street, staring at each other as Drakes and Gnolls walked around them. Pisces frowned at Olesm. Olesm scowled at Pisces.

“Why are you following me?”

Pisces sniffed.

“I am not. It would appear we were moving in the same direction purely by happenstance. That is known as coincidence.”

He turned. Olesm stuck his tongue out at his back and heard a giggle. He turned, and then his scales turned bright red as he saw Drassi and a few female Drakes he recognized gossiping together. They waved and Olesm waved back before covering his face with one claw.

Pisces glanced at the Drakes, and noticed one of the [Guardsman] on patrol giving Olesm a nod. The same [Guardsmen] spat as he passed by Pisces. The mage’s voice was acerbic.

“It seems you are well beloved in this city, Mister Swifttail.”

Olesm nodded. He felt a bit embarrassed, actually, given how people were treating Pisces.

“I get to know a lot of people in my job. It uh, seems like you’re not well loved here.”

The [Necromancer] shrugged.

“My reputation as a [Necromancer] precedes me. Too, there are my past crimes.”

Olesm recalled the incident with the monster terrorizing innocent villagers out of food and coin. He scowled.

“Yes. That. But I think people might still treat you better if you made an effort.”

Pisces was turning to go. He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“Why should I? Their opinions are set in stone. Besides, my isolation is a product of my achievements and who I am. Talent is lonely. I do not need friends or adulation. Success is its own reward.”

His words stung Olesm’s scales like nettles. And yet, at the same time Olesm had an instinctive sense that Pisces was lying through his teeth. He didn’t have a truth detection Skill, but the Drake still sensed it. And…talent?

Olesm though about Ilvriss praising him and the shame and mixed emotions he felt. Whereas Pisces practically shouted his own arrogance. That lit a fire under his tail. He snapped at Pisces.

“You seem to have an inflated opinion of your abilities.”

Pisces smirked.

“Accurately judging my own worth is not hubris. If others fail to comprehend my worth, that is their failing. Not mine.”

“Oh yeah? Well—well, what if you’re wrong?”

Snappy retorts were the specialty of Selys, not his. Olesm felt his scales flush and Pisces gave him a condescending look that was worse than a reply. Olesm lashed his tail against the paving stones.

“Okay then. If you’re so special, why are you lowering yourself to adventuring with others? Unless you’re not talented enough to do things by yourself?”

The mage’s eyes narrowed. He took a moment to respond, and his coolness infuriated Olesm even more.

“Pragmatism, of course. And perhaps a bit of—nostalgia. Regardless, my status as an adventurer is a career decision. The true mystery is why you aren’t an adventurer. You seem enamored with the profession, not to mention a certain individual. Why not pursue such interests?”

The words hit Olesm right in the heart this time. A critical hit. He stared at Pisces, feeling his fury rising. He spat.

I wasn’t invited. I asked, as you recall.”

“Indeed I do. Hm. If a rejection was enough to stop you, then perhaps it was wise of you not to choose to be an adventurer after all. Words may burn, but they are a paltry force compared to claws and magic. If you cannot weather rejection, combat would certainly prove your undoing.”

The arch look. The burning words. Olesm opened his mouth and lifted the report about the dead adventurers.

“At least I was brave enough to go with them the first time! Where were you? Too cowardly to join them? I know Ceria asked you—why come crawling to her later when you rejected her once?”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed dangerously. He opened his mouth and Olesm balled his claws into fists. Before he or Olesm could say anything else, both heard a voice calling Olesm’s name.

“Olesm! Olesm Swifttail! I have a delivery for you!”

The Drake turned his head. His eyes widened.

“Hawk?”

The Rabbitman was striding down the street, moving twice as fast as anyone else. As usual, Hawk appeared to be practically vibrating with energy. In the cold weather he’d left his muscular abdomen exposed and he seemed immune to the chill. Olesm wondered if he’d had any of Erin’s Corusdeer Soup.

The Courier halted in front of Olesm and opened a pouch on his belt. It must have been a belt pouch of holding, because he pulled out several objects before he came up with a very thick sealed envelope. Olesm stared at it. If Hawk was delivering it, the letter had to be sent by Courier. Or was Hawk doing City Runner deliveries?

“What’s this about, Hawk?”

The Rabbit Tribe Beastkin offered Olesm the letter.

“I’ve got a message for you, Olesm. What else? It’s a pretty lucrative delivery for me; a simple package. I got it from Invrisil—a quick run, even with the Corusdeer stampede I had to dodge. Here, just state to me on this truth stone that you are Olesm Swifttail and—”

“Wait, what? But I—I haven’t been expecting any deliveries! And this looks expensive!”

Hawk nodded.

“Sure is. I can’t tell you the specifics—Runner’s confidentiality and all that, but I think this came from First Landing. Which means it’s from another continent.”

“Another continent?

Pisces was staring intently at the letter and at Hawk. The Courier eyed him, but said nothing. He was all business as he offered Olesm the various tools Couriers used to prove their deliveries had occurred, and then nodded.

“Looks good. Here you go.”

He handed Olesm the letter. It was thick and the paper looked very costly. Olesm gingerly pulled out a dagger; he’d reuse the paper if he could, and looked at Hawk.

“You have no idea who this is from?”

“Probably someone who likes your chess newsletter thing. I hear that it gets good traction among the Drake cities. Didn’t you get a whole bunch of deliveries from the Runner’s Guild after some idiot misspelled your name wrong or something?”

“Yeah, but no one’s sent a message by Courier—

Olesm was fumbling with the plain wax seal. It wasn’t stamped, so whoever wanted to send this didn’t feel like broadcasting to the world who they were. He was thinking about his chess newsletter. Yes, it was certainly possible, but what with all the dangers of the Goblin Lord and so forth, Olesm had completely missed sending his chess games and analysis for the last two weeks. And it wasn’t like his chess newsletters had spread beyond the continent. So who—

His heart stopped as he pulled out the short message from the envelope. At the top of the creamy, soft paper flecked with bits of gold was an insignia he recognized. It was a wing, or rather, a stylized flowing wing comprised of three colors. Pink, yellow, and green, the same colors as the eyes of their leader. Olesm would have recognized the insignia anywhere as a [Tactician], and the inhaled breaths from Hawk and Pisces showed both recognized it too.

The banner of the Forgotten Wing company stared up at Olesm. It was one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros. The Forgotten Wing Company. The Iron Vanguard. Maelstrom’s Howling. And the Eyes of Baleros.

But of the four companies, this one mattered most. Because the greatest [Strategist] in the world led that company. And Olesm’s eyes travelled slowly down the page, skipping the precise, neat handwriting and finding the signature at the bottom.

Niers Astoragon.

Olesm looked up. Hawk stared at the letter. Pisces’ face was dead white. The [Mage] stared at the [Tactician]. The [Tactician] stared at the [Mage].

Hawk the Courier stared for a second longer and then whistled.

“Cool. That’s great, Olesm. Glad I decided to deliver it. Hey, do you know anything about those Goblins in Erin’s inn? I nearly kicked one when I came through the door. Hello? Guys?”

He peered at the two stunned chess lovers and shook his head.

“Never mind. I’ll go ask someone in a tavern. Let me know if you want to send a reply. It’s not listed on the contract, but I could ask. Later!”

He strode off. That broke the spell around Pisces and Olesm. They stared at each other, earlier arguments forgotten.

“Well? What does it say?”

Pisces was peering at the letter. Olesm hesitated, and then showed it to him. The two read it, and their faces turned paler. Olesm went line by line through the letter, muttering out loud in disbelief.

“To Olesm Swifttail…most impressed by your analysis…quality of the games represented…intriguing endeavor…attached puzzle I have compiled myself? Looking forwards to future publications? A SMALL TOKEN OF MY APPRECIATION!?”

He reached into the envelope and slowly lifted out a glinting brass ring. The insignia of an eye was set with a tiny diamond in the metal. Pisces stared at it. He stared at Olesm. Olesm threw up his hands. Pisces did likewise. The two screamed, and they began to dance wildly about, shouting in disbelief.

The people walking down the street halted and stared at the two as Olesm and Pisces danced about, shouting incoherently about chess and Niers and rings. They didn’t care, but it was the subject of much entertainment for everyone watching. Including the young woman and Drake standing down the street, munching on some toasted breadsticks dipped in cheese and watching everything.

 

—-

 

“What are those two idiots doing?”

Selys and Erin paused as they watched Pisces and Olesm dancing about in the street. Erin shrugged.

“Dunno. They look happy, though. It’s weird seeing them together, isn’t it?”

Selys sniffed.

“Hatchlings are the same wherever you go. Anyways, forget them Erin. You were telling me about the Goblins?”

“Oh, right!”

Erin began walking after Selys, leaving the dancing Pisces and Olesm behind. She sighed.

“It’s a problem. Not them, exactly, but pants.”

“Pants?”

“Yeah, we’re having a real pants crisis. They don’t like them. They want to wear their horrible old loincloths, but I made them get rid of them because they were nasty. Really nasty. But they’d rather walk around naked than with pants…”

“What, really? That’s disg—what do they look like?”

Selys!

“I’m just asking.”

“Mrsha lives in my inn!”

“Ooh. Okay, that’s a problem.”

“Yeah. She’s learned they’re a weak spot. And she hates the Goblins. So she keeps throwing things at them. She hit Badarrow right in the groin with a pot the other day, and you know what happens when she doesn’t like something. She bites. I want to avoid that. So if you know any good [Tailors]…”

“Let me introduce you to one right now. Don’t you worry; Aunt Selys is on the job! That’s Aunt Selys for Mrsha, obviously. Don’t call me an Aunt, Erin. It’ll make me feel old.”

“Aw. Can I call you my cousin?”

“Maybe…”

They wandered off. Pisces and Olesm kept dancing, and eventually they stopped. Olesm handed the letter to Pisces, and with a trembling claw, put on the ring.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.37 O

Argh! I’ve gone blind!”

Olesm’s first reaction upon putting on the ring was to roll about on the ground and scream. He felt like someone was stabbing his eyes out with a toothpick. Everything was spinning, confusing—blurring! He tried to focus his eyes on his claws, the sky, anything, but he didn’t see what he should have, just intense and very large blobs of color.

The agony persisted until someone grabbed Olesm roughly. He flailed at the person with his claws and felt someone grab one of his fingers. Olesm felt a hand twist the ring on his index claw and suddenly the world was back to normal. He blinked tears out of his eyes and saw Pisces standing over him.

“Wha—what happened?”

“The ring modifies your sight. Obviously.”

The [Necromancer] stepped back and Olesm sat up. A crowd of people had gathered around him. Olesm waved sheepishly at some people he knew. Pisces just sniffed. Olesm passed trembling claws in front of his face. Were they larger than they should be?

“Wow. A Ring of Sight? But when I put it on, everything was so—so—”

“The enchantment allows you to adjust the magnification effect by twisting the ring. It was not difficult to identify the nature of the spell. Which is clearly what you should have done before putting the ring on. Do you make a habit of using magical items without ascertaining their natures?”

Pisces stared pointedly at Olesm. The Drake felt the scales on his cheeks warm. He coughed and got up. Yes, the world was larger than it should be. He carefully twisted the ring on his fingers and felt everything slide back into normal focus.

“Um. Thank you, Pisces. Sorry everyone. Just an unexpected incident with a magical artifact. Heh.”

The crowd dispersed, since that really was a usual occurrence and Olesm hadn’t done anything else interesting like grow a second tail. Still very embarrassed, Olesm brushed at his clothes and looked at Pisces. He coughed, and the mage silently handed him the letter from Niers Astoragon.

“A Ring of Sight. An appropriate gift for a [Tactician] beginning his career. No doubt similar artifacts are used by most conventional strategists, hence the decision to gift one to you.”

“What? Right. Yeah, it’s good. I normally ask for magnification spells or—it’s good.”

Olesm peered at the letter again. The short missive still stunned him and he stared at the crest at the top of the letter. A letter from him. Niers Astoragon. If there was a hero among [Strategists], it was him. Everyone who respected planning, organization, smart strategy and—and anything having to do with that kind of thing respected Niers Astoragon.

He was famous for beating [Mages] and enemy [Generals] alike with his sophisticated mind games and winning battles thought impossible with clever insight rather than brute force. Of course, he was a Fraerling; brute force wasn’t an option for him.

Olesm was a huge fan of his and clearly Pisces shared the same opinion. The [Necromancer] was inspecting the envelope carefully, even sniffing it. Olesm snatched it away from the mage and turned. His heart was racing. He had only one thought in his mind.

“I have to tell Erin about this!”

She would be so excited to hear what had happened. Or—did she know who Niers Astoragon was? She’d be excited when Olesm explained him to her. He began hurrying down the street. For some reason, Pisces followed him.

“It seems this chess newsletter has reaped quite a substantial reward. Especially for so little work.”

“What? Oh, yes. It has.”

Olesm frowned at Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were fixed on the letter in his claws, and the ring. Olesm had to prevent himself from fiddling with it; he’d have to find out exactly how far he could see with it. If the blinding images were anything to go by, it could probably magnify his sight many, many times over.

It wasn’t far to the gates and the streets were mostly empty. People still didn’t want to travel outside of the city for fear of Goblins—and because of the snow—and since Erin’s inn was now infested with said Goblins, no one really had business outside. Olesm waved at the Gnoll on duty as he hurried out. And Pisces was still following him.

“So you intend to tell Erin about your success.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Are you going to her inn as well?”

“I do reside there.”

Olesm frowned as he marched through wet snow, glad he’d put his boots on today. He didn’t exactly want Pisces to come to the inn. The [Necromancer] was staring at him with what felt like disapproval.

“Look, can I help you? Not to be rude, but I’ve just had a bit of great news and I’d like to share it with Erin. Alone.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Of course. And may I add that it is an entirely deserved reward for your hard effort?”

That was clearly sarcastic. Olesm slowed his frantic steps through the snow and glared at Pisces.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The [Mage] folded his arms.

“I would imagine my statements are self-explanatory.”

Olesm stared. Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Very well, if I must explain myself—I assume you are going to the inn to tell Erin exactly how wonderful the news of Niers Astoragon’s approval is. He has gifted you with his attention, a ring, and a chess puzzle for your, ah, publication.”

“That’s right. So what?”

Olesm glanced down at the letter in his claws. He couldn’t wait to try and solve the puzzle himself. He wondered if Erin could do it so easily. It was a puzzle from the Titan! And Niers had also written that he’d love to know more about the game of Go that Olesm had mentioned in his last newsletter. If Erin could play a few games with him, maybe show Olesm a few tips—

Pisces’ voice broke through his rushing thoughts like a cold bar of iron.

“And you are sure you deserve such rewards? You, and no one else?”

The [Tactician] raised his head.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I do! I wrote the newsletter! Are you jealous?”

That had to be it. Pisces was jealous of his good fortune and the ring. Olesm covered it with one claw. But Pisces’ expression had now twisted into a sneer of contempt. He stomped through the snow and poked Olesm in the chest with one finger.

“It truly does amaze me. You have no concept of the irony of it, do you? You think Niers Astoragon cared for your newsletter? No. He cared for what you were a vehicle for—the games you so blatantly copied. He was impressed by Erin Solstice’s chess games, her expertise and abilities. Not yours. All your fleeting fame, your accolades, all stem from one person. Erin. Not you. If anyone deserves that ring and letter, it is she.”

A hole opened up under Olesm’s stomach. He felt it drop and a terrible fear engulfed him. No. It couldn’t be. He tried to protest.

“I—I did more than that! I added other games, my commentary. It wasn’t all Erin. I just used her games—”

Her first games. Olesm’s throat closed up as he remembered that he’d sent copies of her chess games with every letter. Pisces sneered.

“Ah yes, your commentary. Was it all lauding her brilliant moves, or did you copy her remarks as well? Certainly you deserve praise—for your abilities as a [Scribe]. Not as a [Tactician]. Least of all as someone with any original thought worthy of merit.”

With each sentence, Pisces poked Olesm again. The words cut deeply at Olesm, but the shame and pain twisted in his gut and turned into anger. The Drake knocked the accusatory hand away and lashed his tail in the snow.

“Shut up! I had the idea at first! Yes, I copied down Erin’s games, but she gave me permission, and who else had this idea? Shouldn’t I get credit for that?”

“Didn’t Miss Solstice herself suggest to you to expand your newsletter? I heard she was familiar with the exact same concept you thought was so original.”

Pisces crossed his arms and Olesm bit his tongue guiltily. That was right. Erin said it was like something she’d seen. Magazines, she’d called them. Monthly newsletters about chess. But he hadn’t known that!

But now Pisces was pressing the attack. The Human glared at Olesm in the snow just outside of Liscor, his eyes filled with scorn.

“You are nothing more than a copycat. If Niers Astoragon knew that the sum of all your accomplishments was nothing more than an opportunistic thief stealing from someone else’s talent, he would never have sent a letter, much less a ring—”

Shut up!

Olesm couldn’t bear it any longer. He bent into the snow, gathered a handful of wet snow, and hurled it at Pisces. The mage tried to dodge, but the snow smacked him across the face and shoulder. He brushed it away, looking outraged. Olesm glared at him.

“I don’t have to hear that from you. Yes, I took Erin’s games and showed them to people. Yes, she’s one of the reasons why people are so impressed. But I still did all this. Me! And no matter what you say, the fact is that you’re just jealous that Niers Astoragon knows my name. Whereas you’re a mage everyone hates, just a step above a graverobber!”

He bent and scooped up more snow and hurled it at Pisces. The mage stepped away, face crimson with anger, but Olesm was too incensed to care.

“I bet you wish you’d done what I did. Well, you didn’t. And now that someone famous knows me, me, you’d better believe I’ll use that and start making more newsletters as fast as I can! That’s what I’ve done! What have you accomplished? You—you spineless [Necromancer]! What have you done, other than steal from people and cause trouble? Ceria and the Horns of Hammerad are the best thing that ever happened to you! What have you got besides them?”

Olesm realized he was shouting. He didn’t know where that last bit had come from, only that it stemmed from the frustration in his chest. He threw a third wet snowball at Pisces. This time he missed completely.

The [Mage] stood in the snow, watching Olesm. The Drake was panting. Pisces’ face was white with anger. The truce that had been caused by Niers’ letter had been broken, and now their previous conversation rose into the air, making it hot and uncomfortable.

Pisces glanced over Olesm’s shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at the Drake and adjusted something on his belt. A bag of holding? Olesm glanced at it and a small bell began ringing in his mind. His [Dangersense]. But then Pisces began to speak.

“What have I accomplished? Turn and see.”

There was a rustling. A sound. Olesm whirled and something burst out of the snow behind him. He yelped and fell backwards, scrabbling for his sword as a pale yellow and white creature exploded upwards in a shower of snow. It was tall, thin, ivory bones swinging into place, a burning eye of green flame staring down at Olesm—

A scythe of bone swung down in front of the Drake’s face. Olesm froze. His eyes slowly travelled upwards. Yes, it was a scythe of bone, a curved claw sharpened to a cutting edge. But it was not a weapon. Rather, the scythe was the creature’s arm. And the long, whip-like assembly of bone led upwards to a strange, narrow body without a head. Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts.

What was he staring at? A monster. No, an abomination made of bone. The creature that stood in the snow had a thin torso but long, spider-like lower half.  Four legs reminiscent of a spider’s held the thing up, but an odd, cylindrical waist connected the upper half to the lower. It had no head, but rather, a single central socket and ‘eye’ of flaming light set in the center of the torso, which was shaped like an inverted teardrop.

The two arms with scythes on each end were long enough to trail on the ground and while the ‘hands’ were the sickles of cutting bone, the creature had wicked barbs of bone sticking out along the edges of its arms. Olesm gulped as the scythe-hand near his face slowly retracted. He watched in horror and fascination as the thing backed up a few steps, and then collapsed into a pile of bones.

“Wha—what was—”

“My worth.”

Pisces was smiling as Olesm staggered around. The Drake felt he needed to sit, so he did. Straight into the snow. Pisces smirked at that; then his head turned to the walls of Liscor. He searched the battlements, but if the [Guardsmen] on sentry duty had seen the bone thing; no one had raised the alarm.

So they hadn’t seen it. Because Olesm felt sure that anyone who’d seen Pisces’ creation would raise every alarm in existence, if they didn’t just run away screaming first. He looked at Pisces. The [Necromancer] turned back to him. Only now did Olesm recover his voice.

“What was that? What in the name of scales—”

“As I said. My worth. That is my latest creation. A Bone Horror.”

“A Bone—

Olesm’s mouth gaped open. He’d heard of such things, of course. Skeletons were only one kind of undead that could emerge in mass graves or places of death. Fortunately, such occurrences were rare and the remains were usually disposed quickly, but given enough time, fractured pieces of bone, half-destroyed corpses and so on could form horrible amalgamation undead, like Crypt Lords and Bone Horrors.

But Olesm was sure, sure that such undead were far beyond the ability of most low-level necromancers to create. Wasn’t the general rule of thumb that a [Necromancer] could only animate an undead equivalent to half of his levels? Or was it two thirds? Was it higher if he had a specific Skill? Olesm’s internal mind told him he would be reading every book on necromancy that night, but his conscious brain told him only one thing. Pisces had created a Bone Horror. It was his.

He’d made it. And for some reason, now Olesm saw Pisces as the other people in Liscor surely had. Zombies, skeletons like Toren, even Ghouls were one thing. But that? No creature on earth looked like that. Or if they did, they were as twisted as Crelers. No, Pisces had created that himself. It was a manifestation of his ideas. He’d brought that horror into existence.

“Why would you make something like that?”

Pisces was walking through the snow. He passed by Olesm, and the bones floated upwards. The Drake flinched, but they were floating into the bag of holding that Pisces carried at his side. The [Necromancer] turned his head, speaking casually.

“For combat. Why else? Naturally I cannot animate such a being for extended durations; indeed, I have not shared its existence with my teammates yet since their reactions would probably mirror yours. However, given proper time to prepare—say, before challenging a particularly dangerous monster—this Bone Horror will doubtless prove useful. What you saw was a prototype, of course.”

“A prototype.”

“Indeed. You noted the long arms? For mobile attacks. When used in conjunction with the four legs, this variant—what I term the Scythe Crawler—is very quick and able to attack its opponents from many angles a conventional creature would not. It is able to rotate freely about the waist, allowing strikes from improbable angles.”

“Improbable angles.”

“Indeed. However, this is only one variant I have come up with. Given the bones I have collected thus far—and I would like to expand that collection if I can purchase a superior bag of holding—I have ideas for a more powerful version. This one is regrettably weak against armored foes. But one with enhanced limbs and perhaps a ranged attack—”

“Ranged attack?”

“Yes, firing bones. It is possible to turn parts of the skeletal structure into a catapult, although obviously ammunition would be limited. But if combined with a recall spell, it could be useful. I haven’t worked out the exact specifications yet, but I am pleased with the results so far—”

Pisces finished bagging the last of the bones and turned. He’d been chattering excitedly, but now he stopped when he saw Olesm’s face. The slight smile that he’d been wearing vanished and was replaced by his customary look of disdain in an instant.

“Ah. Forgive me. I believe we were discussing achievements? Well, you may not acknowledge mine, but I consider it equivalent to any such letters. It is another step in my career. You may scorn it as you wish.”

Olesm felt like throwing up. Pisces turned away. The Drake stared at his back. He realized the look on his face was probably what Pisces saw all the time in the city. And yet, he couldn’t suppress the disturbed feeling in his chest. He didn’t know if he should. So instead he asked the only question he could think of.

“Is that why Selys was angry with you? Because you wanted to bring that into the city?”

“Do you take me for a fool? Of course not!”

Pisces snapped at Olesm. He looked like he regretted scaring Olesm with his creation. His eyes flicked towards the walls again. He shook his head.

“I—was talking to her about a similar, but unrelated matter. A trifle. I simply offered her to resolve the issue of giant rats within Liscor’s sewers.”

“What? Oh. We had a bounty on them, but no one wants to take it.”

“Quite. It is a disgusting job with risk of infection, not to mention disease. The rats live in the drainage pipes, growing overly large due to magical waste improperly disposed of…hunting down their nests would require crawling through pipes, a task few adventurers are willing to contemplate, however low-level they might be.”

“But you were willing to do it?”

Olesm stared at Pisces. The [Mage] looked affronted.

“I would rather die. But I offered to send one of my constructs into the sewers. A creation similar to the Bone Horror, whose task would be solely to destroy any rats below. It would be mobile, created for tight engagements, and naturally advantageous given a rat’s limited physical weapons against bone. But Miss Shivertail denied my proposal without deigning to relay it to her Guildmistress, citing city laws—”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense. We don’t let undead into the city for any reasons.”

“So she was telling the truth.”

Pisces’ face grew pinched. He gritted his teeth together, spoke sharply through them.

“Nevertheless, she could have asked. But apparently her grandmother—a fine case of nepotism in practice—distrusts necromancy. So rational thought is once away done away with and my suggestion is deemed meritless before any actual consideration. Due to prejudice.”

He glanced at Olesm and shook his head.

“Pah. I suppose it should not surprise me. Those who would decry an entire school of magic for one or two bad examples are clearly not worthy of coherent thought. Or my time.”

He turned away. Olesm sat up in the snow. He blinked at Pisces’ back. Olesm raised his voice as Pisces began to stomp back towards Liscor.

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“What?”

Pisces turned. He blinked at Olesm. Olesm wiped some snow off of his shoulder absently.

“I said I think it’s a good idea. Your sewer plan, that is.”

“You—you do?”

“Yeah. We haven’t been able to work out a good plan for clearing them for years now. We’ve tried spells—the rats just eat them or expend all the charges too fast. We try poison and they adapt. Plus, the sewers are pretty much poison as they are already, so…we try adventurers and they never get enough. We waste money on the issue and every now and then the rats swarm out of the sewers, which is a disaster.”

Olesm shuddered at the memories. He looked at Pisces.

“You have a good idea. I get why Selys turned down your proposal, though. Her grandmother would kick you tail-over-head out of the door in an instant. But I could authorize your idea myself.”

“What?”

“I am the city’s lone [Tactician]. I might not be exactly as important as Watch Captain Zevara, but I can do a lot on my own authority. Striking a deal and writing out a permit for a single undead under your supervision is within my jurisdiction.”

As he spoke, Olesm’s tail lifted towards his mouth. He gnawed on the tip for a second before realizing what he was doing and spitting it out. He coughed, feeling like a hatchling again.

“How does ten gold pieces sound to begin with? We could put a bounty of…I don’t know, one copper piece per ten rats killed? If your undead works with your mana it could kill thousands over the course of weeks. That’s hundreds of gold pieces for you.”

Pisces’ jaw dropped. He stared at the Drake [Tactician] and looked around as if he suspected a prank. He pointed at Olesm.

“But you—I could have sworn you thought—what of my latest creation?”

“That? That was disgusting.”

Olesm shuddered. Pisces’ eyes were fixed on him. The mage raised his hands angrily.

“And?”

“And what?”

His bottom was wet. Olesm returned Pisces’ gaze, breathing a bit hard.

“Not liking undead is one thing, but I’m not an idiot, Pisces. Look, that Bone Horror was—horrible. I think it’s disgusting. If you summon—animate, whatever, bring it to life again, I will throw up, hit you with my sword, and run away. Maybe not in that order. I hate undead, and that probably won’t change. But that doesn’t mean I think your ideas aren’t good. Can’t thinking, rational adults like us respect each other’s boundaries and still work together?”

For a solid minute, the Drake and Human just stared at each other in silence. Pisces was blinking, caught off-guard. Olesm was wet. He shifted and hoped that Niers’ letter hadn’t gotten soggy. But his legs didn’t want to stand just yet, so he stayed put. Pisces stared at Olesm and seemed to notice Olesm’s state at last.

“Ah. You are sitting in the snow. You appear to be quite wet.”

Olesm looked around. His tail was very cold and sitting in a rather deep and melting drift. He nodded slowly.

“So I am.”

Pisces stared. Then, slowly, he bent and offered Olesm a hand up. And after a second, Olesm took it.

 

—-

 

“I do apologize for my earlier comments. They were deliberately inflammatory and designed to offend. I believe the merit of your work is self-evident and did not merit my scorn in the slightest.”

“No, no, I have to admit that you had a good point. And I haven’t been nearly as gracious as I should be. True, I don’t like undead, but I can admire your uh, Bone Horror from a design perspective. And it’s true that your ideas really are just what the city needs. I should apologize as well.”

“Perish the thought. I would prefer to let bygones be bygones. It is rather agreeable to meet someone else with a rational mindset, not to mention a similar perspective after toiling for so long alone.”

“Indeed it is.”

A Drake and a Human walked through the snow around Liscor, talking animatedly. They were not headed in the direction of the Wandering Inn or back to Liscor. Instead, they were just…chatting.

Olesm kicked through the snow as Pisces’ robe left a trail of its own. Neither Human nor Drake noticed; they were too caught up in their conversation. After the ice had metaphorically and literally melted between them, the two had realized that they were different, but alike in many agreeable ways.

They were both young, both considered themselves thoughtful as opposed to impulsive—a choice reflected in their respective classes, and both shared a love for strategy, planning, and so on. Olesm was stunned to realize that in many respects, Pisces was like him.

For one thing, Pisces had probably the most complete understanding of Drake politics that Olesm had ever met outside of another Drake. He was up to date on the latest world events, and could discuss issues like the Germina-Reim incident and subsequent Hellios conflict without having to be reminded of the details. He had read widely about Niers Astoragon’s historical campaigns, knew several facts about Baleros that Olesm did not, and was an expert on Terandrian culture and politics.

He was incredible. And it was clear that Pisces considered Olesm a fellow peer, which was a compliment in itself from Pisces. But what the two really bonded over was their situations as young individuals trying to make their mark in the world.

“It’s all politics, Pisces. Everyone wagging their tails for one side or another, and no real focus on merit. I got my job in the city because I was the highest-level, yes, but my family had to kiss a lot of claws to get me where I was. But even though I am the city’s [Tactician], everyone in the council meetings ignores me when they feel like it because I’m young. As if seniority matters that much! I’m higher-level than at least two of the council members!”

Olesm shook his head, lashing the snow behind him angrily. Pisces nodded, lips pursing.

“It is ever the same across nations I’m afraid. In Terandria, the issue of personal power is compounded by bloodlines. Seeking friendship with the nobility is practically a requirement. As for wealth—”

“If you’re not rich, you won’t move a single tail your way. Yeah, I know. But it feels like to have wealth you need wealth, you know? I get paid a little bit from my salary, but if I wanted to command any respect I’d have to invest heavily into some profitable venture, or uncover a boatload of treasure—”

“You need not explain yourself to me, Olesm. Adventuring, like magic, is similarly gated. In Wistram, the older mages controlled the access to spellbooks with an iron grip. But if they had simply shared their largely redundant collections, everyone might profit! Instead, here we are, forced to scrabble along until we are as aged and decrepit as the fools who kept us down to begin with…”

Pisces sighed. Olesm patted him on the shoulder with a sympathetic claw. They walked onwards.

“You really did have a good thing with that Bone Horror. I mean, it’s disgusting for me, true, but I’d love to see it tearing up a Creler rather than anyone risk their lives.”

“Precisely the use undead were intended for! Please say that to Springwalker or Miss Byres. And you were impressed by the arms were you not?”

“Oh, yeah! Whip-like attacks, all those barbs—it makes sense, doesn’t it? I imagine it’s a lot stronger than those bears you rode in on the other week.”

The mage smiled slyly.

“Actually, those were the bears.”

“Get out.”

Olesm stared at him. Pisces waved a hand.

“No, no. It was just a matter of carving some of the bones, rearranging others—you see the Bone Horror is a product of my increased mastery of bones in general. In fact, the ability to create such a being directly correlates to my current level. I ah, reached Level 30 just the other day.”

“No way! You? But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Pisces smiled proudly.

“I wished to keep it a secret. Let us just say that I experienced several revelations…and for my Level 30 Skill, I obtained a greater mastery of bone shaping. However, I might add that the ability to create Draugr would have been another common Skill at that level.”

“Draugr? That would be impressive. Those are like super-undead, right? I remember hearing about how a hundred of those could smash through most formations—”

“True. But I consider Bone Horrors superior.”

“What? No. Why? A Draugr—”

“Think about it, Olesm. True, a Draugr is impressive, but it requires a body, nay, relies on the strength of a deceased for full potency. In addition, it is harder to store such corpses, whereas a Bone Horror…”

“…Can be reanimated at will! And kept in a bag of holding! Of course!”

Olesm snapped at his forehead. Pisces nodded, smiling happily.

“In addition, I believe I can make such creations far stronger than typical examples. Consider my variant—it is far better structured than the default amalgamation the spell produces. Indeed, my ability to specialize such undead will allow infinite forms for any contingency. Plus, if I create a few custom undead rather than mass-animate them, they will be far superior. That is my belief.”

“Really? You hear about [Necromancers] raising undead in big armies all the time. Isn’t that more mana-efficient?”

“It is. But that is hardly conducive to secrecy or positive relations with other groups, is it? Moreover, the inefficiency of mass-produced undead…”

Pisces shook his head, looking troubled. He grumbled to himself under his breath.

“It is strange that legends fail to see why vast armies of largely similar creations are flawed. Whereas if the designs for undead were altered en masse and used as the template for future spells, the potential of a zombie or skeleton would be far greater. How can someone not see that? Experimentation is the key to growth, not—”

He broke off and eyed Olesm for a moment before laughing lightly and shaking his head.

“Forgive me. It seems I am the only [Necromancer] who believes in the total assurance of quality over quantity.”

“That’s too bad. Or rather, good, I guess. If other [Necromancers] were like you, we’d be in a lot more trouble when they appear.”

Olesm grinned at Pisces. The [Mage] looked surprised, as he always did when Olesm paid him a compliment, and then laughed.

“True.”

They walked a bit more through the snow when Olesm cleared his throat. He’d had a thought while walking with Pisces. Their conversation was excellent of course, but it occurred to him that the [Mage] could allow him to check up on his theory at the same time.

“Do you mind if we head this way while we walk?”

Pisces glanced in the indicated direction, away from Liscor and up a snowy hill. His eyes flicked to Olesm’s face for a moment, but he only nodded.

“Not at all.”

He’d already figured out where they were going based on direction alone. True, it was an easy conclusion if you thought about it, but Olesm still admired the way Pisces had come to it so flawlessly. He coughed, and brought up another subject on his mind.

“Er, Pisces. I know you and the Horns of Hammerad have been doing a lot of missions together.”

“We have enjoyed some success, yes. Although right now we are simply keeping busy rather than aiming at one goal. Our tasks are by and large simplistic.”

Pisces waved a hand. Olesm nodded. He cleared his throat again, feeling extremely embarrassed.

“Right. So you spend a lot of time with Ceria. And you’re old friends from Wistram.”

“Old friends. I suppose you could say that, yes.”

“Uh huh. So she talks to you I bet. Does she…does she ever mention me at all?”

The Drake halted in the snow. Pisces turned his head, looking amused and trying to cover that amusement at the same time.

“You wonder if Ceria harbors feelings for you still?”

“No, no, I was just curious if she felt—yes.”

Olesm hung his head, tail drooping. The sympathetic look in Pisces’ eye told him all he needed to know. Pisces hesitated before cautiously patting Olesm on the back with one tentative hand.

“I regret to say she does not mention her feelings to me in that regard. In other regards, yes. But in this…she may still be receptive.”

“No. No. I just wondered if—I mean, we weren’t a couple long. We didn’t actually do much couple-like things, actually. We just uh—but I thought—”

Olesm’s cheeks were flushing. He blinked at suddenly painful eyes. Pisces averted his gaze and cleared his throat tactfully. After a long pause, he spoke.

“I do not believe the fault was yours, if there was any fault to assign for the demise of any, ah, relationship between you two, Olesm. Springwalker—I mean, Ceria is a half-Elf. They do not value long-term relationships with other species, by and large.”

“I know that. But I thought she and I had something.”

“Perhaps you did.”

There was a sympathetic look in Pisces eyes as he shook his head.

“Ceria is used to mobility, travel. She is an adventurer and a half-Elf. She is used to persecution for simply existing in Terandria, and I do not believe she is looking for a long-term partner. Speaking as one who has also had a relationship with Ceria, I think she seeks temporary solace, not love.”

“Someone who—what? You and Ceria were—you two?”

Olesm’s head snapped up. Pisces blinked, and then he looked the other way.

“I ah, misspoke. We were only together for—”

“You two used to be together? When? In Wistram? Wait, is that why she hates you now?”

“Ahem. It is long past, and it would be inaccurate to call our connection anything more than a brief passing of ships.”

Pisces shook his head, but Olesm refused to let it go. The Drake walked in front of Pisces.

“Come on. Tell me. How close were you two? Why’d you break up?”

The [Necromancer] halted in his tracks and looked away. He bit his lip, and then replied.

“I don’t believe we were ever together, Olesm. Not truly. There was a time, once—but it never came to be. I misspoke earlier. Please do not repeat that to Ceria. I think she would take it amiss if she learned what I said.”

Olesm hesitated. He knew he should drop it, but he couldn’t.

“Why’d it never come to be, though?”

Again, the Human hesitated. When he looked back, it was with concealed pain in his eyes. He really wasn’t that good a liar if you looked past the sneer he was always wearing like a mask.

“She learned the truth. Who I am. Before I could explain. That was all.”

The memory of the Bone Horror resurfaced in Olesm’s mind. He stopped, and his tail drooped.

“Sorry. I’m uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Pisces shrugged, covering up his emotions with indifference. He glanced past Olesm.

“It is no matter. The memory only troubles me at times. And it appears we have appeared at another memory. Tell me, why are we here?”

Olesm turned. He hadn’t noticed it, but they had come up on a large, excavated hillside. He cautiously ascended a few more steps and found himself staring into a dark, stone doorway looming amid the half-excavated stonework. This was not the dungeon’s entrance. No. This was the crypt.

They had thought it was the dungeon at first. Olesm remembered Klbkch delivering the report to Zevara and all the speculation it had caused. He remembered the expeditions of adventurers going in, and then the fated one that had included the Horns of Hammerad. And then the night when Skinner had overrun the gates with an army of undead—

The night he had been down there. In the darkness, fighting for his life, hiding from the undead with Ceria in the coffins. Olesm shuddered. He felt terribly afraid of the crypt. Pisces stared at the dark opening, and then at the Drake.

“It was clear you intended to come here. The reason is what I cannot fathom.”

“It’s a…hunch. Look, I’m realizing this might be a bad idea more and more, but you’re a powerful [Necromancer]; I feel like I’d be safe with you if we went inside, right?”

“To do what, exactly?”

Olesm patted at his pockets.

“Follow up on a hunch. Remember the report I asked for at the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I noticed some discrepancies in another file a while back. I never had time to check it out—and I wasn’t confident enough to ask Zevara for an escort before now. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it. Unless you think it might be dangerous?”

Pisces eyed the dark opening, and then shrugged. He reached for his bag of holding and poured the bones onto the ground. Olesm shuddered as the Bone Horror rose upwards. It scuttled into the large opening and Pisces motioned towards it.

“My creation should attract any monsters inside, and we will be forewarned in case of most threats. Moreover, I believe the crypts were cleared recently, so I don’t anticipate any true danger. Unless you do?”

“Not danger.”

“Then let us enter.”

Slowly, the two walked into the darkness. Pisces conjured a ball of light and Olesm shuddered as he looked around the crypts. Yes, it was just like he remembered. The excavated rooms, still full of dirt and tracks, the haunting echoes, the temple decorations…

Pisces walked next to Olesm, looking around, frowning ahead, monitoring his creation’s progress probably. Olesm remembered that Pisces had also come here, to rescue Ceria and Olesm both a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes on the thought and nearly tripped.

“Careful.”

The Human caught him. Olesm shook his head.

“Sorry. I’m just—memories, you know?”

“Yes.”

Pisces’ eyes were sympathetic. He looked around.

“Now would you enlighten me?”

“Yeah. Let me just collect my thoughts for a moment.”

The two walked onwards, through narrow corridors, towards the tunnel sloping downwards to the second level. Olesm felt his scales tingling, but told himself there was no danger. If there were undead, Pisces would have sensed them. This place was nothing more than a grave now. It had always been a grave, but now the occupants were silent.

“So like I said, I noticed something when looking through one of the old reports. It’s my job to file a lot of paperwork and I remembered this one. So I was looking…you know that all of the adventurer’s possessions were confiscated by the city afterwards, right?”

“Yes. I do recall. Everything but what Ceria, Yvlon, and the few survivors carried were taken. A group of guardsmen cleared this place of the last of the undead. What of it?”

“Well, we did an inventory. Naturally. Weapons we didn’t need were sold and we repurposed the magical artifacts, potions, and so on. We also did a tally of the dead. A…rough count since so many were—were attacked by Skinner. Identification was impossible, but we knew they were Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and so on from the bones, right?”

“Yes. Was there something wrong with your count?”

“Just one.”

Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as they descended the ramp leading downwards. He remembered. A group of running zombies had come up the corridor. And beyond that, the ambush—Pisces gripped his arm and Olesm caught himself.

“What was I…? Yeah, I found one discrepancy, but I had to make sure. This report is from the Adventurer’s Guild. I didn’t really need it; I already had the one the Watch filed. But I had to make sure both were the same. And they were.”

“And who was missing?”

Pisces’ gaze turned to Olesm’s. The [Necromancer] walked through the darkness, his face illuminated by the soft yellow light of his spell, calm, waiting. Olesm looked at him.

“You already know.”

After a second, the mage nodded.

“There is only one individual whose remains would stand out enough to warrant positive identification, regardless of loss of skin.”

The two came to the intersection. Olesm felt his heart pounding in his chest. Pisces looked left and right. He spoke one word.

“Calruz.”

“Yes. The guardsmen never found his remains. Not his bones, nor his axe. And they should have found something, even if he was torn apart. His body wasn’t listed among the undead that attacked Liscor—not that he could have been reanimated that fast. And there’s no way he would have escaped and not gone to Liscor, so I thought—”

Olesm trailed off. It was stupid, now he said it out loud. He looked down the corridors. He remembered hearing the screaming in the distance, hearing the others wonder aloud where the other Silver-rank teams were. The sound of something dragging itself closer.

But there was nothing here now. He tried to reassure himself. Pisces stared around.

“You think he’s still down here. But it has been months. He would not have survived.”

“Right. Obviously.”

Olesm bit his lip. Pisces glanced at him.

“So you want to find his remains? You believe his corpse was overlooked?”

“Yeah. Maybe in a crevice or some secret door. It’s—look, I know it’s silly, but he fought with us, with me. I might be dead if he hadn’t charged Skinner. If I can find his body—”

“I understand. But it is a vast space. Do you really think we can find where he fell?”

The Drake hesitated.

“We can try.”

 

—-

 

It was dark. The light of Pisces’ magic was the only source of illumination in the darkness, casting long shadows and making everything seem just as frightening as it was. Olesm was glad for the light, though. Without it he might have panicked. The memories here were too strong.

At least he could see well. Maybe it was his ring, but the corridors seemed as bright as day. Pisces and Olesm walked down hallways, peering into rooms and trying to comb the place systematically. They were watchful for undead of course, although Pisces insisted he didn’t sense anything. His Bone Horror kept prowling down corridors around them; it had scared the life out of Olesm twice now.

“I think we’re nearly done with this area. There’s only the treasure room where Skinner emerged from, and it was looted by something.”

“Indeed. Shall we pass through it just to be certain?”

“Yeah.”

The huge stone doors still stood wide open. Olesm breathed in at the sight; he could recall the two Silver-rank teams agreeing to stand watch while the Horns of Hammerad searched the rest of the crypt. They’d known something might be lurking behind the door. They just didn’t know that Skinner could open the door himself.

The room was emptied of all goods just like before. Olesm frowned around it; Pisces picked up a stone amulet and tossed it down in disgust.

“I take it the city still does not know who made off with the treasures inside?”

“No. And I’m not sure if there were any.”

“Come now. The guardian of the crypts must have guarded something of worth.”

“Yeah. But in that case, where is it?”

Pisces could only shrug. Olesm looked around helplessly and frowned.

“Nothing. Let’s go. We only have to check out that last room and we’re done.”

“What room?”

“That one, of course. You walked right past it.”

The Drake walked back out of the treasure room. Pisces followed, frowning. Olesm pointed to the doorway ahead of him, just opposite the double doors. Pisces stared at the doorway, and then at Olesm.

“I don’t see anything.”

“What? Don’t yank my tail. It’s right h—”

Olesm stepped forwards towards the doorway. Someone yanked him back. He stumbled and turned to Pisces angrily.

“Hey! What’s the big id—”

“Illusion.”

The [Mage]’s face was suddenly concentrated. He nodded at Olesm’s ring as one hand fell back to the rapier at his side. Olesm froze, and then realized what he meant.

“You think the Ring of Sight that Niers Astoragon gave me—?”

“What better gift for a [Tactician] than a true view of the battlefield? I see only a wall. And I cannot detect any illusion here. Not that I am gifted in such things, you understand, but it means this illusion is a good one.”

“It just looks like an open doorway to me.”

“Hm.”

Carefully, Pisces approached the open doorway, and slid his hand across what looked like empty air to Olesm. The Drake held his breath.

“It’s solid? I mean, it feels solid even when you push?”

“Yes. A powerful illusion. Here, grab my hand.”

Pisces reached out and Olesm gingerly took his hand. The Drake walked forwards and Pisces walked behind him through the doorway. Pisces shuddered as he passed through the stone opening.

“You okay?”

“I felt as though I was walking through stone. No, I am not. But the sensation is done with. Now,  what do we have here?”

The stone doorway led a few feet ahead into a small, circular room with a strange, hexagonal symbol drawn onto the floor. It was a small room; large enough to fit a few people inside perhaps. Olesm stepped forwards curiously and Pisces grabbed him again.

Gah! Stop doing that!”

“Stop stepping into uncertain situations, then. You don’t know what that pattern on the floor does.”

“Neither do you.”

“True, but I do not intend to touch it myself. Observe. This is appropriate caution.”

Pisces reached for his belt and fumbled with a pouch. Olesm nearly jumped out his scales as the mage lifted out a tiny Shield Spider. The [Necromancer] casually flicked it towards the opening and the spider began crawling into the alcove.

“What the—do you just carry Shield Spiders around?”

“It’s undead. Obviously.”

The [Necromancer] flicked his fingers and the spider scurried towards the hexagonal space on the floor. Olesm was about to point out that carrying around undead Shield Spiders didn’t make more sense than living ones when the spider crossed onto the hexagonal floor and the ground vanished.

“Whoa!”

Olesm recoiled as the Shield Spider dropped out of view. Pisces held up a hand and Olesm heard the faintest of sounds from the opening.

“It seems there is a rather long drop below. Fortunately, my Shield Spider was not harmed by the fall. It appears to have dropped into a large room. Full of bones.”

“Really? What else is down there?”

“Give me a second. I will look through the eyes of my creation.”

Pisces broke off and Olesm shifted from foot to foot as he eyed the opening. He was just opening his mouth when the hexagonal hole suddenly filled again, and the floor was stone once more. Pisces smirked and gestured to the floor with one hand.

“See there? If we were incautious adventurers foolish enough to explore the opening, we would have fallen into the trap and been caught down there ourselves. What a simplistic trick.”

“Right. That would have been really stupid.”

Pisces chuckled and Olesm laughed along weakly. He’d been about to suggest they investigate the opening in person. Pisces tapped at his lips as he studied the room below through his undead construct’s eyes.

“Yes, there are many bones around me, Olesm. Many, many bones. However, you may be interested to know that all of these bones are, apparently, organized and have been so for a long time.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that the owners of said remains died years, possibly centuries before any adventurers came here.”

Olesm’s breath caught in his chest. He had a thought.

“And there are no Minotaur skulls in the room?”

“None.”

“You’re sure? How big is the room? I mean—”

Pisces turned a reproving eye towards Olesm.

“I know what Minotaur bones look like. There are none similar to it, although there are quite a number of unusual bones. Very odd. They appear similar to a Gnoll’s in structure, but thicker. The skulls have a smaller cranial capacity and the jaws are enlarged…”

“Raskghar. They have to be.”

“What?”

Olesm quickly explained about the Gnoll’s primitive subterranean cousins. Pisces nodded.

“Ah. That would explain much. Yes, the majority of the bones in the room do appear to be these…Raskghar. One moment. I am coming to a conclusion.”

“Are you? I’ve got one too.”

“Hm. Enlighten me, then.”

“This was probably meant to be a disposal place of some kind. I doubt it was meant as transportation; otherwise there would be a way back up. And why would it be hidden? I bet the undead were supposed to dump their victims down there.”

“I concur. And?”

“…That’s all I’ve got. You’re the one who can see down there.”

“True. Ah, I suppose it is time for my analysis.”

Pisces cleared his throat and stood straighter, adopting a lecturing tone that still irked Olesm a bit. But the Drake listened, mainly because he didn’t have any other choice.

“It looks like this was indeed meant to be used as a disposal chute—perhaps for invaders or the ah, remains after Skinner had disposed of his foes. Yes, it would be an ideal spot for such parts to reanimate. However, this room has been repurposed. It appears to be a burial chamber now.”

“How do you—”

Pisces raised three fingers as he spoke, frowning at Olesm as he spoke over the Drake.

“I base my conclusions on three pieces of evidence. First, the bones within are systematically piled up with the skull at the apex of each pile, clearly denoting some sort of ritualistic and continual disposal process. Second, the bones have been separated from the body and I can spot evidence that some tool was used to scrape the bones clean of flesh. Thirdly, none of the skeletons have been damaged by scavengers which implies the room is regularly swept and maintained. Except in a few notable cases…”

He paused for a second and coughed. Olesm silently offered him a water flask and Pisces took a drink before continuing.

“There is a disturbance where my Shield Spider landed, which threw me off at first. However, it appears that this was an anomaly. The nearest pile to the opening has been knocked into pieces. The bones are scattered, as if from a large impact overhead. They have disturbed a few other piles, but there are several overturned piles, as if something large ran into them. The path leads straight to the sole exit in the room. Your thoughts?”

Olesm’s mind raced. He spoke slowly.

“It seems obvious.  Something—or rather, someone found this opening and walked into the trap. They landed on the pile and ran towards the door.”

Pisces nodded approvingly. His gaze unfocused again.

“And here, at the door—”

He drew in his breath sharply. Olesm stared at him.

“What?”

“A skeleton. Another Raskghar. However, this one was not ritually buried. The corpse is mostly decomposed and in one piece. And there is a weapon buried in its chest. A battleaxe. The haft is broken off.”

A battleaxe. Olesm’s tail lashed the ground. He started for the hole and Pisces grabbed him.

“Don’t be a fool! If you go down there we might not be able to return!”

“But a battleaxe—”

“I know. But allow my spider to proceed. There is but one exit. Next is a long corridor. There are several uneven tiles and—”

Pisces broke off with a cry. He winced as Olesm stared at him and shook his head.

“A trap. I could not identify it through the spider’s eyes. Whatever it was destroyed my creation. Thoroughly.”

“Do you have another spider? Or can you send something else? Can you animate the bones below?”

“I do not carry multiple spiders around as a rule. And the stone is preventing me from reaching the bones below. I do not sense them with my magic. Clearly we are not meant to know this passage exists.”

“But someone found it. Someone found it and fell. And they fought a Raskghar, killed it, but lost their battleaxe. And only one adventurer in our group carried one…”

Olesm stared at the hole. He turned to Pisces.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

The [Necromancer] shrugged. He was looking around warily, Olesm noticed, and as the Drake turned, he saw the Bone Horror had returned.

“It is possible. More than likely, perhaps. What of it? The Minotaur might have survived all of this, but he was wounded as he fled, was he not?”

“He lost his arm. The undead swarmed him. But—”

“Do you think he could have survived the rest of the dungeon in his condition?”

“I don’t know, but if he’s alive, we have to search for him!”

Olesm flared up. Pisces grabbed Olesm and slapped him across the face. The Drake gaped at him. Pisces was breathing faster.

“Get ahold of yourself! Think rationally, you fool. We have to leave this place now. I assumed we were safe because this area had been cleared. But if there are passageways below, into the actual dungeon—

There might be more monsters who’d climbed up. Or other things. Watching them. Olesm’s blood ran cold. He nodded silently and he and Pisces made a rapid retreat back towards the top floor. Only when they were outside of the crypt and in the cold daylight did they feel safe enough to talk again.

“I can’t believe it. There was a passageway down there all along. And Calruz—”

“It is too early to assume he was the one who fell down there. I agree the evidence fits, but to assume his survival is going beyond the limits of speculation—”

“And why not? You know how people survive in those kinds of situations! They level under pressure! Haven’t you heard of adventurers surviving after being swallowed by monsters? Or—or going into dungeons and coming out months later and gaining ten, sometimes twenty levels!”

Olesm grabbed Pisces by the robes. The mage shrugged him off, looking troubled.

“Such cases do exist, I admit. But what would you do? Mount a rescue expedition? Into an area that is clearly inhabited by monsters and trapped? By who? The city would never agree, and the only other group with a vested interest in Calruz’s life is—”

“Yours.”

The Horns of Hammerad. Olesm stared at Pisces. The mage didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know what Ceria would do if she thought Calruz was alive. Yvlon, too.”

“I am well aware. But that would most likely be suicide.”

“Even so! If you could convince another group to help you, the Halfseekers for instance—”

“I think they have had enough of volunteering themselves for others, especially after what happened at Miss Solstice’s inn. Don’t you?”

The Human and Drake stood together in the snow, staring at each other. Olesm’s tail drooped. He couldn’t argue with that. He turned to look back towards the crypt’s opening.

“But if he is alive…”

“If. There is too much to risk for an uncertainty. Too much to lose for an outcome that most likely does not exist.”

That too was true. And yet, Olesm couldn’t push the thought out of his head. He stared challengingly at Pisces.

“If there’s even a chance, Ceria should know about it. She deserves to know.”

“Does she? Or would it bring her needless worry and heartbreak?”

Another fair point. The Drake didn’t know. He felt strongly, but Pisces was speaking sense as well. He didn’t know what to do. Olesm stared at Pisces.

“Do you really think it would be best to keep it secret? Really? Just not tell anyone, like that?”

At last, the mage hesitated. He looked at Olesm, and then turned away. When he spoke, it was slowly, haltingly.

“Sometimes…sometimes it is best to keep secrets, painful though it may be. Because the truth, however liberating, can be too much to bear. Freedom demands a terrible price, Olesm.”

The truth of that was reflected in Pisces’ stance, the pain in his face and voice. Olesm looked at him, and nodded slowly.

“You may be right.”

Pisces turned back to him. Olesm hesitated. He withdrew the file he’d received from the Adventurer’s Guild and then slowly handed it to Pisces. The mage blinked at it. Olesm took a breath.

“You know Ceria better than I do. You know the secret. If you think it’s worth telling her, telling the others, do it. If not…you can give that back to Maviss.”

Pisces stared at him. Olesm looked into his eyes and slowly nodded.

“It’s your choice. You know Ceria best.”

Then he turned and slowly began walking back to Liscor.

 

—-

 

Some things were predictable. True, chance and the natural intermingling of cause and effect created a world in which unforeseen variables could lead to completely different outcomes, but it was still possible to predict what would happen to a relative degree of certainty. For instance, people were easy. Simple, even.

True, it was impossible to know each individual’s darkest secrets or the entire history that had culminated in the person who walked about today, but that didn’t matter. People were, in Pisces’ opinion, largely unimportant. He could predict the way the vast majority reacted to a given set of stimuli. They were predictable. Sadly predictable.

He had seen it all the same, replayed ten thousand, a hundred thousand times across as many lives. People were the same. It was only their environment, culture, events, and species which acted as variables upon their templates. The masses were not sheep; rather, they were dough from which the same kinds of bread arose, occasionally different, but all alike in origin and purpose.

Only a few individuals stood out from the crowds, a few people who could not be predicted, who were worthy of note. Niers Astoragon was one of them. Erin Solstice another. And Olesm…Pisces had found someone else worthy of respect, of attention, today.

Because he had not predicted this. The [Mage] slowly walked back towards Erin’s inn, paging through the file in his hand. It had been written by Drakes, in their species’ script rather than the universal written language adopted across the world. No doubt another one of their security measures. But Pisces had taught himself their written language and so he could read it.

It said exactly what Olesm had told him. The possessions of adventurers recovered, a rough count of bodies separated by species, and nothing remotely resembling a Minotaur’s corpse.

“It could be possible. But alive?”

That was not likely, Pisces knew. He had met Calruz briefly, and he had assessed the Minotaur as stubborn, arrogant, overly inclined towards violence and obsessed with the idea of honor—typical of his species, in short. The odds of someone like that surviving any amount of time in a dungeon designed to eat such individuals was remote.

And yet, if he didn’t tell Springwalker, then what? Pisces wandered into the Wandering Inn and realized it was occupied.

Sparsely occupied, but nevertheless inhabited by bodies. The Goblins were nowhere to be seen so they were probably in the basement. Instead, the two remaining adventuring groups were in the common room of the inn, right where Pisces had left them.

Ah, yes. He’d foreseen this as well. It appeared his teammates were still recovering from their expedition to the cave of roaches. Why they hadn’t been ready to run when the wall of insects had swarmed them was beyond Pisces. He cautiously stepped into the room and heard Yvlon’s voice. She was croaking; she’d thrown up numerous times after and during their mission.

“And then—and then they just came at us. All at once. They were in my armor, my hair, my mouth—I swallowed some of them.”

“Oh my god.”

Erin Solstice was there, holding Yvlon’s hand, motioning Lyonette and Drassi over. They had buckets of hot water and soap. And blankets. Yvlon huddled in hers. Across the table, Ceria was sitting with Seborn, staring into her mug and shuddering. Jelaqua and Moore were wincing as she continued the story.

“I thought we had them. I really did. I learned a poison spell just for this. You know, from my book. Poisoned snow, I thought it would kill them. But it just made them agitated. And then the big ones came out—”

Yvlon made a sound, and beside her, a large insect uncurled himself. Ksmvr raised his head, scratching at the bites on his carapace with one of his three arms.

“I thought I was predator. Am I prey? Why did they attempt to eat me? Have I fallen so far down as to be food for food?”

“Aw, no, no, Ksmvr! Those are just dumb bugs. Come on, cheer up. I’ve got nice, hot food for you all as soon as Yvlon stops throwing up. And we’ll get you into fresh clothes, take you into Liscor for baths—just let Aunt Erin and Cousin Selys take care of you all.”

Cousin Selys? Pisces rolled his eyes as he saw everyone fussing around the rest of his team. Honestly. They were bugs. True, Pisces had [Flashstepped] out of the cave before they got him, but still.

No one was paying attention to him. Pisces settled down at a table to think. He sighed. To tell or not to tell? He could predict what Ceria would do. At least…what she’d probably do. She surprised him, sometimes. But in this?

What was the correct decision? Well, Pisces knew what he’d do. And yet, would Olesm honor his word? That seemed unlikely. The Drake was too impulsive. And part of Pisces also…

No. No, it was foolish. Pisces scrubbed at his hair, dislodging some insect shells and dandruff. Something hiding under the table snatched one of the wings that floated down with a paw. Pisces jumped, and saw Mrsha stuff a large beetle wing into her mouth and spit it out quickly.

“Hello?”

He stared. The young Gnoll stared up at him. Pisces hadn’t interacted with Mrsha much, although she was good at cleaning unwanted food from his plate and distracting others. He gestured towards the group sitting in the middle of the room.

“I believe you will find more entertainment with Miss Solstice. Over there.”

Mrsha turned her head towards Erin. The [Innkeeper] did indeed have plates of hot food she was trying to tempt Yvlon and the others with. But for once, the Gnoll didn’t bite figuratively or literally. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Erin and her ears flattened. Pisces frowned.

“Odd.”

Why was Mrsha upset with Erin—ah, the Goblins. Of course. The Gnoll prowled around Pisces and he felt a hand searching at his belt and pockets. He slapped it away. But Mrsha had learned long ago that respecting personal boundaries was not a winning move and so she kept bothering him.

“Shoo.”

He flicked his fingers and a bit of water sprayed her. Mrsha wrinkled her nose and jabbed a claw into Pisces’ leg. He muffled a shout and clapped at his leg. She danced away.

Now would telling Erin to drag Mrsha away help or not? No, she’d probably yell at her and ineffectually deal with Mrsha. Or Lyonette would. The best solution was bribery. Pisces rummaged around at his belt and pulled something out. Yes, this would do.

“Here.”

He handed her his wand. He’d forgotten to use it during the battle with the roaches. Again. Habit and years of practice had made Pisces accustomed to casting with his hands. And of course, it was a feasible option in combat despite the ridicule it attracted from other mages—Ceria herself had proven that a mage’s hands were a decent catalyst for low-level spells.

If Pisces used the simple spells he’d mastered in conjunction with his rapier, he could act as a strong combatant while his creations fought. However, if it were possible to expand his quick spellcasting with the wand to allow him to use Tier 3 or Tier 4 spells while fighting with his rapier—

Mrsha was curiously inspecting the wand. She knew what it was of course; she wasn’t an idiot, just mute. She banged it experimentally on the table, waved it in the air, and poked Pisces with it. He didn’t care; the wand was too sturdy to break easily, no matter what she did.

And then Mrsha raised the wand to point towards her. She stuck the tip in her mouth and began to chew on it. That was unpredicted. And concerning. Pisces grabbed for the wand. Mrsha leapt backwards and pulled it out of her mouth.

She blinked at him. Pisces blinked back. He lunged, and she sped away, dashing upstairs with her new toy in hand. He cursed as he rose to follow her; she couldn’t do magic with it, but he wasn’t about to donate a valuable magic item to Mrsha’s toy fund. And if she lost it, what then?

“Pisces! Stop bullying Mrsha! And what’s this about you running away while everyone else got bugged?”

On cue, Erin noticed Pisces and began to harangue him. He groaned internally. He opened his mouth, and turned to make some excuse, or point out Mrsha’s theft.

He froze when he saw Ceria. The half-Elf had gotten up from her table, and was looking at him. Just looking. But it was without reproach, without anger. Ceria nodded at Pisces.

“You okay, Pisces? You had a few bad bites yourself. Do you need a healing potion?”

That was unexpected. Pisces stumbled over his words.

“I ah—I believe I am fine, Springwalker. Ceria. I don’t believe wasting a healing potion on my injuries is warranted at this moment.”

She nodded.

“Good. Selys tells us you were at the Adventurer’s Guild. Your idea. Why didn’t you mention it to us? It’s not a bad one, although I can see why it wouldn’t work with the Drakes. But if we took the contract, we could let you use your creation while we pretended to work. Why not?”

It’s not a bad idea. Pisces stared at her. It was an echo of what Olesm had said. He hadn’t predicted that. And he hadn’t predicted this. He opened his mouth, coughed.

“I uh, believe that is not necessary. I spoke with Olesm earlier this morning. He has agreed to let me work on his authority. The pay is quite acceptable.”

“Oh? Good for you.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows. Selys groaned.

“What? That idiot. I bet I’ll have to be the one to account for everything! Do you know how hard it is to count rat tails? And how disgusting that is?”

Pisces ignored her grousing. Selys would be the best one. And the most probable one. None of the other [Receptionists] would give him the time of day, but she at least was impartial, if rude. But his eyes were on Ceria.

The secret. Pisces had been so sure when he was arguing with Olesm earlier. But now, all his objections melted away, as they always did. He stared at Ceria and felt the urge to tell her.

“Pisces? You okay? You’re looking a bit sick. You’re not going to start throwing up like Yvlon now, are you?”

She smiled at him. Pisces wavered. Countless secrets pressed against his lips, begging to be spoken. So many things that mattered, that might change everything and nothing. For a moment he felt them all pressing at his mind, begging to be said. A thousand secrets. A thousand untold truths.

I ran away from home.

My father still thinks of me as nothing but a disappointment.

I am working on a new undead creation.

My [Fencer] class doesn’t exist; I never wanted to level, so I never did.

Sometimes I wake up at night and miss what could have been between us.

I apprenticed myself to an ancient monster. For knowledge and power.

I know Erin and Ryoka are from a different world. And I know there are more like them.

I ate your extra helping of lasagna yesterday and let you think it was Ksmvr.

I reached Level 30 yesterday.

I’m sorry.

And more. The word crowded Pisces’ mind. So many lies and terrible truths. Too many. And he had learned his lesson, so Pieces chose the easiest one to speak. He opened his mouth and let it out. One less burden, one less wall between his heart and the world. He looked at Ceria and sighed as he spoke.

“Calruz is alive.”

Everyone stared at him. Pisces hesitated. He raised one finger.

“Probably. Possibly. I might have jumped to conclusions based on partial evidence.”

He looked around the room, and then shrugged. He waited five seconds, and the shouting started.

As predicted.

 

—-

 

Olesm made his way back to his small office in the building that was technically the city hall of Liscor, but was more often used as a place for fancy parties and gatherings. Only recently had it been used for meetings of Liscor’s council. They normally didn’t need to meet.

But Olesm had his place here, and he was present almost every day in the small cubicle he’d been allotted by the city. He liked it, actually. He had access to the city’s records, a place to snooze if he was tired, or just practice chess. The place was seldom occupied. It was his private abode.

But he also had work to do here. Olesm groaned as he rubbed at his back and settled in his comfy chair. His head hurt from this morning’s drinking, his bladder was full from Krshia’s tea, and he was sweaty and wet at the same time from his little adventure with Pisces. He stank of crypt dust and fear.

But all of that was nothing compared to the secret in his heart. Calruz was alive. Or might be. The Horns of Hammerad might not have all ended with Ceria. And who knows? If he had survived, had other adventurers? Had more found their way into that secret passage? He’d have to double-check the numbers of deceased adventurers with the remains recovered, but of course, some had fled the crypts and others had been eaten. A full count would be tricky.

The Drake muttered to himself as he looked around his organized desk for the right files. He noticed a few more papers in the little basket he’d put out for people to put things in. More work. Olesm glumly paged through a few reports.

“Information request—approved. Latest sighting of Goblin Lord and assessment? Approved, of course. Why did they send this here?”

He irritably pulled out his enchanted quill and scribbled on the pages, adding a wax seal of approval. One of his jobs as [Tactician] was to look over anything that might reveal confidential or important Drake secrets to other races or other cities. That meant he had to authorize a lot of trivial stuff.

Yes, that was his job. Olesm absentmindedly pulled over a report and scanned it. How many Silver-rank teams in Liscor? Probably the Humans wanting to know how many teams they’d lost. Approved. He drizzled wax and stamped it with his seal impatiently.

Now this, this reminded him of what he really was. Unimportant. Olesm sighed. After his glorious letter from Niers—which had gotten wet—and all the things Ilvriss had said, it was important to ground himself in reality. He wasn’t a big deal. He had potential of course; Olesm knew his worth, but he was also aware of his lack of influence, personal power both in levels and possessions, and youth. He wasn’t a prodigy. He was barely smart.

Another report. This one about goats? Oh, the Eater Goats. Yes, approved. Celum had a right to know about monster attacks and migrations. Olesm glumly reached for the second-to-last paper.

Now, Pisces, he was talented. He’d already reached Level 30! True, Olesm was close to that himself, but Pisces was creating horrific, amazing Bone Horrors and he was an adventurer who was most definitely Gold-rank at this point. That was success. But what would Olesm be? After he hit Level 30, he’d still be stuck here. Doing nothing.

Another request. This one was from an individual. A Gold-rank team. Fancy that. Ylawes Byres, seeking confirmation that Yvlon Byres lived in the city? Obviously that was unconfidential. A brother seeking a sister. Or a father? Olesm shrugged and scribbled a note informing the adventurer that Yvlon was in Liscor and Celum thanks to the magic door and noted her membership in the Horns of Hammerad.

Yes, he was a small-time paper pusher, but at least he could take the time to help out in small ways like that. Olesm stamped the wax, feeling a bit better. He reached for the last bit of paper, scanned it, stamped it, and leaned back in his chair.

Would Pisces tell Ceria? Olesm bet he would. Pisces was a good person, for all he acted like he wasn’t. And he liked Ceria. They had been a couple.

Olesm paused as he stared at the ceiling. He put a claw over his face as his lips trembled. Ceria. He turned in his chair and closed his eyes bitterly. Sleep. That was all he needed. He was a worthless worm, but at least he could sleep. And then he’d have to go to Ilvriss and smile and—

The unhappy thoughts milling about in Olesm’s head slowly receded. His breathing grew slower and his body relaxed. He drifted off—

 

[Tactician Level 28!]

[Skill – Rallying Presence Obtained!]

 

Olesm’s eyes opened wide. The Drake shot out of his chair and punched at the ceiling. He shouted.

Alright! Yes, yes, yes!

He danced around in his small office, laughing happily until a thought struck him. Olesm paused, and then drooped.

“Aw. This means Wall Lord Ilvriss is going to make me drink again.”

He sighed, and headed for the door. Maybe this time he could get them to fill his mug with wine. Olesm liked wine.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.38 B

Happiness was a simple thing. It was a strong bed, comfortable food, and hot drink. Or was it a comfortable bed, hot food and a strong drink? Sometimes Zel forgot. He’d slept out in the open, through blizzards with not much more than a sleeping bag, or right behind the front lines as a battle continued into the night too many times to count. He was used to deprivation.

So why was he so grumpy waking up in the morning these days? He had a soft bed with silk sheets of all things, rooms heated with magic runes and a breakfast that had been prepared by a [Chef]. But he didn’t like it. Zel had grown used to waking up to the smell of pancakes cooking, walking downstairs and eating his food while a small white Gnoll peered at him over the table and stole scraps from his plate.

That was happiness. This? This was just a place where he lived at the moment. And yet, Zel knew it was his fault. He couldn’t handle being under the same roof as the Goblins. Was he too old to change? Or perhaps he had taken the easy excuse. Living once again in Peslas’ inn made it all too easy to leave.

Still, he’d miss this city. Zel sighed as he strode towards the city hall for another interminable meeting with Liscor’s Council. Like any good soldier, he was there right when he was supposed to be—early, in fact. The other Drakes lacked military discipline. All except for one.

Ilvriss was reclining in one of the padded chairs he’d insisted be brought in, covering his eyes and rubbing at his forehead. He winced as Zel closed the door with a soft click.

“Shivertail, don’t think so loudly.”

“You’ve been drinking again.”

Zel looked disapprovingly at the Lord of the Wall. Ilvriss only shook his head.

“Incorrect. I hadn’t stopped since we last spoke.”

“That was yesterday.”

“What is your point, precisely?”

The other Drake opened one bloodshot eye. Zel shook his head.

“You have to stop this. I understand your grief, but giving into it isn’t—”

“When I ask for your advice, Shivertail, I will ask.

Ilvriss turned his head away and closed his eyes. The conversation ended abruptly. Zel sighed to himself, but the [General] didn’t try to continue speaking. What was the point? The Lord of the Wall had reached the end of his quest. He’d found who’d killed his lieutenant, Periss. Ryoka Griffin had told him.

Az’kerash. The [Necromancer]. The thought that he’d survived made Zel clench his fists together. He was a danger. Now he saw more fully the grand plan that had led him to meet Ryoka in the forest, and coincided with her being the target of undead assassins—for that was what they had surely been—in Liscor. Normally, the news would have Ilvriss alert and making plans to defend his beloved Walled City as well. But—

Zel looked over at Ilvriss. The Drake was slumped over in his chair, cradling his head. Gone was the disciplined, arrogant front the Wall Lord had worn at all times. The truth of Periss’ death might have been necessary, but it had snuffed the burning fire in Ilvriss’ heart and left only mourning. He had drunk himself into despondency.

“You truly did love her, it seems.”

The other Drake looked up slowly, not looking at Zel.

“Love her? I would have married her if she didn’t think it was beneath my station.”

That surprised Zel. He would have expected any other confession to come out of Ilvriss’ mouth. He waited as Ilvriss went on, speaking slowly in the silent room.

“I couldn’t believe she’d died. I thought that Runner girl had to have been an [Assassin], one of my enemies plotting against me. I could have believed that she had been killed to hurt me, to hurt my city. But as an accident? She just followed that Human and died because—because I ordered it? Over a petty incident?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Empty words. Zel grimaced as he said them. Ilvriss’ glance told him that everyone had said the same thing. The [General] tapped a claw on the table.

“What I mean to say is that her death matters, Ilvriss. We know who the enemy is.”

“Yes. The Necromancer. Holed up in a castle in the middle of nowhere, forming an undead army. Sending his…servants out to eliminate his enemies under disguises.”

Slowly, reassuringly, Ilvriss’ brows came together. He shook his head and winced.

“Pieces, Shivertail. It feels as though I can see part of the spider’s web around me. I’d heard of freak deaths, the disappearance of a good friend—assassinations. All that is usual in our world, but now I think of every one and wonder…”

Zel nodded. Was it Az’kerash, weakening the Drakes? How long had his spies been moving? Looking at the history of Regrika Blackpaw, it truly did seem like she’d sprung out of nowhere a few years back. Everyone had a story of her past exploits, but send a [Message] spell to ask for the source of it and there was no record of her ever being born to the Blackpaw tribe, or of her growing up. He’d already begun to look into her travels and noticed the pattern of deaths or ‘accidents’ following her around.

“We have to spread the word. Carefully. Miss Ryoka Griffin’s life, and the lives of other innocents are at risk if we do not keep the secret. Not to mention we might force the enemy into acting before we are ready.”

“Do not tell me my business, Shivertail. I will reach out to my allies. I have done. Subtly. But also do not presume to lecture me now. I am grieving.”

“Through the bottom of a mug?”

“If I must!”

The two Drakes glared at each other as Ilvriss half-rose out of his chair. The door opened. Olesm walked in, precisely on time, juggling a sheaf of papers.

“I’m sorry, am I late? I was just receiving the latest reports from the Mage’s Guild and the [Scribe] was delayed—”

“Not at all. In fact, no one else has turned up.”

Zel nodded to Ilvriss as Olesm hurried to a seat opposite the two Drakes. Olesm bobbed his head awkwardly to the two of them, looking intimidated at being alone with two famous Drakes. Zel knew better than to try and strike up small chat; instead he leaned over towards Ilvriss and hissed at him under his breath.

“At least keep him out of your drinking sessions. Some of these young Drakes work hard for the future of the city and don’t need you stepping on their tails and holding them back.”

“I care about the next generation, Shivertail. Don’t lecture me—and besides, we were celebrating young Swifttail. He reached Level 28 yesterday!”

“So soon? That’s impressive.”

“I have a mind to recommend his name when I return to Salazsar. He’s wasted here, and if he joins that army of sellswords he’ll languish there as well.”

Zel grimaced at Ilvriss’ jab at Liscor’s army. He had been a close friend and student of General Sserys, former [General] of Liscor and leader of the famed mercenary army. He couldn’t deny that the army had suffered in the decades since then, but it felt disrespectful to his mentor’s memory to agree.

Changing the subject, he glanced at Olesm. The papers he was spreading out could only mean one thing.

“There’s news from Esthelm at last, Olesm?”

Olesm jumped and nearly dropped the papers he was spreading around.

“Yes sir! It came in just as I was checking this morning. I brought it here right away and sent Street Runners to gather the Council. I hope I wasn’t being presumptuous?”

Ilvriss smiled at Olesm and waved a languid claw.

“Not at all. I’m sure that General Shivertail appreciates your forwards thinking and quick action, as do I. But tell us, what is the news? I don’t feel like waiting for the rest of the Council to drag themselves out of their beds.”

He and Zel exchanged a grimace. The Council in Liscor was made up of various Guild heads and what passed for politicians in the city, but given Liscor’s relative isolation, they were hardly a premier group of leaders. Liscor generally trusted to its natural geographical defenses and strong walls as well as its powerful army to deter threats, and hadn’t suffered a real crisis since the last Antinium War. Olesm nodded and glanced towards the windows.

“Zevara, that is to say, the Watch Captain seems to be delayed. I think she got a report and is relaying it to Klbkch, that is to say, the representative of the Hive—”

He coughed, glancing anxiously towards Zel and Ilvriss. Zel suppressed any reaction and nodded mildly.

“I understand. If you don’t mind repeating the message, you can give us the short version now.”

“Certainly. To summarize, we finally received a message from Esthelm…a day and a half since the Goblin Lord was predicted to have passed by its walls. It seems that delay was unavoidable—every tail has been needed to tend to the wounded.”

The two Drakes exchanged a glance. Zel frowned.

“Dire news. But the fact that there are wounded seems to indicate they survived the Goblin Lord’s passing.”

“Yes sir. I have the full report here, but to summarize, the Goblin Lord assailed their walls with a portion of his force as his army marched by, was repulsed, and left Esthelm alone.”

“Intriguing. I wouldn’t have thought he’d leave any city standing, much less one as poorly defended as Esthelm.”

Ilvriss frowned as he accepted a parchment detailing the battle. Zel frowned at it, but nodded slowly.

“No, it falls with what Olesm predicted, Ilvriss. Esthelm’s citizens were ready to fight—nearly all of them have combat classes now, and the Antinium repaired their walls. Add that to the fact that there’s really not much for the Goblin Lord to take a second time, and it’s a fairly unappetizing target.”

Olesm nodded and coughed again.

“It uh, seems that way, General Shivertail. However, Esthelm had to prove that it wasn’t going to be taken so easily. They had to fight off several waves of Goblins and make them pay for each foothold they established before the attacking force dispersed. The casualties…”

“A quarter dead and over half the population wounded in some way. I see.”

Zel closed his eyes, imagining the carnage. The Humans had held their city, kept it, but at a terrible price. He pushed the parchment back and looked at Ilvriss. The Drake was grimacing, rubbing at his temples.

“It seems we’ll have a quick meeting. There’s not much we can do but wait for reinforcements from Liscor’s army and the second suppression force to arrive. And that will take a week at least.”

“You’ll have to repeat that six ways before the Council’s reassured, sir.”

“I know.”

Zel grimaced and Ilvriss growled some very insulting words about ‘spineless slug-like lizards’ under his breath. Meetings with Liscor’s Council were never easy. But then Zel smiled as he thought of his news.

“Well, perhaps the meeting will be long, but I will leave it to you and Ilvriss to sort it out. And I must apologize in advance, because the Council probably will take a great deal of reassuring.”

“And why’s that? If you’re intending to leave, Shivertail—”

“I’m afraid that’s just it, Ilvriss. I received a letter earlier this day through Celum.”

“What?”

Ilvriss broke off in snapping angrily at Zel. The [General] stood up, and smiled. He controlled the trembling in his claws and tail as he looked casually at Olesm, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Please explain it to the Council like this, Olesm. I’m leaving. I have a meeting with someone further north. I’ll be traveling to Celum, and then, hopefully, further north even than that. I’m aware of the dangers of the Goblin Lords and the Humans, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

What?

Both Drakes shot to their feet. Well, Ilvriss. Olesm had already been standing. The Wall Lord stared at Zel in disbelief.

“If you go north, half of those damn Humans will interpret it as an act of war! A Drake [General] hasn’t gone past Liscor since—”

“The last Antinium War. I know.”

Zel looked around the room calmly. He glanced towards the door and saw it open. Watch Captain Zevara strode in, looking breathless. She saluted as she saw Zel Shivertail.

“General Shivertail, I apologize for my delay. Is—is the rest of the Council not here yet?”

She looked incredulous and disgusted.

“I’ll send guardsmen to rouse them at once. My apologies—”

“Thank you, Watch Captain Zevara. But please, you might want to wait a moment. I was just telling the others that I was leaving the city.”

“Leaving the—”

Zel Shivertail smiled and straightened. The other Drakes were staring at him, and his heart was pounding wildly. But now he’d said it. It was too late to turn his tail and make another choice. He looked around the room.

“I’m going. Don’t worry Ilvriss; I’m still concerned with the Goblin Lord’s threat and—other matters. But I’m going to tackle it my way. I’m going north. To meet with someone.”

The room was silent. Ilvriss stared at Zel, and his eyes slowly narrowed.

“Who?”

The Drake [General] grinned at the Lord of the Wall as if he were two decades younger. Zel turned and strode out of the room without replying. The room was silent for two thundering heartbeats after he’d closed the door, and then all three Drakes charged after him. But it was too late. Zel was already running for the gates.

 

—-

 

In Liscor, a Drake [General] ran towards an inn and reappeared in a Human city nearly a hundred miles north in moments. That was a small miracle of transportation. However, once in Celum, Zel Shivertail’s ability to travel would be severely reduced. No other city had magical doors from a bygone era lying about, and if he wanted to travel with magic, Zel would find his options severely limited.

If you wanted to move fast, you had a few very improbable choices available to you. It was, in theory, possible to teleport people hundreds or thousands of miles, but only a few very high-level mages could do that. In fact, the most common use of teleportation was sending hand-sized parcels from one continent to another. That was the limit of most mages’ abilities. If you wanted to teleport a person from Chandrar to Terandria for example, you’d need a group of skilled [Mages]. Or an Archmage.

And if you didn’t have access to that many mages, there were only limited and ancient scrolls or magical artifacts that could help you. Scrolls of long distance teleportation were rarer than moon diamonds however, and not to be used lightly. A powerful kingdom might horde such artifacts for the most important of circumstances for generations.

So if there wasn’t magic, how else could one travel? By horseback? Wagon? By air? It was true that there were species that could fly, like the Garuda in Chandrar, but such travel was dangerous and highly impractical for other species. As for horses—yes, a [Rider] with high levels could travel at speed and a [Caravaner] might possess Skills that allowed him to travel at faster speeds, but the stark truth of it was that the size of Izril and indeed, the world, meant that travelling across a continent took weeks or months.

To move faster was an impossibility for almost everyone. Even famous [Mages] and celebrities would travel by carriage, where levels and magical wheels would allow them to reach up to a hundred miles per day. That was the limit of this world. No one could move faster. No one. Why, you’d need a Pegasus to go faster, and they were all extinct! You’d have to ride a Dragon’s back, or cast the [Fly] spell. Or ride a magical carriage.

Far to the north of Celum, hundreds of miles north in fact, a bright pink carriage shot down a small road meant for foot travel. The carriage was large, grandly ornamented with gold and careful woodwork embellished by some long-dead master carpenter, and now, casually painted over with eye-searing pink. Four misty, semi-translucent horses pulled the carriage, running faster than any living horse in existence.

The carriage barreled down the dirt path, weaving to follow the curving road, almost soundless thanks to the magic enchanting it. And there was a lot of magic on the carriage. Without it, the vehicle would never have survived the speed of the journey, or managed to turn as nimbly as it did in response to the driver’s movements.

A young man wheeling a handcart was heading down the road in the opposite direction, pushing a few sacks of produce or something else ahead of him and not looking where he was going. Why should he? Aside from monsters, bandits, or the uncertain nature of causality, he was perfectly safe. After all, there was no such thing as cars in this world.

The magical carriage drifted around a bend in the dirt road, shooting out behind a line of trees, a blur of pink death. The young man had only a moment to look up and see it coming at him, faster than thought. He put up his hands and screamed his last words—

Seconds after the carriage had shot past him, moving off the road for a split-second and continuing its mad course across the countryside. The young man stood where he was, frozen in fear. He would later abandon his cart and suffer reoccurring nightmares and maintain a distinct aversion for all things pink for year afterwards. But he was only one obstacle in the road, one skillfully avoided by the magical carriage’s driver.

And it was notable that this famed carriage, belonging to none other than Magnolia Reinhart, did not routinely run over pedestrians. In fact, it was known for only being decorated with the blood of bandits or monsters. Aside from the heart-stopping fright it generated, people who had seen it travelling reasoned it was safe. After all, who would be so foolish as to enchant a coach to move that fast and not give it the ability to avoid collisions?

 

—-

 

“Blood on my grave, that was close.”

Reynold muttered to himself as he turned the coach down the road, shooting past a quiet village. The world blurred around him, and the freezing wind blew hard at him as he sat in the driver’s seat of Magonlia’s pink carriage. Only the magical enchantments kept him from shivering in his butler’s uniform.

“Reynold? We’ve slowed. Is everything alright?”

A voice came from the carriage behind him, and the sliding panel connecting him with the interior slid open a fraction. Reynold coughed and raised his voice to be heard.

“My apologies Lady Reinhart. We’re passing by a village and I must navigate us over a river.”

“Ah, bridges. How tiring. Thank you, I completely understand.”

The panel slid shut. Reynold didn’t have to look behind him to know that it had been Ressa who’d both opened the panel and closed it. The silent [Head Maid] who accompanied her mistress everywhere was quiet as a falling leaf when she wanted to be. In fact, she could be right behind him and Reynold wouldn’t notice. It had happened before.

Part of Reynold wanted to turn his head, but he didn’t dare look away as he guided the coach over a small footbridge that left bare inches on either side for the wheels—all at a speed a bit faster than Ryoka could run. The horses and indeed, wheels of the carriage turned precisely as he adjusted the reins in his hand—moving as much from his mental orders as his physical motions.

Reynold cleared the bridge, scanned the road quickly, and accelerated to a velocity that would have left the average unladen Swallow, European or otherwise, far behind in the dust. The world blurred into a tunnel once again and Reynold could only trust to his Skills and his reflexes to spot obstacles in the road ahead.

“Reynold?”

The panel slid open as Reynold guided the carriage out of the forest and upwards towards a hill. He cursed as he spotted rocky terrain ahead and whispered a word.

“[Flying Wheels]—yes, Lady Reinhart?”

“I have some delightful chocolates here, and Ressa tells me I’m not allowed to eat them all in one sitting. Would you like one?”

The carriage’s wheels rose off the ground and shot over the rocks in front of them, climbing effortlessly as Reynold tried to find the best incline that wouldn’t send them crashing into the hillside. His knuckles were white on the reins as he sent the coach upwards at dizzying speeds, but his voice was level and only a bit high-pitched as he replied.

“You are most kind Lady Reinhart, but I ah, am quite satisfied at the moment. Thank you.”

“A pity. Ressa will have to eat them I suppose, or my other guests. Oh, we are travelling upwards, aren’t we? Reynold, make us fly, won’t you? I do enjoy that.”

“Yes, Lady Reinhart.”

Reynold nearly screamed. Instead of decelerating as he crested the top of the hill, he willed the carriage to go faster. The pink coach shot over the top of the hill and flew through the air for several heart-stopping seconds. Reynold heard a delighted laugh from the carriage behind him as he spoke a hurried word, activating another enchantment.

“[Featherfall]. [Featherfall!]”

Slowly, he saw the world approaching below him. Reynold jerked the reins and the coach smoothly turned left, avoiding a rock and a lake and returning to ground smoothly and finding the road again. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then spoke another word.

“[Grounded Wheels].”

There was a slight rumble and increased traction as the wheels met solid earth again. Now they were on a straightaway headed through some flat, lovely, open plains. Reynold could have cried in relief. He turned, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw Ressa, standing next to him. The [Maid] had climbed out of the carriage’s door and to the front without him hearing a thing.

“Reynold.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa?”

Reynold’s eyes jerked ahead of him as Ressa’s low voice spoke in his ears. The [Maid] eyed the road ahead and nodded to the magical horses pulling them ever faster.

“Don’t use the [Flying Wheels] enchantment if Lady Magnolia asks again. It wastes magical energy and we don’t have time to spend recharging the mana stones more than necessary.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa.”

“Spoilsport!”

An indignant voice called from within. Reynold breathed a sigh of relief as Ressa turned and pulled herself back into the carriage. He heard them talking for a second.

“We’re close to our destination. It looks like thirty minutes more.”

“Excellent. I’m tired of sitting and I could use a chance to stretch my legs before the next trip. Also, I’d like lunch.”

“It should be ready by the time we arrive. Without tea, this time. You don’t need to have that much sugar and we don’t have time to stop and let you pee every fifteen minutes.”

That was a poor batch of tea, Ressa. Honestly, it happened once.”

“And it won’t happen again.”

The panel slid shut and Reynold breathed a sigh of relief. He guided the carriage onwards, spraying mud and snow as he travelled across the countryside. Not the roads—even in winter, colliding with an errant traveler was too likely. He kept his head scanning the horizon for threats, points of interest, and to make sure he was going the right way.

This was his job. He was a [Butler], one of the many servants in the Reinhart employ. But he was also one of Lady Magnolia’s personal aides, which meant that he had…other…competencies. One of them was driving this carriage.

No one else could do it at this speed, which is why Reynold had driven north to escort Lady Magnolia wherever she needed to go. Also, Reynold was a long-time servant to Lady Magnolia and Ressa had personally approved his ability to be discrete in all situations. That was a very important quality to have, Reynold knew. Lady Magnolia’s bathroom habits were the least of the secrets he sometimes heard.

The carriage eventually drew close to a large city, and Reynold was relieved to finally slow to something less than death-speed. However, he didn’t have the luxury of driving into the city and being forced to obey the speed of local traffic—no, Magnolia Reinhart was far too busy for that.

She had an estate on the outskirts of this city. She had estates everywhere, but this one was rather small and not meant as a place for her to stay in. Rather, a delegation of [Maids] and other servants was already waiting for the carriage as Reynold stopped it in the middle of the frozen road outside the villa.

“Are we here? Good!”

The door opened and Magnolia hopped out before Ressa or Reynold could open the door or lower the half-step. Magnolia stretched and Reynold carefully dismounted as well, surreptitiously stretching his tense lower back as Ressa emerged.

“Food, fuel. Reynold will handle it. Now, are Lady Bethal and the Chevalier Thomast here? I trust they are being entertained.”

Frightened servants parted like a wave before her, and both women strode into the villa. Reynold sagged for a moment, and then waved at one of the [Maids] hurrying towards him at the head of a small procession. He knew her; his job meant he was acquainted with most of Magnolia’s staff.

“Janica, greetings. Tell me that’s hot bacon I keep smelling? I’m half frozen and I could use a bite to eat. And I think the mana stones on the coach need replacing.”

“You can have it on the road! Not now, you glutton! You need to show me and the others how to replace the stones—I can’t remember how and you’re the only expert.”

The [Maid], Janica, slapped Reynold’s hands away from the basket she was holding. The other servants nodded to Reynold deferentially—he outranked them all as one of Magnolia’s special [Butlers]. The [Manservants], [Porters], and generic [Servants] descended on the coach. Reynold sighed as he walked around to the back of the carriage and pulled out a large key. He unlatched a hidden compartment on the back and turned to Janica. She was an older woman with grey hair, but she peered keenly inside the inner workings of the carriage as if she were a girl seeing her first artifact.

“It always amazes me to see how it works! You say an Archmage invented this?”

“Apparently. It’s all runes and spellcraft to me, but here’s where the mana stones go. Hold on, are these all certified to have the maximum charge?”

The large, hand-sized gems presented to Reynold on a soft pillow were some of the most expensive objects in the world. He tiredly grabbed them and popped the ones in the carriage out of their sockets with an experienced hand. The [Porter] with the pillow trembled as Reynold placed two of the nearly spent mana stones on the pillow. One was a ruby, the other one a perfectly cut emerald.

The process that turned perfect gemstones into vessels for magic made them expensive enough that Gold-rank Adventurers could only afford the smallest of them. The ones that Magnolia Reinhart used for her carriage were beyond the pay grade of most Named Adventurers.

“Have them replenished at the Mage’s Guild. Don’t worry; they know how to do it, although I suspect it will take them a week or more. And these ones will last half a day if I keep travelling. Janica, take pity on me. I’d rather not eat and drive at the same time if I can help it.”

The elderly [Maid] was supervising the loading of the carriage. Reynold could see [Maids] cleaning out any trace of dust or crumbs carefully as platters and neatly-wrapped baskets were placed in the storage compartments above and below where passengers could sit. He coughed.

“Put the written reports under the table. Just there. There’s a compartment. It slides out—hold on, I’ll do it.”

He clambered into the carriage and showed the others where to load some of the supplies. While it was true that Magnolia’s personal carriage ran on mana stones, Reynold personally thought that it ran on two other things as well: food and information.

“You think she’ll have a chance to read all of this while she speaks with her guests?”

Janica frowned as she straightened a pile of papers before placing it inside the hidden drawer under the table in the center of the carriage. Reynold nodded.

“I believe Ressa will pull it out in the first fifteen minutes. You do know that Lady Reinhart eats and catches up with all her informants from here, don’t you?”

“I do…but it’s hardly what one expects of her. I mean, she could spend an hour or two in the villa—”

Reynold shook his head.

“She’d never waste time that way. We can be a hundred miles from here in an hour. Now, about the food?”

The [Maid] sighed.

“Oh, you. Here. Bacon-wrapped pork loin. Careful with the wrapping—you don’t want to get grease on your suit.”

The [Butler] could have cried as she presented him with a piping-hot delicacy. He did indeed take exquisite care to eat it while gripping the wrapping paper tightly, and to Janica’s disapproval, he scarfed it down in minutes.

“Honestly! Do you know how long our [Cook] worked on that, especially when it was requested specially by Lady Reinhart? You should consider yourself privileged that she’s thinking of you, ordering such greasy fare—”

“As I recall, she wanted it for herself Janica. Is that fresh bread I see? And is there a chance of a drink?”

“What do you think? Here, I’ve hot spiced wine—”

“No wine.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked taken aback. Reynold smiled at her apologetically.

“I can’t drink while driving.”

“What, not a drop?”

“It makes me slower to react. I’ll have hot milk if you have any. Hot water, otherwise.”

“I’d be a poor [Maid] indeed to let you go off with hot water! You there! Hot milk for Mister Reynold, and be quick about it! I want the coach buffed and polished by the time the [Ladies] return.”

Reynold grimaced.

“Don’t bother with that. The first puddle we go through, it won’t matter. And you don’t have time for anything more than the milk I think; Lady Reinhart will be here in minutes, never mind her guest.”

“What? Don’t be silly—”

Just as Reynold had predicted, he barely got a hot flask filled with goat’s milk before Lady Magnolia was striding out of the villa, followed by Lady Bethal and the elegant Chevalier Thomast at her side. Forewarned by Reynold, the other servants were standing at attention and the carriage was ready to go. The [Butler] was already in the driver’s seat.

“Ah, thank you Reynold. Lady Bethal, I’m sure you’ve met my driver before?”

“I have! Reynold, is it? Good day to you, sir. I trust Magnolia isn’t keeping you too busy, what with how she’s been travelling across the continent?”

Lady Bethal was all smiles and delicacy—when she wasn’t thorns and fury. Reynold bobbed his head to her politely, recalling the stories of her famous Rose Knights. Thomast nodded to Reynold but remained silent as ever.

“It’s my privilege to serve Lady Reinhart and you, Lady Bethal. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Oh, but he is well trained, isn’t he? I could just steal him away to be one of my personal attendants, Magnolia! Perhaps I will!”

Magnolia’s lips quirked up in a smile as Bethal let Thomast help her up into the carriage.

“He is. Well-trained, that is. I’d take it amiss if you stole him, Bethal. He’s one of the few servants I can rely on, the only one who can get me where I want to go fast enough.”

“You say that about all of your servants, Magnolia. But I want a [Butler] who can keep up with me! You seem to have monopolized all the best ones.”

“All the ones with interesting talents, at least. My advice is to train them to be [Butlers], not train [Butlers] to be interesting. Now, let us be off. Reynold, I need you to drop Bethal off by the village of Neunham. You know, the one that was raided by Goblins yesterday? If you need a map, I think we have one. Ressa, where are the maps?”

“There is no need Lady Reinhart. I know the way. We will be there in about two hours by my rough estimation.”

“Excellent.”

The door slammed shut. Janica barely had time to bow with the other servants before Reynold accelerated the coach out of the villa’s gates and into the snowy plains again. He sipped from his canteen, feeling the warmth in his cold body. With one hand, Reynold put down the canteen and fished around in the wrapped basket next to him. He felt something warm and pulled it up, sniffing at it.

“Hot rolls? With butter? You are a lifesaver, Janica.”

He ate, carefully guiding the coach onwards. It was cold outside, and the food kept him feeling alive. Inside, he could hear the muted buzz of conversation. Ironically, for all the enchantments, there wasn’t a spell of silence within the coach, so Reynold could pick out bits of conversation.

“…had my Rose Knights head out two days ago, and I sent them a [Message] spell to gather at that village. Of course, I hardly want to camp out longer than necessary, so I was relieved you were picking me up.”

That was Lady Bethal. Reynold listened with half an ear as he drove westward and south. One of the things that made him a capable driver was his knowledge of the continent. He could plot a route to Neunham in his head. He heard Lady Magnolia laugh lightly and reply, sounding slightly muffled.

“It is the least I can do, Bethal. Especially since you’re doing me a favor and sorting out that problem. But you don’t have to go with your knights in person.”

“Nonsense! If I’m not there, how will I know if they’ve done their jobs? Besides, it is a mission of gallantry and I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see my Thomast fight for anything.”

“As you wish. I have to attend to business, but I will send a carriage to pick you up whenever you are done. Please do stay in touch via [Message] spell, won’t you?”

“Very well. But isn’t that large army you’ve gathered north of here? I’d have thought you would have stayed north to lead them towards the Goblin Lord.”

“I hardly feel the need to lead an army myself. That’s what officers are for. The soldiers are heading this way on their own. I’ll meet them when they arrive, and I have business in Invrisil…”

“Oh? What about?”

“Hmm. I had a report from one of my servants that troubles me. Ressa, do pull out the reports. Anything from Sacra?”

Sacra? Reynold frowned. He knew Sacra—she was one of Magnolia’s special servants, like him. Only her specialty was undercover work. She’d trailed Ryoka back in Invrisil and he hadn’t seen her in the mansion after that, so he’d assumed she was carrying out one of Lady Reinhart’s requests. She was very good both in combat and in disguising herself; she’d been furious that Ryoka had managed to identify her so easily.

“Nothing else, Lady Reinhart. Although there is a report about the ah, adventuring group you’re patronizing and Esthelm—”

Esthelm? Dead gods Ressa, forget the children. Tell me, is the city standing?”

“Barely. It seems the Goblin Lord was repulsed a day and a half ago, but casualties are high…”

“Send gold and more help through Celum if possible, and add that to my list of things to discuss with Liscor’s Council. I will have to do that today—ah, how infuriating. At least there is the door. Bethal, have you heard about this? Some adventurers found a magical door of all things, and you’ll never guess what it does. It teleports people, so they somehow managed to create a link between Celum and Liscor—”

“My word! And the Drakes allowed it?”

“I don’t believe they had a choice. It’s in an inn, you see, just outside of the city—”

“Miss Erin.”

Reynold mumbled to himself around another mouthful of bread. He nearly choked and washed the food down with milk. He drove on, half-listening as the voices talked on of plans. But in time, he stopped listening. There were some things he preferred not to know as a butler, and the rushing world around him was peaceful. Reynold sat as the wind howled silently outside of the carriage, feeling the cold around him, hovering on that delightful edge where warmth and cold made him appreciate every layer he had on.

He felt alive.

 

—-

 

An hour and a half later, Reynold slowed and Lady Bethal and Thomast left the carriage in front of a village that had clearly seen fighting. Reynold knew combat, and he could see a story in the way the gates had been smashed open. But there was even more of a story in the dead bodies hanging from the roofs of houses. The villagers had managed to cut some down, but a few bodies remained and the ropes showed how many had been there.

“Troubling. I hope Bethal can sort it out.”

Magnolia murmured to herself as she stared into the village with angry eyes. Ressa looked at her.

“You doubt she can?”

“I think she might grow bored if she can’t find the attackers within the next few days. If she does, they die. If not, we add this group to the list of targets. Reynold, take us away. To Invrisil.”

The [Butler] had been staring at the carnage and remembering the past. He broke out of his trance and grabbed the reins.

“At once, Lady Magnolia.”

 

—-

 

Invrisil was a hop and a skip away from Neunham in terms of distance, but the journey was extremely taxing given how many people filled the roads even in the winter, even with Goblins about. Reynold had to slow the coach and work hard on avoiding hitting anything. His driver’s job was mentally and physically exhausting, and so he was very, very grateful when he sped into the grounds of Lady Magnolia’s mansion.

“We’re back!”

Magnolia was all smiles as she walked up the stairs to her estate. There was no welcoming line of bowing servants as was customary in the main Reinhart estate; Magnolia and Ressa were of the opinion that it wasted time for everyone involved, and was particularly unkind in the cold weather.

Reynold parked the carriage in the stables, rubbing his hands together as the cold caught up with him. He hurried through the back entrance and found one of the stable boys waiting.

“I think the mana stones need replacing, Jefry. They’re fairly new, but if Lady Reinhart has me driving about, I don’t want to have to rely on the spares or hope that we pass by one of her estates.”

“I’m on it.”

The young boy slipped into the cold without fear of the chill, something which the older Reynold envied. He hurried further into the mansion, greeting maids, and heading towards the kitchens. He dearly wanted something hot to drink and something to snack on while he sat and rested. He was exhausted from driving; it took a high toll on his nerves.

He never got there. One of the [Maids] he knew well—a Gnoll named Bekia, was just whispering to him that Sacra had come galloping back towards the mansion with important news she dared not send by [Message] spell a week ago when he heard Magnolia’s voice echoing from her personal sitting room.

“There’s a what living on my continent!?”

Every servant in the halls winced and some ducked. Reynold and Bekia hovered closer to the door Magnolia was shouting from behind. They heard her voice and Sacra’s muffled reply.

“In a small village? Riverfarm? Where is that? How long ago—what’s this about Lady Rie? Why didn’t anyone mention—this morning? How long ago?”

The door burst open. Reynold saw Lady Magnolia striding towards him, Sacra meekly following behind and Ressa following back after both of them. Magnolia snapped at Reynold as he was bowing.

“To Lady Rie Valerund’s estate, Reynold. Quickly!”

Another trip. Reynold groaned inside, but raced out into the stables to get Jefry to prepare the carriage. In minutes he was driving out into the cold again. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to sit down.

 

—-

 

“Here we are, Lady Magnolia.”

Reynold was cold and sore from sitting for so long, and very tired despite it being only just past midmorning. But he’d been driving since before dawn, so that was excusable. Magnolia burst out of her carriage and took one look around the destroyed town and then turned towards the mansion at the top of the hill.

“Damaged, but intact. I assume Lady Rie is alive. She had better be, or I will hold every adventurer here accountable.”

There was a large group of Silver and Gold-rank adventurers present, many still on horseback. They had prevented Reynold from getting any closer to the mansion, but as they turned and saw Lady Magnolia, they parted like the sea as she strode through the town.

Reynold followed, after finding a place to park the carriage. Sacra hopped down from the front. At least he’d had company on the drive here, and she’d caught him up with the incredible story of her undercover mission to find out exactly who the stranger that Ryoka had met with was. Reynold could hardly believe it. An [Emperor]? Here?

“You’re sure he’s not some [Lord] or a—an [Earl] or something, right Sacra?”

She glared at him. The woman who called herself Odveig and pretended to be a simple Silver-rank adventurer looked completely different from the austere [Maid] dressed in her uniform who strode after Lady Magnolia. Her voice was waspish as she replied.

“I’m sure. I don’t make mistakes and it’s not like he concealed the fact. Reynold. And you met him as well—didn’t you feel he was special?”

“Yes, but, well, an [Emperor]? Truly?”

Reynold shook his head. He could remember the urge to bow before Laken Godart, but as for the rest…he picked up his pace as he heard Magnolia shout in front of him.

“Where is Lady Rie Valerund?”

Hands pointed. Magnolia strode up to the damaged double doors of the mansion. The enchanted wood that had held back hordes of Goblins parted in an instant before her. Reynold strode inside after her and saw a woman in a gown overseeing her servants. They were packing everything of value in the mansion.

“Lady Rie! A word.”

Magnolia walked towards her and the other [Lady] turned. Servants, curious adventurers, and the guards who had followed her froze in place. They couldn’t help it. Only Reynold, Sacra, Ressa, and Rie herself could move. Magnolia studied the preparations for flight and smiled at Lady Rie.

“My apologies, Lady Rie. I did not receive your message until just now. I am delighted to see you well, but what is all this? You are leaving?”

“Lady Reinhart.”

Rie’s voice was cool, but Reynold had met enough [Lords] and [Ladies] to tell that Lady Rie was pressured by Magnolia’s appearance in person. She was a low-level [Lady] and Magnolia was the biggest shark in the ocean. She gestured to the frozen people around her.

“I regret to say that I no longer consider my home safe after the Goblin attack. I would have been dead but for the intervention of a certain man. Have you ah, heard of an individual known as Laken Godart?”

Lady Magnolia’s smile was sharp and bright.

“I have just now. I would love to hear about him. Why don’t we sit in what is left of your parlor and talk? Ressa, find us some chairs.”

She swept Lady Rie towards the parlor, and only now did the people around her find the ability to move their legs again. Ressa headed after the two [Ladies], but a man broke away from the crowd, seemingly determined to go after them.

“You there. Refrain from interrupting Lady Magnolia.”

Ressa interposed herself between the man and Magnolia in an instant. The big man, who was bald and wearing armor, slowed. He ducked his head.

“Pardon me, Miss, but I am Lady Rie’s Captain of the Guard. I should be with her if—”

He didn’t finish the thought, but left the rest unspoken. If Lady Magnolia, famed for her temper, decided to do something. The Reinharts were feared not only for their power, but for their role as arbiters and enforcers of their law across the continent. Ressa frowned at him and looked towards Reynold and Sacra.

The two servants leapt into motion without a word. Reynold intercepted the Captain of the Guard, adroitly pivoting the big bald man out of Lady Magnolia’s path before the man quite knew what was happening.

“Pardon me sir. May I know your name?”

“Uh, Geram. But I have to—”

“My apologies, Captain Geram. I am Reynold, a [Butler] in employ of Lady Reinhart. I assure you that she intends only to speak with Lady Rie on a number of pressing matters. Such discussions are best left to the nobility however, without personal interference.”

“But I—”

“Why don’t you sit here, Sir?”

Sacra didn’t quite kick the legs out from under Geram, but he found himself sitting, and, suddenly, holding a cup of tea. Reynold and Sacra hovered around him, and the [Maid] whispered to Reynold.

“Reynold, I have to go to Lady Reinhart. She’ll probably want my opinion. Can you handle him?”

He nodded and Sacra briskly stepped into the mansion. The big man, Geram, bit his lip.

“I should be at Lady Rie’s side.”

“Surely not for a simple discussion, sir?”

Geram hesitated.

“She and Lady Magnolia are uh—I’m sure Lady Reinhart is well thought of, but Lady Rie is a bit—bit—”

Frightened of her. And for good reason. But you’d only cause more trouble, going in. Reynold bit his tongue on the rest of the words and smiled politely.

“I am sure Lady Rie will rise to the occasion, Captain Geram. But while I have you, may I ask what transpired here? I see you have fought off an attack. Was this all the doing of Goblins?”

“Goblins? Uh—yes. Yes they were. We would have been got by them surely as I’m sitting here, if not for Emperor Laken.”

Emperor Laken. Reynold winced internally. Lady Magnolia would not be happy about that. And true enough, she wasn’t. In fact, she began shouting.

It took some doing to restrain Geram—Reynold succeeded mainly by getting the man to have a drink and telling him that if he did interfere, Magnolia Reinhart would put him into a box and leave him there. Whether in pieces or intact would probably depend on her worsening mood.

After about an hour’s time, someone came out of the parlor and headed straight for Reynold as he was miserably drinking water while Geram slowly finished a third cup of strong spirits. Reynold stood up at once as Ressa approached him. The [Head Maid] was holding a [Message] scroll and scowling, which never boded well.

“Miss Ressa, is something amiss?”

She nodded curtly.

“We have a problem, Reynold. You will have to take the carriage and head south. Towards Celum.”

Celum? If it hadn’t been for his [Butler] class, Reynold would have groaned aloud. That was a day’s journey and a hard drive even if he was full of energy, which he was not. He was hungry, cold, tired, and his butt hurt. But Ressa was clearly impatient. He hesitated.

“Am I to understand that I will leave you and Lady Magnolia behind?”

“That’s correct. We will send for another form of transport and make the journey back to Invrisil where we will await you.”

Reynold frowned.

“But surely we could send the other carriage—”

Magnolia Reinhart possessed two magical carriages, where most kingdoms didn’t have one. Her personal carriage was maintained at all costs; the other one was powerful, but often suffered from a lack of resources and [Mages] of the caliber needed to fix them. Either one was far, far faster than any other form of transport, however, which is why he was surprised he had to take Magnolia’s personal carriage. But Ressa just shook her head.

“The other carriage refuses to start. There must be something wrong with the enchantments.”

The [Butler]’s heart sank.

“Again? I could drive back and see if I could—”

“No. The carriage was supposed to pick up a very important guest. You need to drive to Celum and pick up the traveler—he will be waiting with a red cloak and you will recognize him on sight.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa. But the trip will take hours. I won’t be back until late in the night and I’ve been driving since this morning. I am…slightly exhausted, Miss Ressa.”

He knew complaining to Ressa was a dangerous idea, but Reynold had to say it. He hesitated as the [Head Maid] glared at him and pushed his luck further.

“Could I not drive back to the estate and switch drivers? I believe it would not take—”

“Reynold.”

She stared at him and Reynold shut up. Ressa shook her head briskly.

“No. The carriage should have left this morning, and I was not informed until now.”

She gritted her teeth and Reynold cringed and knew that heads would roll when they returned to the mansion. Ressa went on.

“Our guest requires the fastest driver to get him here. Time is of the essence, and the route goes past the area where the Goblin Lord is said to be marching.”

That was true, too. Reynold knew he was the best driver for the job, but the world was swimming and he was just a bit angry. He tried one last time.

“Miss Ressa, I understand, but my condition now—”

Ressa looked at him, and put a hand on Reynold’s arm. She didn’t grip his arm or pull out one of the daggers he knew she carried. It was a soft touch, and so intimate and unlike her that Reynold froze in an instant. Ressa looked into his eyes and lowered her voice.

“Reynold. This is important.

He fell silent, and realized Ressa was telling him that there was no time to argue, or even switch drivers. After all, the next best driver was Alkran, and he had broken his arm when the assassins had attacked. It still hadn’t healed properly. So Reynold straightened and nodded.

“Please forgive me, Miss Ressa. I will return at all speed.”

“Good. Go. And Reynold—please hurry.”

He had seldom heard Ressa use that tone. Reynold turned and ran for the carriage. In less than a minute he was on the road, and driving as fast as he could. But even going as fast as he dared, it would be six hours to Celum. Well, maybe five if he drove fast enough to really be dangerous.

He did. He drove for hours, until he came across the Goblin Lord’s army. They swept across the landscape like a horde of green locusts, burning and destroying anything without walls in front of them. Reynold drove wide of them, until he saw the people.

 

—-

 

This is the despair of [Butlers], the despair of the man who sees all and can do so little. Reynold knew it. He was not a powerful man; he was a servant in employ of a powerful woman. But he could do little more than assist her. That was his role.

So why did he have to see this? The carriage slowed as he saw the scene. It was the same scene you saw on battlefields, from the safety of your home. It was the scene that was universal and yet always unique.

It was tragedy.

They were refugees perhaps, a village that had evacuated in the face of the Goblin Lord’s armies. But this one had moved too slowly, or the Goblins had moved too fast. Whatever the case, the wagons and stream of villagers had been caught by a group of Goblins.

Not just a group. The advance force of the Goblin Lord’s army. Reynold had driven to avoid them, but the Goblins were spread out in a huge wave going north. They filled the horizon, and Reynold shuddered as he’d driven away from them. He was staring at war, a terrible army capable of sacking a city. How many Goblins were there? Tens of thousands.

And part of their force had decided to attack the villagers. A group of Goblins riding Shield Spiders rode ahead of a whooping mass of Goblins, charging at the villagers as they screamed and fled from their wagons, running towards the hills where they might find safety.

But too slowly. The Goblins were closing. Reynold saw it all as he drove past, and knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing. If he tried, he would surely be overwhelmed by the mass of Goblins. Running over a group of [Bandits] was one thing and dangerous enough, but this? There were hundreds of Goblins streaming towards the villagers and thousands more behind them. Tens of thousands behind them.

And yet, the villagers saw him. Some ran towards him, screaming and waving their hands, only to be cut down by arrows. Others were lifting children in their arms, turning, trying to get his attention. Reynold cursed them as he drove. Why were they stopping to get his attention when the Goblins were right on top of them?

“Run, run you idiots!”

It was too late either way. The Goblins were too close. They were already beginning to cut down the villagers from behind. Reynold saw it all so clearly. Even if they got to the hills, it was too late. Even if they had a lead, the Goblins would just track them down. It was too late to help too late—

They were cutting down men and women, children. Laughing. The red eyes of the Goblins turned towards Reynold as he drove past them. Some loosed arrows, but he was going far too fast for them to ever hit him.

It was his duty. He couldn’t risk the carriage or even himself, no matter what. Reynold tried to close his ears to the screaming. He told himself he was doing his job. He was just a [Butler].

A [Combat Butler].

Reynold’s carriage crashed into the first group of Goblins, scattering bodies. The ghostly horses trampled the Goblins in front of him to the ground; others bounced off the sides and front of the carriage. Reynold shouted as he drove towards one of the Goblins who looked like a leader. He was mounted on a Shield Spider. He snarled as Reynold unsheathed the sword he carried everywhere.

“[Sickle Cut]!”

A blade flashed and lightning crackled. Reynold’s sword beheaded the Goblin and the electricity earthed itself on the Goblins around him. The [Butler] snarled as he drove into the Goblins and turned the carriage.

“Drive, drive!

He’d lost momentum as he crashed into the Goblins, turning their advance party into a mass of broken bodies. The ghostly horses surged and Reynold felt the carriage regaining traction. The villagers were running, but the Goblins were right behind them. How much time could Reynold buy? A minute? Five?

One was too many. The Goblins were loosing arrows at him. Reynold dodged one and shouted.

“[Burst Speed]!”

The carriage shot out of the mass of Goblins, avoiding the rest of the arrows. Reynold turned the carriage. Not yet. He had to get their attention, buy time! He drove at the Goblins again and they scattered. But his control was precise. Reynold hit another group.

That’s the way. Scatter them. He chopped downwards as he passed by a Hob and felt the shock of his sword cutting into bone. It was the same feeling as being on horseback, of charging the enemy.

He had been a soldier, once. Reynold shouted something as the blood thundered in his ears. He saw an arrow speeding at his chest and twisted. It cut across his side, a line of fire. More Goblins. They were everywhere. How long had it been?

Seconds. Reynold spun the carriage, throwing Goblins off as they tried to climb on. He rode the horses over a Hob as it tried to grab the carriage. A small Goblin landed on the roof and Reynold stabbed it, the electricity shocking the Goblin’s skin, making it let go.

He had to get away. Circle for another charge. There were so many arrows—one hit Reynold’s arm but glanced off the cloth. Bad shot. Another—hit him in the shoulder. Reynold pushed the horses and then saw something black flying at him from the left. He spun the coach and felt it shudder from the impact.

He’d run over Trolls and not felt anything. Reynold turned his head and saw part of the pink carriage’s woodwork was splintered. What had hit him? A spell? Who shot it—

Black eyes. White pupils. A distant face. Reynold’s blood ran cold. He saw a Goblin standing in the distance, raising his hand as black magic swirled around him. The [Butler] shouted.

“[Invisibility Field]!”

The carriage vanished. Goblins snarled as they jumped for where he should be, loosing arrows, trying to slow the coach’s momentum with their bodies. Reynold spun away as more black bolts of magic flashed by his head. A Goblin clung to the carriage door—he cut it off. One stabbed him from behind and he threw it off as he fought with the reins. Where were the villagers? Gone?

Reynold burst out of the group of Goblins as more arrows shot after him. He reached for the potion that he kept in the compartment under the carriage. His world was growing dark. He found the bottle, and looked back.

The villagers hadn’t made it to the hills yet. They were nearly there, but the Goblins were reforming, coming after them. Quick! Reynold gritted his teeth. One last time. He turned the coach.

Blood was sticking to its sides, making it visible despite the spell. Reynold drove it onwards. He saw the Goblin with black eyes raising his hand, felt the black bolts of energy make the carriage shudder and groan. He drove into the Goblins. A duty.

He had a duty—

An arrow slammed him back in his seat. Reynold turned and saw a Hob leaping towards him. He raised his sword—

A duty.

 

—-

 

The sun was low in the sky, as a traveler in a red cloak stood by the gates to Celum and waited impatiently. He had waited all day, and it was practically night time already. He was considering leaving—in fact, he’d tried to several times, but something drew him back.

The first was the knowledge that this meeting had been arranged, and that Magnolia Reinhart was not one to break her word. The second was that he knew that it was a meeting worth pursuing. Still, the lack of any vehicles on the horizon had left him worried, and so he was debating stepping inside the city limits for food or a drink and sending another [Message] spell when he saw it.

On the horizon, a shape. Something moving incredibly fast down the road, headed towards him. The traveler stepped forwards in relief as he heard [Guardsmen] call out warning on the battlements above. But that relief turned to alarm as he saw the carriage approaching in more detail.

It was pink, or it had been. But red splatters of blood had dried on the front. The carriage was damaged in multiple places, and the driver—

“Dead gods.”

As the guards on Celum’s walls shouted the alarm, the traveler saw the carriage heading straight towards him. It turned and drifted for a moment before stopping in shower of mud and snow which barely missed the traveler. The driver paused and leaned forwards over his reins as the ghostly horses stood in the cold. He was covered in blood and an arrow was sticking out of his leg. He turned his head towards the traveler, and smiled weakly.

“I presume you are my guest for this trip? I do apologize for the delay.”

“Ancestors, are you alright?”

“Never better.”

Reynold pulled an arrow from his thigh and splashed a healing potion onto the wound with shaking hands. He glanced at the traveler as he pulled back his hood and froze.

You? That is to say, er—I am delighted to be driving such an esteemed personage, uh, sir—”

“You’re sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve been through a war!”

The traveler seemed more concerned with his health. Reynold straightened.

“Not to worry, sir! I merely had a run in with a few thousand Goblins. I assure you, I will be taking an alternate route on the return trip. If you will step into the carriage?”

“You’re sure you don’t need a [Healer] or another healing potion? What happened to you?”

Professionalism. Reynold gave the man his best smile as he sipped from the healing potion.

“Goblins, sir. Nothing to worry about. There is a cheese platter in an overhead compartment, I believe. Please help yourself and accept my deepest apologies for any mess that may have occurred. I would also like to render my sincerest regrets for the delay, which was caused by errors of my colleagues. And for the blood.”

He stared down at the traveler as guardsmen on the walls and gates shouted at him. The traveler hesitated. He looked around and realized that there were only moments before they were surrounded by Humans. He looked up at Reynold.

“Tell me, young…man. Are all of Magnolia Reinhart’s servants like you?”

Reynold grinned a bit manically at the traveler. He laughed, which was a serious breach of etiquette, but given the circumstances, understandable and worth it.

“Only the best of us, sir. Only the best. Shall we go?”

“I suppose. Yes, I supposed there’s no backing out of it now, is there?”

The traveler hesitated at the doors, but eventually stepped in. Reynold heard the carriage doors shut, and turned the carriage. Guardsmen shouted at him, trying to get him to stop. Reynold brushed hands away and flicked the reins. The carriage shot into motion, leaving the shouting people behind.

“I regret to say that our journey may be delayed by an hour or two, sir. Damage to the carriage has reduced our speed, and I must drive out of the way of the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“You mean you’ve seen them?”

“I believe parts of them are still stuck to the undercarriage, sir. May I take this moment to inform you of our wine selection?”

There was no response. Reynold laughed to himself. He was—was a bit disoriented himself. As he sped away from Celum he saw little black spots swimming in his vision, and felt his body swaying. He was…tired.

But he kept driving. He was a [Butler]. And a butler never abandoned his post. He owed Magnolia Reinhart too much for that.

Slowly, one of the wounds that hadn’t completely healed opened up again and spattered blood onto the front of the carriage, mixing with the rest. After a while, Reynold sipped more of the healing potion and the wound closed.

“Dear me. My attire is ruined. I should get that cleaned…as soon as I stop to rest.”

He sighed, and kept his eyes on the road. The last of the daylight burned away, and Reynold felt his body freezing. He was cold. It was dark. He reached for more energy, more fire, and felt himself drifting lower. But that was just his body. At the moment Reynold was full of life. He’d rest when it was over. For now he drove.

And inside the carriage, the traveler watched the driver through the panel. He stared anxiously at the man, but saw Reynold driving without faltering. And perhaps it was the unfamiliar sensation of riding in the carriage, or the instinctual understanding that Reynold wouldn’t stop until he’d completed his duty, but the traveler soon felt himself growing tired.

He slept. And then he dreamed.

 

—-

 

It was the past the traveler dreamed of. It was a memory that surfaced in his mind, an old conversation between him and a friend. It was ancient history, decades old, but it came to mind because of what he was about to do. He recalled a tent, the smell of wine, a slightly rough chair, and—company. He sat down, not remembering what the joke he’d just laughed at was, and saw his friend sitting across from him.

His friend. A long-dead face swam into focus in the traveler’s dream, and a voice spoke.

“I think I met a monster today.”

“Oh, really? What kind?”

“Hah. Not a real monster. I was speaking metaphorically. I met a Human girl. A young one. You might know of her. Magnolia Reinhart.”

“I don’t know the first name, but I recognize the last one. Well, well. One of the scions of the Five Families has come to our aid?”

“It seems like it. She’s responsible for that army. And this is the scary part—I’d swear she’s not even seventeen years of age. Maybe less; I don’t know Humans that well.”

“What, all of it? Is she some kind of [Commander]?”

“Hardly. She’s a [Lady]. And she’s certainly no warrior—I caught her throwing up after battle.”

“Why’s she come, then?”

“Because no one else would come to our aid otherwise. She came herself and brought an army capable of ending this war with her.”

“I’ll drink to her, then. Why’d you say you met a monster? Surely she’s not that hideous—”

“Don’t be a hatchling. I was being serious. I thought she was a monster when I met her. Now…I’m convinced.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Let me say it another way. She’s a…Demon. You know, the ones from Rhir? Or maybe she’s something else. What I’m saying is that she scares me. She’s not like other Humans.”

“So? She must be outstanding to lead an army so young. She’s high level…so what? I’m not following you.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could say it like this. She’s like…a god.”

“The gods are dead.”

“Yes, but you know what I mean, don’t you? She’s like a god, or the opposite of one. Does that make sense?”

“Perhaps…she frightens you and she’s that different from her kind, is she?”

“Yes. Perhaps that’s the easiest way of saying it. It was the look in her eyes. I won’t forget it. She was throwing up when I saw her, but when she finished and turned—she was the one who rallied the Humans. All by herself, I’m sure of it. And they followed her. A coalition army of Humans to rescue we, the Drakes. Do you understand?”

“I think I do. But surely that’s not—”

“Just listen. I had a chance to talk with her. Just a short moment—you know how politics are. But it was when we had a chance that she really frightened me. I asked her what had prompted her to come to our aid when our species have been enemies for so long. And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“Just guess.”

“You know I’m no good at guessing. Tell me.”

“It was the same thing they said long ago. The same thing that the Five Families, the original Five Families said that they wanted as they were invading us, driving us back the first time. The same word, and I’ll wager, the same look of conviction.”

“I don’t know that word. So you’re saying she’s some kind of leader? A dangerous one for the future?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I’m as wary of her as I am of the Antinium. That look in her eye, the way she speaks—it’s not that she’s not charismatic or a natural leader. Other people are—you and I lead. But it was the look, you see? The look and the conviction. She believes wholeheartedly in what she’s doing, and that’s what scares me.”

“Just tell me the damned word already, will you? What does she want?”

“Peace.”

“Peace?”

Zel Shivertail paused as he sipped from his cup and raised his head incredulously.

“That’s what I said.”

The Drake sitting across from him nodded. General Sserys, hero of the First Antinium War, smiled crookedly.

“A little girl leading an army to fight the Antinium. For peace. To save the world, she said. And you know what? She looked like a child then, with vomit dripping off her chin, but when I asked if it was possible, she just smiled. And then she looked like…I don’t know. Not a [Queen] or a [Lady], but something more. Like the opposite of a god, if they were alive. She stuck out her hand and said that I should join her. Together we could end the war and save the world.”

“And what, did you take it?”

Zel waited. Sserys shook his head.

“I didn’t get the chance. We were interrupted by some other Humans—[Lords], you know. But it stuck with me. Her offer. I felt like she was sucking me in, that she could see something I didn’t. I was afraid, Shivertail, and I won’t ever admit that to anyone else. I was afraid of her peace, of what she saw.”

“Afraid of a little Human girl. General Sserys, [Spear of the Drakes]. Afraid of peace.”

“That’s right.”

General Sserys looked at him, and Zel Shivertail paused for a second before bursting out laughing. The other Drake grinned in acknowledgement of the joke, and then he filled Zel’s cup. The two Drakes raised their cups in a silent toast and Zel raised it to his lips—

 

—-

 

Reynold? My goodness. Ressa! Get him healing potions and help him off of the carriage, quickly!”

A voice woke Zel Shivertail from his slumbers. He jerked awake in the carriage and realized he’d stopped. And then he realized who was speaking and froze. He sensed people rushing towards the carriage, and heard a sharp voice.

“Was it [Assassins]? How badly are you injured? Is the guest safe?”

“No attack—just Goblins. I do apologize Lady Reinhart—I made a decision to protect a group of travelers—I have also bloodied my uniform Ressa, for which I apologize.”

“Never mind that. Ressa, get the man inside. He’s frozen! Why is he so cold? Are the heating spells on the carriage broken again? And what about—”

The voice stopped as Zel opened the carriage door. The Drake [General] stared out into a dark world illuminated by bright mage lights and blinked down at the figures clustered around the [Butler] who was being held up by two servants. They were all Humans—well, all save for one of the [Maids] who was a Gnoll. And they stared at him with a mixture of awe and fear.

They knew him as a legend. One of the [Maids], a tall woman, moved slowly backwards towards a shorter woman, keeping her eyes on him. It was too dark for Zel to make out details, but the way she held herself, and her voice—he had never met her, and she had never met him.

But they knew each other. Zel Shivertail lowered his head slightly as he stepped from the carriage. Magnolia Reinhart moved past Ressa’s protective body and smiled.

“General Shivertail. I’m glad you decided to come. My apologies for the delay.”

Zel paused and nodded to Reynold. The [Butler] was still on his feet, being fussed over by two [Maids].

“Your man looked like he’d driven through a war and back to get to me. I commend his spirit.”

“Happy to serve.”

Reynold mumbled. Magnolia glanced at him, and then at Zel. Cautiously, slowly, she held out her hand.

“We have never met, but I hope we can speak freely, Zel Shivertail. I have long wanted to meet you, as you are no doubt aware. I hope we can set the issues you put forward in your letter right.”

“I have no doubt we can. But I have one question to ask you first. Something I have to know.”

Zel didn’t take Magnolia’s offered hand. He looked her in the eye and sensed Ressa staring at him warily, felt the prickles on his spines that told him the other servants were dangerous. But it was only Magnolia’s face he searched.

“Tell me why.”

“Why…what, precisely?”

“Why you’ve gone to all this trouble. Why you’re willing to help. Why all the things you promised me. What’s in it for you?”

Magnolia lowered her hands and tapped her lips.

“Nothing, perhaps. But it is my mission, shall we say? My ambition, most definitely. I have one dream, General Shivertail.”

“Which is?”

Zel held his breath. The world did. Magnolia Reinhart smiled, and in her eyes was a bright light. She held out her hand once more.

“Peace. To save the world. I will do anything for that goal. Will you help me?”

Zel Shivertail looked into her eyes. For a second he saw what Sserys had, decades ago. That light, that certainty. The other Drake had called it the look of a devil, a monster, or a god. And then he blinked, and saw something different. He hesitated, and then his claws rose. Gingerly, somewhere in the past of what might have been, the Drake [General] shook the Human girl’s hands.

And then they were back in the present, in the now. Zel looked into Magnolia’s eyes and smiled.

“Let’s save the world then, Miss Reinhart. Tell me, where should we begin?”

She laughed lightly, in relief, as Ressa let out a huge breath behind her and Reynold fainted.

“With the Goblins, my dear Zel. With the Goblin Lord first. And then Az’kerash. And then the Antinium.”

“And then?”

She smiled wider.

“We’ll see. Now, shall we discuss this inside? Say, over a cup of tea?”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.39 G

Fools!

The instant Garen Redfang heard about the failed attack on Lady Rie’s mansion, he stormed into the feasting hall where Tremborag sat. The self-styled Great Chieftain of Goblins looked up as he clutched an entire roast sheep in his claws. Garen snarled as he strode down the length of the messy hall towards him.

“Garen Redfang. What has you so angry this time?”

Tremborag’s voice was huge and surprisingly intellectual, but tinged with the same irritation Garen had been feeling lately. The few Hobs and other Goblins accompanying him at this moment—many of them female—eyed the Goblins behind Garen.

The Redfang Tribe had largely abandoned Garen when Rags had fled the mountain. But many was not all, and already more Hobs and competent warriors had joined Garen Redfang’s faction within the mountain. He was the pinnacle of martial ability to aspire to, and if his new ‘tribe’ was not as well-trained as his old one, they were a fighting force Garen had led on many raids.

And it was the raids that were the issue. Garen glared at Tremborag and spat.

“The Goblins who went to attack the [Lady] are dead.”

The huge Hobgoblin paused. A bit of grease dripped from his hands. The Goblins around him froze.

“All?”

Over twenty Hobs had been chosen to assault the mansion, as well as one of the [Shamans]. It had been considered overkill for such a small town and even a [Lady]’s personal residence. Unlike the Five Families, most of the minor nobility lacked huge arsenals of magical defenses.

And yet, the attackers had been destroyed. Garen spoke sharply.

“They were slaughtered by a Human alliance! They are gathering as I said! And you provoke them with more raids. No more. No Goblins will go to that place; none return anymore. I forbid it.”

His command of the common tongue had increased markedly since he had stayed in the mountain. Or rather, he was having to speak more often. As he had in the past with his friends. Garen pushed the memory back. Tremborag dropped the sheep and stood.

You forbid? I am Great Chieftain under the mountain.”

“And I am Garen Redfang, who knows raiding and Humans ways. Continue to send more raids and they will die. Fool.”

The hall had gone silent. The Goblins around Tremborag had retreated and Garen’s Redfang warriors were eying Tremborag uneasily. The Great Chieftain’s crimson eyes flared with fury. He and Garen growled at each other, drawing closer.

The air was hot with bloodlust. Garen felt his hand tightening on the hilt of his famous red sword and Tremborag suddenly looked taller, less fat and more like the monster he could become. But both Goblins forced themselves back. They were allies.

“Hah! You have not dulled your fangs since coming here.”

Tremborag broke the stalemate first. He sat and picked up the sheep and ripped into it with one hand. Breathing hard, Garen sat at a table, facing him.

There was a reason for the irritation between them, and not just because of Rags’ escape. What had she taken? Some of the magical items? Most of the truly powerful artifacts had been spread across the Hob lieutenants and other warriors in Tremborag’s tribe. Goblins didn’t hoard practical treasures. And food? Again, not an issue. The Human women—

No. Garen ground his teeth together. There was only one true reason for their anger.

“The Goblin Lord comes.”

“Yes.”

Tremborag ate savagely, crunching bones in his mouth. He spat a fragment onto the ground.

“I feel him coming. He comes for you and I, Redfang. We are the only ones who could oppose him. But there are others he calls.”

“Others?”

Garen was surprised. Tremborag laughed.

“You think you are the only famous Chieftain, Redfang? Far to the north there are other tribes who make Humans tremble, just as there are ones to the south and on other continents. Two I think of. A pyromaniac witch and a brute who loves combat.”

“Would they join us? Or would they join the Goblin Lord?”

Again the Great Chieftain laughed.

“I have asked, and they have refused me. They would refuse him too, I think. The witch, she refused the Goblin King as I did. As for the brute, he accepts no one as his master. No, they will wait, I think. The Goblin Lord comes for only we.”

“Unless the Humans come first. You provoke them.”

The Hob crossed his arms. Tremborag nodded.

“They have forgotten why they fear us. Let them come to the mountain. We will break them in the tunnels, lure them in and crush them. And in their fury, they will hunt that wretch, that thief, the Goblin who takes a Human name!”

Rags. Angry as he was, Tremborag still refused to speak her name. Garen stared at him and turned.

“And when the Goblin Lord comes? Then what? Will you sit and eat until he comes to your doorstep with a host far vaster than yours?”

“Let him. I am the Great Chieftain of the mountain. I will bow to no Lord, no King. And one last thing.”

Tremborag’s voice boomed as Garen strode out of the hall. The Hob turned. Now Tremborag was serious.

“Go to the mansion and destroy it, Redfang. If the [Lady] remains, slaughter her people and bring her back to the mountain.”

Garen stared at him. Vengeance, retribution. An eye for an eye. Tremborag was very Human in that regard.

“And if they are not there? If they are under the protection of the one who builds those wooden markers, who calls himself an [Emperor]?”

The whispers had reached the Goblin ears as they skulked around the edges of that strange land. Tremborag grinned and his eyes were fury.

“In that case, we will destroy every village, town, and city in that place until all is gore and ash. After the Goblin Lord or perhaps—before? Go.”

For the moment he was Garen’s Chieftain, so Garen went. He took a massive force of Hobs and Goblins to the home of the Valerund House and found the mansion deserted. He burned the mansion and determined that there was no point riding after the lady.

Garen had Skills from the [Raider] class that allowed him to appraise targets. And so he destroyed a town many miles to the north instead, robbing it of many lumps of gold recently acquired from a mine. And as he rode back to the mountain Garen wondered what Rags was doing. The Humans would not suffer the Goblins much longer.

Already, they had begun to counterattack.

 

—-

 

The Goblins in the Flooded Waters tribe weren’t restless. At least, most of them weren’t. They raided roads on a daily basis and clashed with monsters and small bands of Humans regularly. Moreover, they were secure in their semi-permanent home in the forest of tall trees around the lake. Already, the Goblins were beginning to think of it as their base. But more importantly, they were filling their bellies from their raids and they were not in danger, not in want. They were content.

But the Goblins who thought of the future, those who were leaders like Noears, Poisonbite, Redscar, the Rockfall Chieftain, and other Hobs of Tremborag’s mountain thought otherwise. They could tell what their Chieftain wished because they were connected. They were part of the same tribe. And what those Goblins understood was that Rags was…aimless.

“She does not know what to do.”

Poisonbite declared this as she sat with her unit of female Goblins around a fire. She had a few guests. Two Hobs from Tremborag’s faction, Noears, the Rockfall Chieftain, and Redscar. They were just guests. But that they were here, listening, was significant.

Each one had their own agendas. Noears, who was very intelligent and dangerous because of it, played with a spark of electricity, letting it crawl over his hands. The other Goblins looked around surreptitiously.

They were looking for Rags. Or Pyrite. The Goldstone Chieftain was staunchly loyal to her, which might be troublesome if he heard anything. Not that they were doing anything; they were just talking. But in Tremborag’s mountain, talk was dangerous enough.

Here it was…a sign of wariness. Noears flicked the spark into the fire, making it jump, and looked up.

“She is aimless, but not, I think, lost.”

The others nodded at that. Noears continued.

“She does not know whether to stay or go. This is a good place. But not what she wants. She wants to go south. But the Goblin Lord is there.”

“Dangerous.”

Redscar grunted. He wasn’t talkative. He flicked a dagger up and caught the blade between two fingers.

“Should go.”

He wanted to return to the High Passes. Noears scratched at the ragged holes where his ears had been and shrugged.

“Perhaps. But she is—”

He broke off as a Goblin that was known to be too talkative for his good passed by the fire. The other Goblins stared blankly at him and looked around the camp. No Rags. She was snoozing by her fire. And Pyrite? Sitting under one of the gargantuan trees by the lakeside.

Safe. Noears stuck a finger in his earhole and came out with some sticky earwax as he went on.

“Chieftain wants to go back. Goblin Lord is dangerous. So she waits. Not lost, but waiting. For right chance. Smart. I agree, which is why I follow her.”

The Rockfall Chieftain nodded at once. She was a supporter of Rags, which is why her listening here was good. All opinions mattered. But Poisonbite was restless. She was no Hob, but it was the opinion of those around the fire that she had the same rank as one. Just like Noears was the strongest [Mage] in the tribe by far—being small didn’t mean weak. Rags was an example of that.

“Still should do more. Build base here. Raid harder.”

She disliked only robbing travelers on the road, especially since they were growing fewer as of late. Redscar nodded his approval as did two of the Hobs. Noears frowned and looked around.

Rags? No sign of her. Pyrite was on his feet, breaking up a fight between a few Goblins. He grunted, but it was another Hob who spoke.

“Chieftain. Needs fight. Goblin Lord.”

A simple sentence, but one with nuance, as his jiggling leg indicated. The idea of fighting a Goblin Lord was of course, wrong, but if he was like what Garen Redfang had claimed, what other choice was there? He used dead Goblins, raised the dead. And he slaughtered Goblins who did not obey him.

“Should talk first.”

Noears was the first to dissent. Redscar glared, and the argument descended into infighting. It was just talk. They kept glancing over towards Rags, just to reassure themselves she was asleep. And now Pyrite was tending to a fire, sniffing hopefully at a stick of mushrooms roasting by it.

“Chieftain is young.”

“Yes. Needs help.”

Scoffing from other Goblins.

“Help? Like Garen Redfang? Another Chieftain? Two?”

Hand wave, claw clenched into fist. Subtlety, of course not the first interpretation, but a more nuanced answer.

“Not Redfang. But advisor. Someone strong.”

“She is not strong?”

“Not strong.

All heads turned. Rags didn’t appear to stab them. Pyrite was lifting a Goblin child up, grunting as he peered at a rash. All turned back to the talk.

“Smart, though.”

“Yes.”

Waggled finger. More nuance. Smart is not enough necessarily. Goblins need a daring leader and a cautious one is not as good. However, the raised eyebrow indicated skepticism of this very idea. The Rockfall Chieftain surprisingly spoke up next.

“Good to have mate.”

All stared at her. There, it was said, and by one of Rags’ own at that! Mate. Yes. Have sex. Or rather, have someone who could guide your opinions, a capable lieutenant. Only—

“Pyrite is good.”

Poisonbite said that and all agreed. Pyrite was. He was capable, solid, a good fighter. And he was calm, a perfect second-in-command. What he wasn’t though was aggressive. Noears chewed on his lip and frowned.

“Good, but simple. Has odd companion. Old. Greybeard.”

That was true too. Every head turned as Pyrite bent to talk to a Goblin sitting by a fire next to theirs. Greybeard grinned as he slurped at some soup and chattered to the big Hob. Poisonbite scowled and Redscar looked at her.

“Old Goblin. You know?”

“My unit. Good at running away, better at not be cut.”

She flicked her fingers dismissively and Redscar nodded.

“Never met Goblin with beard.”

“Hah! No point. But if not Pyrite, who?”

Who indeed. All eyes shifted to Noears and Redscar, the most probable choices. Noears shifted and Redscar growled. Neither one was particularly into the idea. It was common knowledge that Noears liked big Hob females, and Redscar liked Goblins who had certain body parts that Rags lacked. Added to that, no one wanted to imagine Rags being swayed by one side more than the other.

And yet—aimlessness. The other Goblins hesitated. Noears grimaced.

“Chieftain must do something.

“Why?”

Poisonbite rolled her eyes as someone asked that. Her voice was laced with open scorn.

“Because aimlessness is bad, stupid.

“Really?”

She growled.

“Yes! Why we talking if not?”

She turned angrily to the speaker and her green face went white. Pyrite stood over the fire, crunching on a giant Barkeater Beetle. He waved at the group calmly.

Where had he come from? The other Goblins stared in shock. Pyrite had appeared without them really paying attention from across the camp. He’d snuck up on them like—like a mountain, always in plain sight, but never really noticed. He sat and all the Goblins edged away from him. All save for Redscar, who just looked wary.

“Chieftain is aimless.”

Pyrite’s voice hushed the other Goblins. He nodded and offered the giant beetle with huge mandibles around. No one wanted a bite. He went back to crunching as the beetle’s guts oozed out the back.

“Aimless. Young. No sex. Not Hob. Not warrior. Not going to war and not building base.”

He paused, having summarized the complaints of the others. They waited. Pyrite fished a wiggling leg out from between his teeth and crunched at it for a second.

“So what?”

Every eye was on him. Pyrite shook his head. A voice cackled—they realized Greybeard had appeared at their fire. The elderly Hob was sipping from his bowl and glancing at Pyrite. The former Goldstone Chieftain nodded.

“So what? Young is young. Aimless is temporary. Chieftain is Chieftain. Will grow.”

“So he says!”

Greybeard laughed into the thoughtful silence Pyrite’s words had caused. He clapped Pyrite on the back and the Hob grunted. The old Hob sighed.

“Wait and see? Is good plan if nothing coming!”

“But is?”

Poisonbite had been alarmed at Pyrite being here, but the Hob was clearly as affable as ever despite the…talk. Greybeard on the other hand was a nuisance. She wouldn’t have suffered him if Pyrite clearly didn’t favor him. Come to that, he was always hanging around the old Hob. Poisonbite didn’t see the point. But then, Greybeard only really talked to Pyrite.

Noears wondered what he said as he stared at the Hob. Greybeard looked up, beard soaked with soup, and his eyes flashed.

“Something is coming. Can’t you feel it, younglings?”

The other Goblins stared at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. Pyrite stopped crunching his beetle and looked up. Then all the Goblins in the camp heard the horn call in the distance. Rags shot out of the hammock she’d built by her fire and one of the Goblin lookouts perched in the trees shouted. Something was coming.

Humans.

 

—-

 

“My, but they are upset, aren’t they? Look at them looking around like ants. Or is that because we’re on a hilltop?”

Lady Bethal Walchaís stood on the hilltop and stared down at the Flooded Waters tribe as the Goblins shot to their feet and began reaching for weapons. By her side Sir Thomast the Chevalier and her husband said nothing. Neither did the ranks of [Knights] dressed from head to toe in red-pink armor. They were her personal order of warriors, known appropriately as the Knights of the Petal or as she sometimes called them, her Rose Knights.

And they were here to kill the Goblins. However, one of the oddities of the scene and probably the reason why the Goblin Chieftain hadn’t ordered the attack was the disparity in numbers. There were several thousand Goblins below. Probably six thousand. Eight? Not all were combatants obviously, but they were enough to become a sea of green. Whereas Lady Bethal had brought half of the [Knights] under her command and left half to guard her fiefdom.

That meant just over forty Rose Knights were arrayed in a line on the hilltop. And yet, Lady Bethal looked unconcerned. Dressed in elegant riding clothes and mounted on a stallion as she was, she might have been out for a ride with her retainers. She peered down towards the Goblin camp and pointed.

“There. That is their Chieftain.”

A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf and carrying an outsized black crossbow was her target. Bethal clapped her hands and her Rose Knights stood straighter.

“Kill the Chieftain, and destroy as many Hobs and high-level Goblins on your way to her as possible, please. I will allow six to guard me, including you, Thomast.”

He looked at her. Bethal’s tone softened for a second.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We spoke about this! Or rather, I did. You know it has to be done.”

He stared at her in silence. Bethal’s tone sharpened. Her fingers dug into his arm. Thomast wore no armor; the silk doublet he wore would have fit just as well at the party where he and Bethal had met with Lady Magnolia a few weeks ago. Neither did he flinch as Bethal’s long nails dug into his arm.

For a second the air around Bethal was thorny, and then she was letting go, withdrawing her nails, clearly upset. She brushed at his arm and drew herself closer to the taller man. She spoke softly.

“They are raiders and they slaughtered those villagers, Thomast.”

The Chevalier said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than Bethal’s words. She shifted.

“Yes, they killed off a Goblin tribe. What of it? Magnolia has asked me personally to settle this, and so I shall. These Goblins cannot be allowed to continue disrupting trade, and if they joined up with the Goblin Lord—ah, honor’s end, Thomast! Do you see them using pikes and crossbows? What if all the Goblins fought so? They must end here and now.”

She glared again. He was silent as the wind ruffled his hair. Bethal’s anger collapsed.

“I know! But—oh, Thomast.”

The Goblins had begun forming up into ranks, and the front rank was holding terribly long pikes, while a group of mounted Goblins on wolf back circled through the forest. They were approaching as a single mass, and yet no one interrupted Bethal’s soliloquy. Or was it a monologue? It was hard to call it a dialogue.

“What must be, must be, my love. Do not begrudge me for ordering you this.”

Thomast bent his head and Bethal wept as she clung to him.

“It must be! I—a small wrong, an evil to make the world better for some. So Magnolia says and so I believe. But do you? Will you fight for me, my love, even if I am wrong? Even if the world would judge me so? Would you abandon honor for me? And would you love me after, my heart?”

His arm encircled her body. Thomast bent and whispered a word.

“Always.”

The two stood thusly for a second, and then turned. The Goblins were streaming out of the forest, lining up in formations. Already some were taking ranging shots with their crossbows or slings, but the small Goblin mounted on a Carn Wolf was ordering them to hold their fire. Bethal sighed.

“Let us begin, then. My Rose Knights—advance!”

And they did. The Rose Knights of Walchaís charged down the hill with a roar, crashing into the ranks of the disbelieving Goblins.

 

—-

 

Rags had been having a bad day. Indigestion had plagued her from the Barkeater Beetles that Pyrite had convinced her to try, and she was certain someone was talking behind her back. More than that though, she’d felt horribly aimless and out of sorts, feeling the Goblin Lord’s approach and not knowing what she should do. All her certainty about how she would ride out and confront him had melted away.

So she’d been pleasantly surprised by the news of the [Lady] and her small escort. Robbing a rich noble blind and finding out what her magical artifacts did would be a pleasant diversion. So why—why—

Why were they losing?

The thirty or so armored Humans ran straight into the ranks of the twenty-foot-long pikes that Rags had drilled her Goblins with. They could stop a charging group of cavalry and had done so more than once. It was suicide for anyone to run into that wall of spikes. Or it should have been.

The first Rose Knight was struck by two pikes in the chest and shoulder. The Goblins hadn’t been content to wait for him to come; Rags had ordered the charge and they’d rammed into him at high-speed. Impaling speed.

But the tips of both pikes just glanced off his armor. Another one caught him in the midriff and Rags saw something improbable happen. Instead of the armor deforming under the pressure of the blow, the shock of impact travelled down the sturdy pike and made the eight Goblins running with it slam into each other.

The pike had struck the Human in armor head-on and his armor had been the victor. The Rose Knight ran past the pike, the axe in his hands raised. He charged into a Hob and took a heavy mace hit to the head. He ignored it and cut the Hob down with one tremendous blow. Across the line of pikes and infantry, the same was happening. That was when Rags knew she was in trouble.

Enchanted armor! She waved her hands desperately and shouted. Goblins who had been assigned to watch her in the middle of battles picked up on what she wanted and the scrum of infantry around the Rose Knights drew back. They left eighteen Hobs dead and over fifty more Goblins when they did.

So many casualties. Rags’ eyes burned as she raised a fist and clenched it. The Rose Knights looked up as Goblins wielding crossbows—hundreds of them—sitting in trees or line up in formations, loosed as one.

Steel and wood-tipped bolts struck the armored knights from every side in a huge semicircle the Goblins had formed so as not to hit one another. For a second, the air was filled with so many projectiles that Rags could see nothing amid the splintering bolts and—

The Rose Knights strode out of the hail of arrows, unscathed. Their armor gleamed pink and red with blood. The Goblins stared. Rags’ eyes slowly travelled up to the woman standing with an escort of six knights around her. She could have sworn the [Lady] was smiling at her.

Unacceptable. Rags’ eyes flashed. She raised her voice and shouted as the Rose Knights charged once again.

 

—-

 

Mages! Hobs!

Pyrite heard the call and knew it was a bad one. It was the only one Rags could make, but it was still a bad one. He shifted as the rank of Hobs around him surged forwards. Pyrite charged forwards and saw a press of huge bodies in front of him, fighting the strange pink knights. But already, Hobs were falling.

Their enemy was too strong.

Magical weapons cleaved through the air, splitting steel shields, emitting jets of fire or in one case, leaving sharp after-trails of light in the air that cut whatever they touched. The Rose Knights were unstoppable. Because of their armor.

It was too strong! And though Rags had had a good idea, the thinking part of Pyrite, the calm part that analyzed everything told him that if an enemy had come here, they would have taken measures against mere strength or spells. Sure enough, the Hobs failed to damage the armor even when they swung with their full strength. And the lightning coming from Noears and the other [Mages] glanced off the armor harmlessly as well when it should have shocked the wearers to death.

Impressive magic. Was it not metal they were wearing? Pyrite’s eyes narrowed as he came face-to-face with one of the Rose Knights in the scrum of bodies. He swung and the Rose Knight raised his shield as he countered with a thrust of his sword.

Bad trade. Pyrite halted his swing and backed up. The thrust missed him, leaving a trail of freezing cold in the air behind it. The [Knight] paused, and then swung again, raising his or her shield.

Nope. Pyrite knew they were waiting for him to strike so they could exchange blows. It didn’t matter if they got hit. He knocked aside the blade with his axe’s head, feeling the chill on his hands. Enchanted blades, enchanted armor—

Withdraw!

The roar was going up from the Hobs around him and they were scrambling to get back as the Rose Knights cut them down. Pyrite was glad to hear it. Rags was no fool. She’d realized the Hobs would only be slaughtered and now she was bringing in—

Pyrite glanced over his shoulder as the [Knight] thrust at him again. Casually, Pyrite knocked the blade away again; it was easy if you kept backing up. Goblins were drawing back, inviting the Knights into one-versus-hundreds battles in every direction. And the pink knights were taking the offer.

That was bad. Pyrite walked backwards quickly, letting the knight charge towards him. Other Goblins were jabbing at the pink knight from all angles, but he—or she—had clearly decided Pyrite was dying first. The knight ignored the attacks on his armor, beheading a Goblin with a cut to one side.

Pyrite’s eyes narrowed. He slid to one side as the knight lunged and brought his axe down like a hammer on their back.

[Power Strike]! Pyrite hadn’t learned a more advanced Skill, but he had once cleaved through a warhorse’s armor and spine with this blow—

His axe shattered as he struck the Rose Knight. The armored warrior stumbled mid-step and then turned towards Pyrite. The Hob and the Goblins around him stared at the Rose Knight and then backed up. This wasn’t fair at all.

A group of Goblins with pikes charged into the pink knight, holding them off for a few moments. Pyrite backed up again, and saw the battle was going the same way throughout the forest. The Rose Knights were carving their way through the Goblins trying to damage their armor with impunity. It was carnage, and Pyrite felt the fury in his heart rising as he saw his people dying.

Yet the cold part of him still approved. This made sense. How did you destroy an enemy most efficiently? You sent in warriors—you didn’t have to have many—to fight. Warriors the enemy could not harm in any way.

Because of levels. Because they didn’t have enough enchanted weapons or Skills. Or if they did—Pyrite saw one of the Rose Knights raise his shield and it was like a wall the Goblins couldn’t break through. Another was cutting with his battleaxe as if it were light as a feather, and one more had used a Skill that had sent a group of Goblins flying.

They were high-level too. And so Pyrite realized what Rags would do next. What she had to do.

Retreat.

But where could they go? The Rose Knights would harry them, cut them down or aim for her. A group was already cutting towards Rags. And she was pointing—at the [Lady]?

“Ah.”

Pyrite realized what she was doing. Harm the leader if you can’t hurt the soldiers. A rain of crossbow bolts fell like rain from the sky at the unarmored woman. She in turn raised a hand and—

“[Tranquil Skies].”

The bolts and arrows parted in the sky—as did the clouds, in fact. Pyrite, Rags, and the Goblins who had time to look stared as the [Lady] smiled. The bolts rained down around her and her escort, in a huge circle of—of tranquility around her. The clouded sky was blue above her head.

That wasn’t fair. It was ingenious, but not fair. Rags was practically screaming as she ordered a second volley. The [Lady] couldn’t do that twice!

She didn’t have to. As the crossbows raised a second time, one of the Rose Knights roared. For a second he towered over the Goblins, his armor twisting, the gaps in his visor shining with terrible light. He was a monster—every bow and crossbow turned towards him and loosed at once.

The knight took the hail of death without flinching. Pyrite rubbed his eyes and the illusion was gone. But another Knight had begun hammering on their shield, using another Skill which created a target for the Goblins to hit.

They were dominating the battlefield with their Skills. And as a group of Hobs and Redfang warriors charged into the escort around the lady, Pyrite saw the only other unarmored man on the battlefield step forwards.

He was a [Fencer] if the rapier was anything to mark him by. And he was good. The man stabbed five Redfang Warriors through their guards as they charged him at once, and the six pink knights cut down the other Goblins without budging from their place surrounding the [Lady]. She wrinkled her nose as blood fountained into the air.

Death. Pyrite felt it in the air. He looked around—Rags was sitting on her mount, looking stunned. The Carn Wolves and Redfang warriors, her elite, were dueling the Rose Knights now and still, the knights took no damage. They were invincible.

The Goblins had to retreat. Pyrite grunted as the knight who’d been pursuing him broke past the pikes and began cutting towards him. He glanced over his shoulder. Only water behind. The lake would cut their retreat off. Rags would have to run them through the forest, but what if there was a second force waiting? Or what if they had ways to catch up with them? The lake’s waters were turning red as blood ran into them—

Water. Lake. Pyrite blinked and turned as the freezing longsword swept towards his head again. He backed up, then turned and ran.

The knight followed. Pyrite splashed past ranks of Goblins in the water. They’d already been pushed this far? He turned and raised the haft of his broken axe as he stood in stomach-deep water. Predictably, the knight had followed him. His blade was freezing the water around them as he waded towards Pyrite. That was interesting.

And they were clearly not thinking straight. If they had been, they would have realized that the water slowed both Hob and knight. Yet the sword came swinging at Pyrite all the same, and he had to admit—it was dangerous.

Pyrite ducked. The knight cut into the water and was rewarded with an impact at last. Blood spurted up in the water, but the blow hadn’t been decisive, slowed as it had been by the liquid. The knight raised their sword for a final strike—

And Pyrite fountained up out of the water. He body slammed the knight and they crashed into the lake together, underwater. He felt the knight flailing, sensed them trying to get up and reached for their neck.

Flaw. The Rose Knights were strong, but a Hob was still stronger. And in the water, they were slow enough to be caught. Pyrite seized the visored head and felt the Rose Knight twisting. Too late.

Second flaw. Everything had to breathe. Pyrite thrust the head down and then stepped on the struggling body. He ground the knight into the lake’s muddy floor and felt them struggling frantically. All things breathed. Unless they couldn’t.

Chieftain!

Pyrite’s deep voice bellowed across the battlefield, turning Goblin heads. He saw Rags turn to him, eyes wide, and then he lifted the rose shield in his hand. The knight was struggling under his feet, but he was standing on them now.

Rags understood at once. She screamed and horns blew; the Goblins retreated as one towards the lake. But now the Rose Knights were determined to stop them. They formed a line of death and marched into the Goblins, cutting them down, aiming at Rags now. Pyrite groaned. They were going for her! And he couldn’t be there to stop them.

He grunted, dove into the water and pushed away a frantic hand. The Rose Knight was still struggling! He—or she—was getting air from somewhere, or they could hold their breath incredibly long. Pyrite surfaced and turned, desperately.

There was only one Goblin who could—where was he? He scanned the battlefield frantically as he put the weakening knight in a headlock underwater.

There. Greybeard was fighting with his old greatsword, laughing as a knight with a battleaxe traded blows with him. But the elderly Hob had dodged every blow. He could—

A dagger stabbed into Pyrite’s side, a blade that froze his innards. He gasped and tore the blade out of the knight’s hand. He refused to let go, though the knight was pounding on his wound.

Stupid. Should have thought of—Pyrite saw the [Lady] turning her head towards him. Greybeard. He had to be—oh, of course. Why have [Knights] only specialized in swords? Some had bows, others had spells.

Stupid not to think of it.

 

—-

 

“Take down that Hob.”

Bethal pointed, and one of the knights by her side abandoned his weapon to draw the bow on his back. The enchanted bowstring thrummed once, and the Hob who’d manage to down young Lady Welca Caveis—a knight-errant in training who Bethal had accepted into her ranks—fell, two arrows in his chest. The Rose Knight surged upwards, searching for her weapons as the Goblins roared and the one on the wolf’s back screamed fury and drove her mount into the lake after him.

“Is young Welca alive? Oh, I see she is.”

Bethal sighed as the knights around her closed ranks once again. The Goblins had given up assailing her; Thomast’s blade and the piles of Goblins’ bodies had proven the futility of it. And the rest of her warriors were too experienced to be lured into the water like that.

“A pity. That Hob looked almost intelligent.”

Thomast turned to her, a hint of reproach in his eyes. Bethal sighed.

“I know. I know. But a monster who kills is…we could fish him out afterwards if Welca lets him live. Or maybe—I say, what’s going on over there?”

She frowned, and pointed to a spot where Goblins were fighting the Knights of the Petal. Almost all of them had retreated, leaving hundreds of dead bodies behind them. But one Goblin hadn’t retreated.

Greybeard had been dueling the Rose Knight with the battleaxe—Sir Kerrig Louis—as soon as he’d crashed into Poisonbite’s formation. He alone hadn’t been cut down, although the battleaxe’s head burned in the open air and Sir Kerrig was a master in using it.

Instead, Greybeard had pushed the Rose Knight back, landing heavy blows on the man’s armor and making it ring. The halt in their advance had drawn the attention of the other Knights of the Petal and they’d come to assist Sir Kerrig in dealing with this troublesome foe.

Now there were six of the Rose Knights surrounding him as Greybeard struck and countered each blow in a whirlwind of steel. The advance of pink halted and Lady Bethal’s eyes widened as she noticed the disturbance.

“Thomast, who is that Goblin?”

The Chevalier had no reply, but his eyes narrowed as he saw Greybeard fighting. The other Goblins stopped too, as the old Goblin dodged two blows and countered three at once, his greatsword flashing in a ringing arc. He twisted, and simultaneously countered one blow and parried another. When he spun and kicked, a Rose Knight was knocked off his feet and into the muck.

“Oh dear.”

Lady Bethal’s eyes widened as she saw the Goblin fight. And not just for that. She saw and sensed the battlefield turning against her.

 

—-

 

The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe stopped their retreat as Greybeard fought. The sense of desperation, of hopelessness that dragged down their limbs evaporated as more and more of them saw the sight of a Goblin who hadn’t fallen. They pointed and roared, and Rags saw a flicker of victory in the darkness.

It was inspiring. A single Goblin held down eight [Knights], forcing them back, his sword singing through the air as he laughed. Pyrite stood in the water, blood dripping from his wounds. Noears found more lightning and hurled it through the air. Goblins stopped retreating and held their ground. How could they not?

They had seen a hero.

On her Carn Wolf, Rags saw the battlefield shift. She raised her sword and screamed.

Charge! Charge!

There was no tactic in her words. Rags simply felt a current, far vaster than the one she could create, sweeping her ahead. And as she kicked her mount forwards, her tribe did the same. Goblins streamed across the muddy ground, shouting. They rushed towards the surprised [Knights], ignoring the enchanted blades, pounding on the enchanted armor.

The momentum had turned against the Humans. They backed up rather than be swarmed, forming a wall of steel around their [Lady]. She glared and pointed. Her voice crackled like lightning across the battlefield.

Thomast!

And there he was. The [Duelist] at her side strode forwards, and his blade lashed the air. Goblins fell before they drew close to him and then there was a pause in the fighting.

The battered Rose Knights fell back as Greybeard lowered his sword. He wasn’t panting, but a light sheen of sweat steamed off his body. Thomast raised his rapier and saluted the Goblin. Greybeard grinned and lifted his greatsword.

They leapt forwards as the Humans and Goblins drew back and met in a clash of blades. Only, there was never any true contact of metal meeting metal. The two struck at each other simultaneously and Thomast’s rapier was faster. He flicked the point towards Greybeard’s eyes and the Goblin twisted his head around the blade. He cut—impossibly fast for a sword so large—towards Thomast’s chest and the [Duelist] stepped back, letting the blade pass a fraction of an inch away from his clothes.

And then they danced. There was no other word for it. Rags had seen the Redscar warriors fight, all precision and grace, but the [Duelist] and Greybeard were on another level entirely. Each strike was so quick and fluid, and led into the next. Rags couldn’t imagine herself trying to fight one or the other. She would be dead in the first blow.

But neither one had scored a hit on the other yet. Thomast stepped back, frowning, and then slashed his rapier through the air. There was a good distance between them, but Greybeard twisted his body out of the way. Behind him, a Hob cried out and fell, blood streaming from his chest.

He was cutting the air! Rags’ eyes narrowed as she stared at the Human’s rapier. Now the [Duelist] cut and Greybeard had to close with him or risk the Goblins behind him taking injuries. So he did, in a lunge that took him low across the ground. And Thomast was waiting.

“[Double Cut].”

As he thrust, a silvery blur struck simultaneously, so that it appeared as if Thomast suddenly had two arms in the place of one for a fraction of a second. Both were aimed at Greybeard’s heart and both—missed. The lunging Greybeard vanished, and Thomast turned.

Two Greybeards were standing at his back. They struck simultaneously and the man leapt out of the way, the first ungraceful move to come in the duel. And when he landed, three Greybeards were waiting for him.

Was it an afterimage caused by speed, or a Skill? Rags didn’t know, only that Greybeard had suddenly multiplied. A mirage of the old Goblins cut as Thomast backed up, his flickering rapier now on the defensive, warding off the apparitions.

And then—Thomast lunged forwards, shooting across the ground at what had to have been the true Greybeard, his rapier thrusting. It was a lightning-fast blow. And still Greybeard was ready. His greatsword skated down the length of Thomast’s rapier and gently, oh so gently opened the man’s chest and stomach up in a single strike.

It was elegant and, Rags had to think, intentional. Thomast staggered, turned, and clutched at his chest. Blood streamed from cut arteries and a woman’s voice screamed.

Thomast!

Bethal rushed forward and so did the Rose Knights. They formed a wall in front of the grinning Greybeard. Only the tip of the Goblin’s greatsword was bloody. Bethal threw herself across her husband’s chest as a knight knelt, fumbling with a healing potion. She shouted as the knights seized the wounded Chevalier.

“Withdraw! Knights, shield my husband with your lives!”

They were retreating? Rags stared in disbelief, but the fallen man was clearly more important than anything else. The [Lady] stood, her riding dress stained with blood, and her eyes were murderous as she stared at the grinning Greybeard. She tossed her head and spoke in the silence.

“Prepare yourselves, Goblins. Tomorrow I return. Flee before then, or I will come back to crush you.”

Then she turned and hurried away with the Knights of the Petal. The Goblins let them go without another word. The cost of a battle was too high and besides—

There was Greybeard.

 

—-

 

He stood in the remains of the battlefield, untouched. Where strong Hobs and veteran Goblins had been cut down like wheat he alone was unscathed. Rags rode over to him and noticed how her Carn Wolf shied away from him, refusing to draw near. So she dismounted and strode over to him.

“Chieftain.”

This time the old Hobgoblin didn’t bow to her. And Rags was sure he shouldn’t. She stared at him, seeing none of the old innocent dementia of age in how he carried himself now. She had never seen an old Goblin. She had no idea Goblins could be old. And now she felt like a fool.

“Who are you?”

He just grinned at her. Greybeard turned, planting his sword in the ground and looked.

“Where is Pyrite?”

The Goblins turned. In an instant, they’d located Pyrite. He was being tended to; Rags had used her best healing potions on him, but the two arrows to his chest had come close to his heart. Only his fat had protected him. He staggered upright as Greybeard walked over.

“Old one.”

“Good thought! Smart. You were always smart. But invincible is invincible, eh? Good that you meet Humans like that now rather than later. There are always warriors like that. Should make you train harder, you lazy dreamer, you!”

Greybeard praised Pyrite, patting him affectionately on the head and shoulders as Pyrite grunted softly. Rags had followed the two; all the Goblins had. She waited until Greybeard had turned to ask again.

“Who are you? You are not…”

“Not Graybeard, Chieftain? Not me? I never said who I was. I am just old Goblin. What is surprising about me knowing how to fight?”

The old Goblin spread his hands innocently. Rags narrowed her eyes, taking in the collection of scars across his body. She was angry at being lied to, and perhaps Greybeard saw it.

If he did, he didn’t care. She opened her mouth a third time and Greybeard laughed. And the laughter consumed words and sound alike. He walked back to his greatsword and turned. All of the Goblins stared at him. And now he was taller.

“Who am I? I am Greydath.”

The name meant nothing to Rags or the other Goblins. Save for Noears. He moaned aloud and fell to his knees. The old Goblin laughed again. He stood tall and his voice echoed in the forest, across the lake. And now he was taller still. A giant contained in a small body.

“In years past they knew me across the world. They shouted my name. Enemies, allies. The world trembled as we built, and then destroyed. And though many have forgotten his face, so long as one Goblin lives, his dream continues. I served Velan the Kind. And he named me his servant of arms.”

The old Goblin was decrepit, scarred by thousands of battles, missing most of his teeth. An elderly, battered warrior. And then he drew his sword out of the ground and he was different. His eyes blazed, his smile could eclipse the sun. He raised his blade and Goblins fell to their knees around him. His voice echoed as he raised his sword, proud, unwavering. Another Goblin, dignified, ancient, and vast as the sky spoke his name to the world.

“I am Greydath of Blades. Once, a Goblin Lord.”

He bowed, mockingly, towards Rags. She felt her skin chill and freeze. A low sound swept through the Goblins, like wind, like the heart of a storm.

Here stood a Goblin Lord. Out of nowhere. It was impossible and yet—who could deny it? Surely no other Goblin had his skill, his strength. And no other Goblin could lie, would lie about this.

Something was wrong, though. Rags searched Greydath for any sign that he was who he said he was. And found nothing. He had no pull among the tribe, no mental draw or connection that told him he was her greater. He had no aura that marked him as unique, or even as a Hob. That was something intrinsic to all Goblinkind and he lacked it.

The awe the other Goblins held him in was a product of his might, not anything else. Rags had felt the pull of Chieftains, weak and strong. She felt the distant call of the Goblin Lord, urging her to heed his call. All Goblins called each other, all were connected. But here stood a Goblin Lord, a true Lord, a vassal of the previous Goblin King himself and she felt nothing.

He…was like a ghost in the world. He didn’t fit with the others. He didn’t pull at her, didn’t meld with her being like other Goblins did. Why? Or more probably, how?

Rags narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know if this was Greydath’s choice or…a consequence of the last Goblin King’s death. And yet, she did not doubt for a second he was telling the truth. Greydath stood with his rusted and battered greatsword stuck in the dirt beside him, ragged grey beard waving in the cold wind, and still he crushed everyone with his presence.

But why had he come here—no, why had he revealed himself now of all times? Because the enemy had been too great? From the way he had simply wounded the Chevalier, Rags was certain that wasn’t it. She stared at him and forced saliva into a dry mouth.

“Why are you here?”

The old Goblin’s wrinkled brows raised. He grinned at her with his remaining teeth.

“To see whether you are worthy.”

“Am I?”

He pondered the question as the hearts of thousands of Goblins thundered in the silence. Here stood a Goblin Lord. And his reply was simple.

“No.”

He shook his head and Rags stood, staring at him. She felt crushed, though it was one word. She felt small and worthless. Greydath looked at her and she was a child, looking up at him.

“Why?”

“You are too young. Too small. Too weak.”

He stooped, bending down to look at her, a kindly Goblin who had brought down empires.

“But most of all? You are not enough.”

“Enough?”

“You do not crush others with who you are. That is all.”

Rags did not understand and Greydath saw it. He turned and raised his sword. His voice echoed across the lake. He swung his blade and there was a tearing sound, a howl. Goblins threw themselves flat. Across the lake, the waters parted, cut by something Rags could not see. They flowed together and Greydath roared.

“Overwhelming! Goblin Lords define themselves by their overwhelming talent! In combat, with sword or axe or bow or magic! With their minds, or hearts! Goblin Lords must stand above all others!”

He swung his weapon again and a tree fell. Hundreds of feet high, it tumbled into the waters. Greydath raised his sword and roared.

“A Goblin Lord rules over other Goblins! They are unmatched! I am the greatest of blades, the one who could not be defeated by force of arms! I am Greydath! And you would be a Lord? Equal to me?”

Rags couldn’t answer. The air grew tight around her throat and she gasped for air. Greydath laughed and turned away. She coughed, breathing in painfully.

“You. You are not enough, child Chieftain. Tremborag is not enough. He is old, lazy, fat on his arrogance. Garen Redfang is complacent in his strength. That is what I see. But I wonder, is the Goblin Lord truly as flawed as others claim?”

“Is he—he—”

Is he like you? Rags could barely breathe. Greydath laughed mockingly again.

“No. He is young. But he must be worthy of his position. But even if he is—I rode with the Goblin King. He is not my equal. And you are not worthy, child! Not yet. None of you are worthy to even remember the face of the Goblin King!”

Where had the kindly old grinning Goblin gone? Greydath swung his sword again and this time Rags felt a hammer drive her flat into the ground. He’d struck her! With something—air?

She gasped and curled up into a ball, feeling flashes of pain. Now the other Goblins moved. Instinctively they tried to protect their Chieftain. One paused as he stepped in front of Greydath—the Goblin Lord swung his sword and the Hob flew through the air, crashing into others. Other Goblins surged forwards; Greydath sent them flying or crashing down with casual swings of his sword.

Overwhelming.

“Old one. Stop. Stop.”

Pyrite stumbled forwards. Greydath paused, sword raised.

“Brat.”

Deferentially, Pyrite bowed his head to Greydath as Rags uncurled, gasping.

“Too far. You are too much.”

“I am.”

There was no apology in Greydath’s tone. He turned.

“I am going, young Pyrite. Going to see what the Goblin Lord is. Your Chieftain is too small, yet. She may be something if she grows, may be not. I will not wait.”

He began to walk away. Rags croaked a word, and then she scrabbled after him. She grabbed Greydath’s foot as he walked away, ignoring the mud that clung to her body. He stopped and stared down at her.

“Why?”

Rags could only say that word. But what she meant was why everything? Why was he in hiding? Why did Pyrite know him? Why had he not—not—

Why had he not led his people as they died? Greydath bent down. His voice was low as he met Rags’ eyes for the first time. She saw sorrow in the depths of his crimson gaze. Sorrow, a burning hatred that had lasted for ages, and something else. Regret?

“Because I cannot be King.

Then he lifted Rags up by one hand and casually tossed her aside. Rags tumbled through the air and landed poorly on the ground. The other Goblins backed away as Greydath strode through the destroyed camp, out of the forest and into the distance. When Rags picked herself up, he was gone.

 

—-

 

The Goblin Lord had been here all along. He had hidden himself, a legend from the past, among them. Poisonbite was almost out of her mind, gnawing at her hand, remembering every time she had been around the old Goblin. And he had stayed in Tremborag’s mountain for years! Why?

No one knew. But they had all seen him, all heard his words. Their Chieftain was not ready to become a Goblin Lord. That was natural, perhaps. But to see him and to see the small Goblin who’d picked herself up afterwards—

Overwhelming. That was the word that defined Goblin Lords. So Greydath had said. Overwhelming. He had been unmatched in battle. The Humans who had decimated Rags’ careful strategies had broken themselves on his blade. And now he was gone.

The Goblins longed to follow him. Noears was sitting, pale and quiet by the fire. Redscar was staring at his sword, as if he suddenly realized he’d been playing with sticks all his life. The other Goblins were the same. They would have followed his back, abandoned their tribe without a second’s thought if he’d but asked. But—

He was like a ghost, like Rags had sensed. He had a physical presence, but no mental connection to the tribe. He had been a Goblin Lord once, yes, but he was not one now.

“Not yet.”

It was Noears who said it first. The other Goblins looked at him. He nodded to Rags. She was sitting where Greydath had tossed her, staring at the ground. He looked around.

“Not yet. Maybe not ever?”

Would that be a bad thing? A Goblin Lord was rare. And yet…Noears was staring at the place where Greydath had stood. His hands were trembling.

“Another tribe could be. Could be—”

A Goblin Lord. The thought made all of them shudder with fear and longing. The Goblin Lord to the south was not worthy, but everything in their natures cried out for one. A Goblin Lord, and a Goblin King. If Rags could not be one, then—

“No.”

A voice spoke. Noears spun. Pyrite stood over them, rubbing at his newly-healed chest. He shook his head.

“Not go. Chieftain is young. Small. But not unworthy.”

His voice gave the other Goblins pause. Yet in the face of what they’d seen—one of Tremborag’s former Hobs raised his voice, speaking in a wheedling, obsequious tone.

“Chieftain is young, yes. But you are strong. One of Greydath’s students? Could be Chieftain?”

The other Goblins held their breaths. He was suggesting treason. Pyrite stared blankly at the Hob, and then raised his hand. He made a fist and punched at the Hob’s head.

The other Hob was a warrior, and a good one. He raised his arm, yelping denials. He was going to block. So Pyrite changed the angle and arc of his punch mid-blow. He casually walloped the other Hob in the head without missing a beat. The sound was heavy and satisfying, but the blow itself made all the other Goblins gape. Across the camp, several Redfang Warriors sat up with interest. Redfang stared at Pyrite, impressed.

“Good punch.”

Pyrite shrugged as the other Hob toppled over. Redfang stared at the fallen Hob and narrowed his eyes.

“Greybeard—Greydath teach you anything?”

The big Hob paused. He shrugged impassively, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He was either simple as he seemed or—the other Goblins recalled Greybeard’s false persona—a truly magnificent actor. Pyrite scratched at his belly as he replied to Redfang.

“Teach some. Some. Important things, not important things. Some.”

The other Goblins looked at each other.

“How much?”

Pyrite shrugged again.

“Not much. Old things. Stories. But I left mountain long ago. Made own tribe. Long past.”

He flicked his hand and no one bought it for a second. Poisonbite narrowed her eyes.

“Rags beat your tribe.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Lots of arrows. Can’t dodge good. Plus—Garen Redfang. Good not to fight, I think.”

Pyrite steadily returned her gaze. He turned and bowed his head.

“Chieftain.”

Rags stood behind the Hob, small, looking pale. The other Goblins hesitated a second before getting to their feet. And she saw it. Rags stared at Pyrite, and then at the other Goblins.

“Not yet.”

She said the words bitterly. None of the other Goblins could look her in the eye. Save for Pyrite. He nodded and moved on.

“Chieftain, Humans are coming back. What to do?”

She blinked at him. The listening Goblins blinked at him. But Pyrite just waited, patiently as ever, for Rags’ orders.

The small Goblin hesitated. She scuffed at the ground.

“Should run.”

“Humans hunt.”

Pyrite pointed that out and she glared at him. Rags opened her mouth to tell him fighting was impossible, that Greydath had been the only one who could fight! Then her eyes caught something at Pyrite’s side. She stared.

“Broken axe.”

He blinked and looked down. The axe Rags had given him—her first gift to any of her followers after the raid with Tremborag—had broken. He lifted it and shrugged.

“Sorry.”

He handed it to her and Rags stared at the broken metal and wood. She looked around. The forest was full of trees. Tall ones. And yet, Greydath had toppled one in an instant. She stared at the fallen tree, and the Goblins saw something flicker across her face. The small Goblin was small. But then she smiled and she was a bit taller.

Their Chieftain turned to face the others and lifted the axe in her hands. She hefted it with a grunt and looked towards the trees.

“Get cutting. We do not run. We prepare.”

The Goblins looked at her and then at each other. Then they stood up. Pyrite spoke for all of them.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

 

—-

 

The next day, forty Rose Knights, Lady Bethal, and the Chevalier Thomast stopped in the same spot and saw the Goblins had not fled. If they had it wouldn’t have mattered; the Knights of the Petal were as adept at fighting on horseback as they were on foot. That they had to dismount to maneuver in the forest mattered not at all.

However, one thing had changed. Lady Bethal’s brows rose as she saw a few trees had been felled in the interior of the forest. And out of the wood the Goblins had built—

“A fortress.”

Thomast had healed from his wounds of yesterday, but still Bethal had refused to let him be first into combat. Should the Goblin with the greatsword appear again this time, he would be dealt with by others. The Rose Knights would surround the old Goblin and wear him down with numbers and magical artifacts instead. Only, it seemed that rather than send their champion out and base their strategy around him this time, the Goblins had been building.

A wall of wood, a mighty barricade from which Goblins could repel any attacking force. There were four such walls, each one twenty feet in height, forming a box amid the trees. There the Goblins had decided to make their stand, in their fortress of wood amid mud and snow. It was a worthy place to be besieged from. Bethal could spot more Goblins behind the walls, ready to hold it for as long as it took. She sighed and shook her head.

“How ingenious. They did that in one day? I would say it is commendable—but I won’t. Thomast? Destroy the walls.”

Her Chevalier nodded. Reluctantly, Bethal thought. Even after he’d been nearly killed—her heart beat faster in fury. He was too kind. He nodded at one of the Rose Knights standing next to him. The Goblins watched, curious. They had heavy shields on their walls and barriers made of thick wood. They were probably confident they could withstand however many arrows the Rose Knights had brought.

One of the Knights of the Petal who looked less bulky than the others raised a staff in their pink, gauntleted hands and pointed it towards the walls. He spoke a single word, pointed. One of the Goblins on the walls with no ears shouted an alarm—

Too late. The [Grand Fireball] spell shot through the forest and burst across the walls. Goblins screamed and disappeared into an inferno and the flash and smoke blinded everyone for a second. When it was over, a huge hole had opened up in the thick walls and thousands of Goblins were suddenly afforded a spectacular view of the Rose Knights. And vice versa.

“[Knights] can be [Mage Knights] too, little Goblins. Advance!”

Bethal’s voice snapped and the Rose Knights charged once more. They raced towards the Goblins who met them with a roar. Only, now they were boxed in, trapped by the fortress they had worked so hard to design! The Rose Knights charged towards them, intent on holding them in place and capitalizing on this mistake.

 

—-

 

The ruse lasted until the first pink knight was nearly upon her Goblins. Rags, sitting on one of the back walls, gave the order. She raised her hand and Pyrite pointed. Goblins hidden behind one of the huge trees saw the signal and pushed.

Goblins and trees. Of course, they’d cut a few down to build this stupid little fort, but they’d spent the rest of that time carefully, carefully sawing at the base of the trees, making sure they were still standing upright, but able to be pushed—

The first tree, an ancient guardian hundreds of years old, fell with a thundering crash upon the Rose Knights. They cried out, unprepared for a few thousand pounds of wood to hit them. Rags clenched her fist as two of the Knights went down, pinned by the branches. And one more had been directly hit! She shouted in celebration—

Until she saw the knight was still moving. Weakly, yes, but the impact had only dented their armor. Rags stared. The other Knights were lifting at the tree, trying to recover their comrade—

“Next tree.”

She pointed to Pyrite. He nodded and pointed to two more trees. The Hobs and Goblins hiding behind them heaved and down the trees went. It was hard to aim them of course, but it was fortunate the pink knights were such a colorful target.

One huge tree was aimed straight at Lady Bethal. She blinked at it. Ten of her Rose Knights roared as they leapt towards the tree. They braced themselves and caught the tree as it fell towards them. Rags gaped.

“More trees!”

Four more trees were toppled, but the Rose Knights were retreating out of the forest now. Two of their comrades lay on the ground—unconscious or dead, it was hard to tell. Some of the other Rose Knights had dented armor.

It was a paltry victory in Rags’ mind, but the Goblins around her cheered wildly to see the invincible Humans retreat. And without Greybeard! She could see them staring at her, and sat a bit straighter.

Overwhelming. She knew she was weak as a warrior, but her mind? Rags narrowed her eyes. What would the Human [Lady] do next? Burn the forest down? Attack from afar? Rags had prepared herself for everything, but she was still not ready for what Lady Bethal did next.

 

—-

 

“That little minx.”

Bethal narrowed her eyes as she stared at the downed trees and eyed the Goblin fortress. She couldn’t spot the Goblin Chieftain this time; if she had, she might have had her shot from afar, never mind Thomast’s objections.

One of her Rose Knights who’d survived having a tree dropped on him saluted her. His helmet was dented and he was unsteady, but his voice was clear and worried.

“Milady, they are attempting to surround our position.”

He pointed to the Goblins as they streamed slowly out of the forest. Did they have another plan or was this a feint? Were the two of her [Knights] alive? Bethal’s heart ached and her head hurt trying to figure out what might happen next.

“Sir Kerrig, it seems we’ve been caught off-guard. What do you propose we do? If the Goblins can take out two of my Knights of the Petal, is it worth risking more of your lives?”

He bowed, fearless, wobbling only a bit as he straightened.

“My Lady Bethal, we do not fear death when valor awaits! Only give the word and we will slay the leader of these Goblins. With your permission, we can retreat you to a defensible location while a core of us strike at the Goblin Chieftain. If we kill her, the rest of the Goblins will lose their command—”

“No.”

Bethal said it suddenly and decisively. Sir Kerrig and the other Rose Knights stared at her. He wavered.

“Milady?”

Lady Bethal looked at the two Knights pinned underneath the tree, thought of the old Goblin, and looked at the Chevalier Thomast. Her voice held a note of complaint in it as she addressed her husband.

“Thomast, I’m not in the mood to hunt Goblins any longer. Let’s go home.”

He blinked at her. Bethal stared back. Thomast turned.

“Sound the retreat.”

The Goblins wavered when they heard the horn call and saw the line of pink knights moving backwards in tight formation. Rags frowned as she saw Lady Bethal unhook one of her earrings—she’d worn earrings to a battlefield—and lightly touch the gem. She began speaking into the gemstone, and part of what she said drifted through the wind and was picked up by Rags’ keen ears. And the ears of the rest of the Goblins.

“Magnolia? It’s me. Yes, Bethal. I’m not hunting the Goblins anymore. What? No, I see them. They’re right in front of me. But I’m giving up. Okay? Wait—stop shouting!”

There was a pause as Bethal listened to someone on the other end. Rags’ jaw dropped slowly. Bethal’s voice rose, indignant.

“I lost two of my Rose Knights. Two! You said they’d be easy to—no, don’t shout at me! There were unforeseen circumstances that—how many were killed? A few hundred…maybe a thousand. Yes, there are lots more. No, I’m not doing it! There’s too much risk and I don’t feel like it. Yes, I don’t feel like it. I’m going back to my estate. Send a carriage to—hello? Hello?”

She threw the earring to the ground and stomped on it. Thomast bent to pick the earring up from the frosted ground. Bethal tossed her head angrily.

“The nerve of that woman! I was about to tell her about that old Goblin—not that he was that much of a threat. You underestimated him, Thomast.”

“I did not.”

She stomped her foot.

“Yes you did! I keep telling you not to and you do! You could have beaten him—”

“He reminds me of an old story.”

“Hm?”

Thomast straightened, cleaning the earring with a handkerchief one of the Rose Knights offered him. He watched the unmoving Goblins over Bethal’s shoulder as he spoke.

“During the Second Antinium War, there were mighty Goblin Lords. Each known for their abilities in some way or another. One was known as the greatest warrior, someone whose skill at arms let him cut the air itself, a Goblin who could match any [Blademaster], any [Sword Dancer] or [Duelist]. He was called Greydath, I think. Greydath of Blades. That old Goblin reminded me of him.”

Bethal stared at her consort for a second and then burst out laughing. She patted his arm lightly, chuckling and wiping tears from her eyes.

“Don’t be silly, Thomast. The Goblin Lords all died out. They fell when their King did, or led their armies into oblivion shortly thereafter. He’s just an old Goblin. A veteran of the Goblin Wars, perhaps. You are prone to your silliness, aren’t you?”

“My apologies, milady.”

He bowed to her and she pouted.

“Call me ‘my dear’, or ‘wife’, or Bethal. Oh, Thomast, I’m feeling invigorated after all that fighting. I don’t know how I’ll explain the loss of two of my Rose Knights to Magnolia or their families. Comfort me?”

She clung to him. Thomast shook his head.

“Not here.”

She sighed.

“Prudish. Do be a dear and find us a nice deserted house so we can be alone. Or a tent. Or a bush. Or we can just find some grass and order everyone to look away.”

He smiled and lifted her into his arms as the other Knights of the Petal coughed or looked away. Slowly, Thomast turned and, still carrying Lady Bethal, he began to march with the other knights into the distance. It was as if the Goblins had completely been forgotten by all of them.

Chivalry, valor, passion, and dignit—and virtu—and nobility. Such were the aspects that governed Lady Bethal and her house. The Rose Knights marched away as the Lady of House Walchaís let her husband carry her off into the distance. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe watched them go in silence. Rags closed her mouth after a while and looked around.

Blood and death remained. The scars of battle were fresh in the memories of the Goblins; they had burnt their dead out of respect. And there were fallen on Bethal’s side. Yet the lady turned away. And there was something admirable about that as insane as she clearly was. She lived for her whims. And there it was. Valor, passion, pride—it was something like that.

Rags scratched her head. Goblin Lords and [Ladies]. Pink knights. She really wished Erin were here to explain things to her.

 

—-

 

“House Walchaís? Um…they’re one of the larger houses in Izril. They’re not one of the Five Families, obviously, but they came soon after the original noble families did and they can trace their roots back to Terandria.”

Lyonette paused and looked up. She was scrubbing the bar with Erin, a rare moment when the two of them could chat. She frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to answer Erin’s question precisely.

“They’re mad as loons, all of them. They’re the kind of nobility who love to go on quests, and who train [Knights] and duel people over insults. From what I can remember…Lady Bethal Walchaís is the current scion of the house. She married a famous [Duelist] after eloping with him and then came back to establish her own branch of [Knights] and take control of her family. She’s arrogant, prickly, and her husband has killed twelve people in duels of honor.”

Erin blinked as she raised her wet dust rag and scrubbed at a stain.

“Whoa. That’s a lot. I think. Is it? No—twelve people? That’s a lot.”

“And those are just the ones killed, remember. Lady Bethal has many friends, but many more enemies.”

Lyonette grimaced and took a drink of cold water before wiping away a bead of sweat. Now it was coming back to her, all the little squabbles and ever-shifting networks of names and political alliances. She smiled as she recalled something Erin might like.

“She’s also known for her flights of passion. Did you know she once bought five hundred prime horses to establish her own horse breeding industry? Only, within a month she’d gotten bored so she fenced off twenty thousand acres of land and let them roam wild. They kept repopulating until there were so many that her lands became famous for exporting war stallions anyways.”

“Whoa. Hey, how do you know all of this? Do you know these Wal—Wallchase people personally?”

The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] rolled her eyes and laughed.

“Erin, I was a [Princess] who took part in the politics of the realm. I have to remember all of it. Only, I was a bad student so my tutors always despaired. I suppose memorizing orders as a [Barmaid] helped my memory. But why do you want to know about House Walchaís anyways? Do you have an issue with them or know them somehow?”

Erin opened her mouth and frowned.

“You know what? I have no idea. Oh. Right! I didn’t mean to say Walchaís, I meant to say Welch’s juice. You know—grape juice? Oh right, you don’t know. Anyways, they make grape juice. I wish I had some.”

Lyonette stared at her. Erin stared back and then raised her hands.

“Right! Back to work!”

They went back to cleaning the tables. After a while, Lyonette raised her head.

“I wonder if there are any vineyards around here. Terandria has a lot, but do Drakes or Gnolls raise grapes? Do they even grow in this climate?”

Erin frowned.

“Good question.”

They stared at each other and shrugged. The Goblins were downstairs, sleeping off a food coma, the inn was quiet, and for the moment there was tenuous peace. After a while, Mrsha rolled across the floor, chewing on a magic wand.

It was a relief to have a peaceful day in the inn. Especially after all the trouble with the Goblins they’d had. And all the trouble they were about to have. Erin shook her head.

“I sort of wish I was with Rags right now. I bet she’s keeping nice and quiet, you know, keeping her head down while all this Goblin Lord business sorts herself out? She’s smart.”

She tapped her head. Lyonette nodded obligingly.

Mrsha sneezed.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.40 L

Beneath Liscor, the war continued. It was a quiet war, one that the Drakes and Gnolls living above were unaware of. It had gone on for years; it could rightly be called a war of attrition, although neither side truly viewed it as such. How could a war of attrition take place when both sides were functionally inexhaustible?

The Hive of the Free Antinium versus the monsters of Liscor’s dungeon. Both groups were able to reproduce at speeds that allowed them to continually clash with one another. The monsters in Liscor’s dungeon were numerous and had established vast nests within the dungeon. The groups that continually assailed the Antinium Hive were a drop in an ocean of bodies. So long as they were not purged in their homes, they would keep coming.

On the other end, the Antinium were adept at repopulating themselves. They had developed it into a science, such that they could weather any number of losses with few issues. After all, so long as their Prognugator and more importantly, Queen survived, what were the deaths of a few hundred Soldiers that died to stop a group of Flesh Worms, or the Workers who perished each day rebuilding their tunnels and fortifications?

Neither side cared. Not the Queen and certainly not the monsters. But if anyone had bothered to ask the Workers and Soldiers, they would have said…

Nothing. Soldiers did not speak and Workers had few opinions of their own. They were born loyal to their Hive and fought and died in service to it. What was despair to a being that had been alive for hours? New Soldiers hurried to the front lines, fighting monsters with the fluids of their creation still wet on their carapaces. They were faceless, voiceless. And alone. There was no one to champion them.

In a section of tunnels adjacent to the dungeon, a group of Soldiers struggled alone. They fought desperately against an equal number of enchanted suits of armor. These metal guardians were the equals of Soldiers; incredibly tough and difficult to kill, they cut down the Antinium one by one as the Soldiers hurled themselves desperately against their foe. The newly born Soldiers fell back, desperate. Fighting. Dying.

And yet they fought on. Because if they fled, who would fight? The Soldiers ignored the wounds on their bodies, and yet despair crept into their limbs, weighing them down. They cried out, silently, without a voice to speak, without words or knowledge of what they wished for. They needed someone to give them hope, to give them a reason to fight. Someone, something they could believe in. In their darkest moments the knowledge of their Hive was not enough. They needed—

One of the suits of armor bashed a Soldier down with a mace. It strode forwards, red light leaking through the slits in its visor as the enchanted guardians approached. A Soldier raised a broken arm as the other three battered the armor of its foe futilely. He knew he was going to die and the knowledge was bitter and cold. But then he heard a different sound.

Click.

It was thunderous, collective, a sound made of many parts. A hundred mandibles snapped together. The enchanted armor paused, and the Soldier heard it again.

Click.

This time the echo was louder, and there was a drumming noise, the sound of heavy footfalls. The Soldier stumbled backwards through the tunnel and saw something running towards him.

A foe? No. Another Antinium. But this one was different from the Soldiers and Workers, the faceless multitudes. It was…bigger? Bigger, yes, a bit. But what set this Antinium apart was the color. The young Soldier with the broken arm stared.

Yellow splatters of paint covered the Soldier who ran down the tunnel towards the enchanted suits of armor. They turned, weapons covered with green Antinium blood. The mace-wielding armor turned towards the Soldier, weapon ready. It swung and the young Soldier tried to look away rather than see this new Soldier cut down—

The mace struck the Soldier with yellow splatters on one raised forearm. The chitin cracked under the force of the mighty blow, but unlike the other Antinium who had broken from the crushing impact, this Soldier’s body was tougher. Two of his arms shot out, pinning the arms of the enchanted suit of armor. The other two began to pound it, making the ancient steel ring with the impacts.

The other Soldiers stared. The enchanted suits of armor abandoned their foes to help their comrade, but now more Soldiers were streaming through the tunnels. The Soldier with the broken arm stared. These Antinium were like the one who had charged into battle. They were all painted, all colorful! One had a star on its forehead, another a rainbow of droplets all over its body, like rain.

They were all unique, all—all different. And as they charged down the corridor, the young Soldier saw an Antinium holding a strange, object that released plumes of sweet smoke every time he shook it. The Worker pulled the Soldier with the broken arm out of the battle, shielding them as the colorful Soldiers charged ahead. And the young Soldier now had an image, a name for what he had cried out for in his last moments.

He stared at the Soldier with yellow splatters as he pointed and the other Soldiers charged ahead. Yes, that was what he’d wanted. Someone to lead them, to show them—hope. He had no words for what he felt, for what the other Soldier was. But if he had heard the word, he would have agreed with it immediately. The other Antinium were different, braver, more certain, and they fought for something rather than because they had been told. They were unique. They were hope.

They were heroes.

 

—-

 

Yellow Splatters ran down the tunnel, his legs pumping as his arms rose. He didn’t feel the cracked chitin on his arm. He was alight with battle fury. And each second he ran was another second, another life he could have saved. He charged into the backs of the second group of monsters on the front lines and caught a suit of armor with a two-armed lariat. He flung the hundreds of pounds of armor to the ground and began stomping on the metal guardian, ignoring the other suits of armor as they turned towards him.

Enchanted armor this time. At least they didn’t seem to be accompanied by any other types of monsters. Yellow Splatters had learned to dread monsters working in tandem with each other. At least the enchanted suits of armor were few in number.

But deadly. This corridor was filled with the bodies of Soldiers and Workers alike. Yellow Splatters had arrived too late. He gave vent to his fury as the other suits of armor assailed him. They cut at his body, struck him with metal fists and tried to bear him down. But Yellow Splatters refused to fall. He couldn’t.

He was a [Sergeant]. The Soldier felt another part of his outer layer of chitin crack as something struck him in the shoulder. But the blade that cut into his side, the fist that smashed him in the side of the head, none of those blows could fell him. He had a Skill. [Tough Carapace].

One Skill, but it made so much of a difference. And another—Yellow Splatters turned and his fist sent a metal suit of armor flying with a dent in the chest plate.

[Power Strike]. The other suits of armor closed in, fearless. Yellow Splatters raised his arms to guard his body and saw one of the suits of armor disappear. A Soldier had crashed into it with a running tackle. This Soldier had white wings painted on his back and he rolled around on the ground, bashing the armor’s helmet in.

The other Soldiers had arrived. Yellow Splatters abandoned his guard and leapt into the attack again. He and another Soldier tore the arms off a suit of armor, and then he found himself bashing at another suit with the arm he’d ripped off. And then?

It was all over. At least, for now. Yellow Splatters rose, breathing heavily, and heard a voice.

“Sergeant Yellow Splatters, we are ordered to take Tunnel E4J!”

He turned and saw a smaller Antinium standing at the back of the group of Soldiers. Pawn, censer in hand, was bending over a wounded Soldier. Yellow Splatters rose and immediately pointed. The Soldiers under his command—forty of them—raced down the tunnel.

War. That was what he fought. Yellow Splatters slammed into another group of monsters—large maggots that spat acid at him, and then found himself fighting a horrific moth that was so large it had to crawl down the tunnel. The Face-Eater moth, one of the large insects that the dungeon housed, ripped off a Soldier’s arm and buried its mandibles in another before it died.

Both had been marked. After the giant moth was dead, Yellow Splatters stood over the dead Soldier. His body had been shredded, but Yellow Splatters could remember what had been drawn on his chest. A white circle with a question mark drawn on the inside. In black paint. Yellow Splatters didn’t know what it meant, but that wasn’t important. It had defined that Soldier.

And now he was dead. The symbol would be redrawn on the walls of the barracks. He would be remembered so long as the walls and the Soldiers living within remained—but the Soldier was dead.

In the aftermath of the battle, as the remaining monsters retreated back to the dungeon or were finished off, Yellow Splatters found Pawn again. The Worker was standing with two other Workers, both of whom were poring over maps of the Hive’s tunnels. These maps were a new thing; all Antinium knew the layout of the Hive through the collective mental link they shared, and their Queen knew all, so what would be the purpose of maps? But these two Antinium were [Strategists], and they had insisted on the need to make them.

Belgrade and Anand, the two coordinators of the Hive’s defenses, were speaking with Pawn as Yellow Splatters waited to be given orders. The fact that they were Workers and he was a Soldier was important; they could talk and he could not. Thus, they gave orders to the Soldiers, and Yellow Splatters, the highest-level and only leader among the Soldiers was often tasked with implementing commands.

He led the Individual Soldiers, the ones who had distinguished themselves with paint and begun to level within the Hive. They were a small unit assigned to Pawn, but they were growing and they had distinguished themselves in battle, holding ground and defeating monsters with far fewer casualties than regular Soldiers and Workers.

But the casualties did occur. Each day, there was usually one death. On bad days, there were more. And of late—Yellow Splatters ached inside, remembering the deaths. Holding the dungeon against the influx of monsters who attacked regularly was difficult, but it had been harder of late as well. In fact, the Workers were discussing that very issue now.

“We have held the tunnels nearest the lowest southeastern breach into the dungeon. Casualties were…minimal given the attack. I regret that my static defenses were overwhelmed. Thankfully Anand had already redirected your division, Pawn. And there have been no other attacks today.”

Belgrade was pointing to a map. Yellow Splatters knew he was pointing to the location he had just been in. He stared at Belgrade.

It was a new idea, to think of each Antinium as separate. A few weeks ago Yellow Splatters would not have been able to understand the concept. But now he did, and he had already begun to appreciate the difference between Belgrade and Anand. Both had taken over for Klbkch and the Queen in leading the defense of the Hive, usually from the dungeon attacks. And both had different styles.

Belgrade was a fan of fixed formations, of chokepoints and static groups of Soldiers who would hold a particular tunnel while he reinforced areas at risk at need. By contrast, Anand seldom kept Soldiers and Workers under his command in one place. He preferred to send roving strike forces out to attack monsters, usually choosing to ambush them or attack from all sides with superior numbers.

Apparently, that preference for strategy was derived from the games of chess both played, and Yellow Splatters understood that Anand was considered the better player—and [Tactician]—of the two.

He agreed. Yellow Splatters had developed opinions in the time since he had become [Sergeant], and one of his opinions was that Belgrade’s method of defending was too costly. If a powerful monster—like one of the giant Face-Eater Moths, or a Crypt Worm—attacked, regular Soldiers would be quickly killed. By contrast, luring the enemy and setting up tactically advantageous situations was infinitely better and saved lives.

That wasn’t to say that Yellow Splatters didn’t appreciate the need for Belgrade—he was efficient at intercepting smaller monsters or ones that tried to dig into the Hive. But wherever possible, Yellow Splatters would prefer Anand to lead. And that was often the case when both [Tacticians] were on duty and neither one was injured.

So why had today’s battle seen Belgrade take the lead? Two tunnels had been overrun by monsters, two tunnels that were practically entering into the dungeon. They were not the usual areas of conflict.

“It seems like the radius at which monsters will begin to attack each other is indeed around four thousand paces from the dungeon’s outer walls. As you said, Anand.”

Belgrade turned to the other Worker, who nodded. Anand’s voice was different from Belgrade’s. While both had the same body, Anand spoke more confidently to the softer voice Belgrade had.

“Indeed. Holding these areas—”

He touched on four spots on the map, each one indicating an entrance from the dungeon into the Hive through a collapsed wall or open breach in the dungeon.

“—is far more costly than if we pulled back. Redirecting the monsters into kill zones where they become aware of each other and reduce their numbers is the most expedient strategy.”

Precisely put. Yellow Splatters shifted from one foot to another. His upper right arm—the one he’d used to block a mace earlier—was dripping blood from between the cracks. Since it was the only wound he’d taken and very minor, he ignored it and the pain. He waited, trying to understand why no one was listening to Anand’s sensible advice. Why were they so close to the dungeon, taking casualties? Was this Belgrade’s idea? It was foolish. Stupid.

Wrong. Yellow Splatters thought the word deliberately, although he couldn’t speak it. Belgrade nodded.

“I think it will be difficult to hold this area. But of course, we must. For now, I recommend doubling the Soldiers guarding each entrance, and keeping Colored Antinium in reserve. Pawn, how many of your Soldiers can you spare?”

Pawn hesitated and glanced at Yellow Splatters for the first time. The [Sergeant] willed Pawn to give the correct answer.

Colored Antinium. That was what the two [Tacticians] had begun calling the Soldiers with paint. As if they were…different. And they were. They were elite warriors, in a Hive where there had been only uniformity before. They were few, though. And growing fewer. It was hard to show a Soldier what it meant to be Individual, and daily losses meant they were slowly losing more than they converted. Yellow Splatters thought on that often.

“…I can spare twenty, I think, Belgrade. I would like to rest the injured, and if I am not here to pray for the wounded, casualties seem to—”

Belgrade was already nodding his agreement. Neither he nor Anand ever really contradicted Pawn, except in matters of strategy. The sole [Acolyte] and first Worker to become Individual was deeply respected by all of the Antinium. Yellow Splatters considered Pawn a fine helper. But he was not a leader.

At least he had given a good number. Twenty. Yellow Splatters had a running tally of wounded Soldiers under his commands and the ones who were tired from battle. Twenty to be sent for active duty left a margin of around…sixty three for emergencies and tomorrow’s combat. Acceptable.

“Agreed, then. Send them here and I will keep them in reserve. No sense losing any if it can be avoided.”

Belgrade was speaking to the others. His words made Yellow Splatters…hurt. What he said was of course correct, but by preserving the lives of the valuable Individual Soldiers, he was sacrificing more regular Soldiers instead. To Yellow Splatters, any Soldier’s death was unacceptable. He had been a regular Soldier, once. Now he was a leader, the leader of Soldiers. He would save them all if he could.

And indeed, as the Workers turned they had to look up at him. Yellow Splatters was a Soldier and taller than Workers, but he was actually taller than other Soldiers as well. Just by an inch or two, and his body was a tiny bit larger, but it was noticeable given the uniformity of other Antinium. Pawn had speculated that it was a product of his leader class. Yellow Splatters felt it was a mark of rank.

“Sergeant Yellow Splatters, thank you for your efforts. I believe today’s wave will be all for the next four hours at least. The dungeon seems to influence monsters to attack at semi-predictable intervals…you may rest for now.”

Yellow Splatters nodded his head towards Anand, deliberately shifting his body so he wasn’t nodding at Belgrade. If the other Worker noticed it…no, he did not. He was still looking over the maps.

Holding the tunnels closest to the dungeon. Why? They should be fighting in the more distant tunnels and blocking these ones with dirt to slow the monsters as they burrowed to the Hive. Yellow Splatters fumed as he marched back with Pawn towards the other Soldiers. They were all waiting for him and all, save for their one fallen brother, relatively unharmed. There would be no need for the precious few healing potions that Pawn had been given by Klbkch.

“Yellow Splatters, let us return. I would like to speak with you in the barracks.”

Pawn deferentially let Yellow Splatters proceed in front of him. Yellow Splatters pointed, and the Soldiers formed up into a double line and marched out of the distant tunnels and back towards the heart of the Hive.

The [Sergeant] tried to grapple with his anger as he marched down the main tunnels, letting Workers move quickly out of his way. However, emotion was a rare feeling for him. It was practically unheard of among Soldiers. But Yellow Splatters had begun having opinions. Again, it was probably part of his class, but those opinions made him question things.

Things like his place, orders he’d been given, and certain things Pawn said. Of course, it was necessary for Soldiers to fight, and guarding the dungeon was essential to preserve the Hive. Yellow Splatters was loyal to his Queen, despite never having seen her. But orders that wasted lives, like the ones Belgrade had given and continued to give? Hold the entrances? Why? Yellow Splatters disagreed with those orders.

And sometimes, with Pawn. Yellow Splatters turned his body as he walked to look back at Pawn. The Worker was maintaining the censer he’d used, cleaning it of incense as he walked. He was important. He had given Yellow Splatter identity, promoted him to [Sergeant]. But he did not understand war and battle by his own admission. And yet, he commanded the Soldiers?

Was that wrong? Yellow Splatters turned forwards and noticed the staring. Soldiers and Workers alike had paused in their endless commute to stare at him and the other Colored Antinium. They usually did, but today Yellow Splatters sensed that most of the gazes were on him.

Because of his height. Of course. It was probably less than an inch—more like a few centimeters. In a crowd of Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, or any other race it would have been completely unnoticed. But among the Antinium it was like someone was shining a beacon on Yellow Splatters.

He stood tall as he marched towards his barracks. He was not proud; that was a foreign emotion to him when Pawn had explained it to him. Rather Yellow Splatters was dedicated. He fought enemies. He killed to save as many of his fellow Soldiers as possible. He mourned the deaths of his comrades and strove to level up further, to become stronger in order to save more. That was all that there was to live. All that was meaningful.

 

—-

 

The barracks of the Individual Soldiers had changed in several ways since Pawn had first wandered into it. It had been expanded and given several access points for convenience and a speedier connection to the front lines in the Hive. Space had also been cleared on one wall for a…mural of sorts.

Symbols decorated the wall, each with their own space, but each close enough so that it seemed they formed a pattern. The marks of fallen Soldiers rested there. Yellow Splatters looked up and saw patterns he recognized.

A paw print in white. Eight lines and a curvy wave. A golden quartet of stars. So many already. And a Soldier was already dipping his finger in white paint, drawing out the circle and question mark onto the wall.

It hurt. But Yellow Splatters embraced this pain. It was right that the wall be here, reminding the Soldiers of who they had lost, who they had sacrificed. This is why they fought. For the Hive, for the Queen, but for each other above all else.

A few more details of the changed barracks caught Yellow Splatters’ eye as he turned from the mural. There was now a storage area in the barracks, a place where a small crate of healing potions had been placed, a stockpile of bandages and other healing agents usually reserved for the most wounded of Antinium—

And in one corner, slightly dusty from lack of use, a pile of books. They had been Pawn’s latest addition to the barracks.

No one had touched them. Yellow Splatters stared at the books. He considered them a waste of space. He understood—vaguely—that these books had images in them and were meant to tell stories like the ones Pawn told to the Soldiers each night. However, what was the point?

Stories were fine for helping new Soldiers become Individual. But they were not practical, not useful for Soldiers who were already Individual. If a Soldier had realized his potential, it was more important to do other things.

Like train. Yellow Splatters strode over to a cleared area in the barracks where several Soldiers were already sparring. It was an unheard-of idea for Soldiers, but once Pawn had suggested the idea, Yellow Splatters had immediately seen it was one of the Worker’s good suggestions.

The Soldiers were fighting in pairs and sometimes in groups. It could be a duel between two Soldiers, but since battle was rarely that fair, sometimes there were as many as five Soldiers beating on one. Not hitting with full force of course; that would be too dangerous. But they swung fast and hard enough to sometimes crack chitin, dodging, punching, learning to fight more efficiently.

A Soldier approached as Yellow Splatters walked into the sparring area. He was a new Soldier, one with a pink stripe on either side of his face. Twin Stripes raised his four fists, each one a bludgeoning tool that could gouge, grab, or bludgeon as necessary. Yellow Splatters raised his own arms and the two Soldiers charged towards each other.

At first, Twin Stripes went to grab Yellow Splatters, but the [Sergeant] punched him back. Twin Stripes circled, lashing out with careful punches and keeping two arms back for a guard. Yellow Splatters ignored defense and went for a full-out assault. He—gently—hammered Twin Stripes, dominating his opponent. Despite that, Twin Stripes kept fighting, doggedly avoiding blows and blocking where he could until Yellow Splatters decided it was time to rest.

Exhausted, the new Soldier lowered his guard. The exchange of blows had been intense, and the carapace on his upper right arm and shoulder was slightly cracked. Nevertheless, he was ready for Yellow Splatters to continue.

Good! Yellow Splatters radiated approval and the other Soldiers sensed it. This is what was important. Not books, not stories—this was practical. Aside from rest and food, this was all a Soldier needed. Because the next battle would be upon them soon, and when it occurred, Yellow Splatters wanted his unit as prepared as they could be for it.

…Oddly, it seemed fewer of them were leveling up as fast as they used to be. Of course, higher levels meant they slowed down, but even Yellow Splatters was only a Level 12 [Sergeant]. The other Soldiers should be leveling faster, not slower.

He wondered why that was. Maybe the training was too light? But full-power blows were too dangerous. Well, at least the Soldiers were learning to fight in their off-time. Yellow Splatters beckoned to three Soldiers, wanting to increase the intensity of his sparring when he heard a voice.

“Sergeant?”

Pawn. Yellow Splatters paused and reluctantly turned. The Worker was waiting for him next to the pile of books. The Soldier trotted over and noticed Pawn carefully dusting the books off, arranging them to face the barracks. He stared at the books and then at the Worker, impatiently.

“I mourn the loss of one of our Soldiers. I prayed…but my prayers do not always work. Nevertheless, thank you for fighting as you did. Those Soldiers might have been slaughtered had you not charged in.”

The Worker looked up at Yellow Splatters and he nodded. Pawn always thanked Yellow Splatters and the other Soldiers after a battle. However, this time the Worker hesitated. He clicked his mandibles lightly together and made a weak clicking sound—the Antinium equivalent of clearing his throat.

“I wonder, though, if you are not becoming too brave, Yellow Splatters? It was a very risky maneuver you made. Brave, yes, and it did save lives, but it put you in great danger.”

The [Sergeant] stared at Pawn uncomprehendingly. Of course he had been in danger, charging ahead of the others. Shouldn’t he risk his life?

Pawn seemed to understand his point. He usually did. The Worker nodded his head, clutching the censer with one hand to his chest.

“It is important. I know. But I worry about you. If you should fall—”

The other Soldiers would lose their leader. Yellow Splatters understood at last. That would weaken them, possibly leading to more casualties. Already, he was able to influence his unit as a whole in small ways, like leading a charge with his Skills and so on. He readjusted his view of his usefulness in combat. He was a leader and care was important. Still, Yellow Splatters couldn’t fault his actions. Saving a Soldier’s life was paramount.

Pawn seemed to agree, because he dropped that line of conversation. He looked to the books again and opened his mandibles, then hesitated.

“I ah—notice you have put yourself on combat duty every day for the last two weeks.”

Yellow Splatters nodded. Pawn reached out and touched at Yellow Splatter’s arms. The blood had stopped, but Yellow Splatters had broken chitin on multiple places on his carapace. Pawn looked distressed.

“It is important to have a [Sergeant], but it is not necessary that you fight every battle, Yellow Splatters. You need rest.”

Not yet. The Soldier stood tall, disregarding this suggestion from Pawn. Once he had agonized over everything Pawn said; now he recognized the Worker spoke out of ignorance at times. Misplaced worry and concern for his wellbeing, true, but ignorance all the same. He had to fight, to keep fighting. The battle was all that mattered. So long as his people were dying, he had to fight.

If Pawn understood that, he didn’t show it. Rather, he looked down at the censer and then up at Yellow Splatters.

“I believe you need rest. Or rather, a different kind of rest in addition to your regular sleep, Yellow Splatters.”

Sergeant. Yellow Splatters had no eyes to narrow, but he stared hard at Pawn. What did he mean?

“I am assigning you to tonight’s surface patrol, Yellow Splatters.”

The Soldier recoiled. A surface patrol? That was…ludicrous. He didn’t need to go above!

Above was different from below. Below was real combat, dangerous fighting. Whereas above…Yellow Splatters could remember the joy of first seeing the sun, of walking around and staring at the strange Drakes and Gnolls and people and buildings and…everything! But that enjoyment had become a distant memory. Now he only cared for what really mattered, which was doing his duty.

He wasn’t some new Soldier who needed to become Individual. But Pawn clearly disagreed. He rested a hand on Yellow Splatter’s arm, speaking softly.

“Some food and different scenery will help, or so I believe. And I would like you to meet the Soldier in charge of leading the patrols aboveground. I am considering making him the next [Sergeant].”

That got Yellow Splatter’s attention. He stepped back, letting Pawn’s hand fall off his arm. Another [Sergeant]? Yellow Splatters would be only too willing to see another leader to help protect the Soldiers, but who? Of course he shared the barracks with all the Individual Soldiers, but he was not familiar with the one Pawn mentioned. He had not gone aboveground since he had been promoted.

“The Antinium in question is named Purple Smile. I believe he is taking some Soldiers and new Individuals up in a few minutes. Over there.”

Pawn pointed, and Yellow Splatters saw a group of Soldiers gathering to go to the surface. Among them was Twin Stripes. Yellow Splatters strode over, cutting the rest of what Pawn was saying off and saw the Soldier in charge standing by one of the exits to the barracks.

He was a Soldier. And in that, he was like the others. Only, this Soldier struck Yellow Splatters as somewhat odd instantly. He had paint markings on his body of course, but instead of putting them on his arms, legs, chest, or back, he’d put them on his face.

In fact, he’d carefully painted a purple ring around both of his insectile eyes, and drawn what looked like a smile across his mandibles and lower face. The effect was well, horrific if you weren’t another Antinium. But it was a smile on his face, and his posture wasn’t the military-straightness of most Soldiers either. He leaned against the dirt wall. Since Antinium had problems bending backwards—their carapaces got in the way—he was doing a crazy tilt with his body, leaning his head back against the wall.

It looked ridiculous to Yellow Splatters. However, Purple Smile seemed to be enjoying the activity, and two other Soldiers had already tried to copy him. Yellow Splatters marched over and Purple Smile propelled himself off the wall. He nodded and Yellow Splatters nodded back.

The Soldiers had nothing as elaborate as hand signals. In battle, Yellow Splatters could direct other Soldiers with his mind to a limited degree, which is why pointing is all he needed to do. By contrast Purple Smile pointed, waggled his fingers, and walked them in mimicry of what they were supposed to be doing already. He led the way out of the Antinium Hive at a relaxed, slow pace.

Yellow Splatters already disliked him. And he could not understand why this Soldier of all Soldiers was being considered for a [Sergeant] position!

They went above. Yellow Splatters strode out onto the cobblestone street, not pausing to stare up at the sun or around at the city like all the new Soldiers were doing. Even the ones who’d been above once or twice, like Twin Stripes, were staring.

Purple Smile let them do it. In fact, he kept staring up at a cloud so long that Yellow Splatters had to click his mandibles to get him to move. At last, the other Soldier led them down the street, towards the western gates and the inn that was their regular starting point for each patrol.

It was a mark of the trust Liscor had in the Antinium that a patrol could now be led by one of the Soldiers and not by Pawn himself. Yellow Splatters marched, staring directly at Purple Smile as he meandered down the street. Of course, non-Antinium still got out of the way for their patrol, but Yellow Splatters appreciated that.

What bothered him was the clear awe the other Soldiers held their surroundings in. Every now and then Purple Smile would let them stop to stare at a passing Drake, or at a brick wall, or—or a patch of melting snow!

It hurt to see Soldiers like Twin Stripes, who were pathetically grateful to see the sky, who stared upwards with awe. It hurt because Yellow Splatters understood how mundane the sky was. These other people, the Drakes who passed by on the other side of the street, the Gnolls who sniffed the air and sneezed as they passed by, they saw the sky every day! But most Soldiers would die without this smallest of privileges.

Yellow Splatters snapped his mandibles together irritably and Purple Smile turned to look at him curiously. Pointedly, Yellow Splatters looked ahead and Purple Smile reluctantly picked up the pace.

At last, they marched out of the city and through the wet snow to the inn. There Purple Smile knocked on the door. It was some time before it opened, and when it did, he heard muffled voices and a lot of shuffling sounds.

“Hi, hi! Sorry for the delay!”

The door opened and Erin Solstice opened it, smiling widely. Yellow Splatters stared at her, and saw Purple Smiles open and raise his mandibles in a smile. Erin peered at him and then smiled back.

“Hey, it’s you! Scary-purple-smile-guy! How’s it been? You’re here for food, right? Where’s Pawn? Not with you this time? Well, come on in and—”

She opened the door wider and Yellow Splatters froze. Inside the inn were monsters.

Goblins. Five of them, sitting around a table, eating. They froze when they saw the Antinium. One reached for a sword until another grabbed his arm. Yellow Splatters was quicker, though. He raised his fists and the Soldiers around him stared. Belatedly, copying his example, they raised theirs. Erin’s eyes went round and wide.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

The Goblins in the inn reacted to the threat. They surged upwards, pushing their chairs back and now all of them did draw their weapons. Immediately Yellow Splatters and the other Soldiers tensed up, grouping together, getting ready to rush in.

Goblins! Yellow Splatters buzzed with anticipation. So, there was real fighting to be had above, was there? He hadn’t ever met this kind of Goblin before—they were far larger than the pallid, small Goblins who sometimes rushed the tunnels, but he’d take them down anyways. He began to charge when a set of four hands grabbed him.

Purple Smile yanked Yellow Splatters back and barred the way into the inn. He pointed at the Goblins and shook his head, to the surprise of all the Soldiers. Meanwhile, Erin was yelping, waving her hands and saying the same thing.

“Don’t attack! They’re friendly! I thought Pawn told you—these are good Goblins, okay? There’s no need to fight! Does anyone read the sign?”

Erin looked exasperatedly towards Purple Smile. He raised an authoritative hand and Yellow Splatters realized that Pawn had said something of the kind, only he’d walked away too fast to hear. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his fists and the other Soldiers copied him.

“That’s the first time I’ve had to—who’s the big guy? Wait, we’ve met, haven’t we?”

The [Innkeeper] stared at Yellow Splatters curiously. He returned the look for a second and then glanced at Purple Smile. The Goblins sat down cautiously and Purple Smile walked into the room as if nothing was the matter. Warily, Yellow Splatters followed.

The other Soldiers entered the inn, sitting at a group of tables far away from the Goblins, staring at them curiously. Those who’d been to the inn before were clearly eager for food. Yellow Splatters sat in a seat with a good view of the Goblins—just in case—and focused his attention on the young woman rushing in and out of the kitchen, calling for help.

“Sorry, sorry! I was feeding Mrsha—oh! The Antinium are here! I’ll be right with you all with your orders!”

Lyonette rushed downstairs, smiling as soon as she saw the Antinium. She seemed to know Purple Smile too, and waved to him as he hurried into the kitchen. Yellow Splatters continued staring at Erin every time she came out.

He couldn’t understand why Pawn held Erin in such high regard. He had taken Yellow Splatters to see Erin, and told him about how he had become Individual thanks to her. And yes, Yellow Splatters acknowledged she was willing to cook for the Antinium and had taught Pawn to play chess. What of it? Could she help save Soldiers’ lives?

Her soup could. But the food that was placed in front of the Antinium wasn’t the enchanted mixture they sometimes ate before battle. Rather, it was a scramble of eggs, bacon, and cheese, a hot bowl of filling food. It was ideal since Antinium couldn’t handle gluten. And it was also useless.

Useless. Yellow Splatters felt his innards gurgling as he stared at the food and inhaled its aroma. He wanted to eat it, and yet something stayed his hand. Purple Smile was already munching down his food with gusto, as were the rest of the Soldiers, but the longer Yellow Splatters stared at his bowl, the angrier he got.

It was hard to explain. Yes, the food smelled wonderful. However, Yellow Splatters couldn’t focus on it. His thoughts were below, with the Soldiers whom Belgrade had assigned to the dungeon’s entrance. How could he eat while they were suffering? There were Soldiers dying in the Hive right now. Soldiers who would never taste this food. And here he was being served this—while his people might never have such luxuries!

Yellow Splatters didn’t know what he was doing until he was on his feet. Erin had paused as she was coming out with hot honey milk for all the Soldiers. Yellow Splatters lifted his bowl. Deliberately, staring at her the entire time, he overturned it, letting the hot food fall to the floor.

Erin blinked. The Soldiers sitting around Yellow Splatters froze. He folded both sets of arms, looking around challengingly. The Goblins had paused in eating and they were poking each other and staring at him, muttering. But Yellow Splatters didn’t care about that.

He looked at the other Soldiers. They were free to eat if they wished, but Yellow Splatters wouldn’t waste the Hive’s resources purchasing food when there were more important things to do. He received enough nutrition from the food in the Hive. This patrol aboveground, paying for food, eating with monsters—it was all pointless!

The other Soldiers stared at him, and then at Purple Smile. The Soldier had paused when Yellow Splatter overturned his bowl. He looked at the splatter of food on the ground and bent. He scooped up the fallen eggs and cheese and bacon and slopped a handful into his bowl.

“Oh don’t do that—I can make more. If you don’t like it, I can uh—what’s the matter?”

Erin raised her hands, looking uncertainly at Yellow Splatters. But then the other Soldiers moved. As one, all except for Purple Smile, they pushed back their bowls and stood up. Yellow Splatters saw Twin Stripes hesitate before pushing back his bowl of eggs, untouched.

“What?”

Erin stared around, and Lyonette poked her head out of the kitchen, disbelieving. Purple Smile stared around in silence, and then clicked his mandibles together softly and got up without a word. Yellow Splatters looked around the inn, at Erin, at the Goblins, and then turned.

The Antinium left the inn as one. They marched quickly back into the city and into the Hive. Once there, they began to train. Or rather, Yellow Splatters did and the others followed his example. Yellow Splatters worked his arms and legs, trading blows, pushing himself harder. Pawn wasn’t there—probably thinking he’d be out of the city for several hours.

Yellow Splatters didn’t mind the patrol with Purple Stripes after an hour of sparring and then eating brown paste at one of the mess halls. He felt good about the entire affair, actually. He had established what should be done and the other Soldiers had followed his example. Hopefully, now they’d stop going above altogether and they could focus on what was really important.

Fighting. Fighting in order to save lives. Compared to that, eating, seeing the sky…it was all pointless.

 

—-

 

“You did what?

It was perhaps the first time Pawn had ever raised his voice when speaking to a Soldier. He stood in front of Yellow Splatters, his mandibles opened wide and lowered in disbelief. Yellow Splatters looked ahead, waiting for Pawn to finish talking.

“The patrol is what Soldiers look forward to each day! The food was already paid for—why waste it?”

Yellow Splatters didn’t bother trying to explain to Pawn. He was a Worker. That was becoming more obvious. He glanced towards the pile of unread books and then away. Yellow Splatters turned.

“Sergeant! I am not done speaking with you—”

But he was done listening. The Soldier marched back to the sparring area and raised his four fists. The other Soldiers stared at him uncertainly, looking back towards Pawn. Yellow Splatters ignored them and gestured.

They’d have to expand the fighting area soon. It was too confined to allow more than a fifth of the barracks to practice at once. Too, they needed a larger barracks. More Soldiers should become Individual. Yes, a lot more. Pawn could take them on patrols to the surface rather than waste time here.

Yellow Splatters looked around for a partner since none were coming to him. He spotted a familiar Soldier, punching weakly with another one in a corner of the sparring area. Twin Stripes wavered as Yellow Splatters approached, but he put his fists up and tried to spar.

This time Yellow Splatters made Twin Stripes go on the offensive, blocking blows, thrusting aside weak punches. He put force behind his blocks, making Twin Stripes work hard for every hit he landed. He kept the spar going until someone thrust himself between the two Soldiers.

Pawn again. The Worker pushed Twin Stripes back since Yellow Splatters wouldn’t move. He clicked his mandibles together repeatedly, looking angrily at the [Sergeant].

“Enough. He is exhausted.”

The Soldier looked towards Twin Stripes. Yes, he was wavering on his feet. So what? That was the point. Soldiers had to fight when they were tired. Sparring like this was the only way to level up, to become stronger. He tried to push past Pawn, but the Worker barred his way.

“I said, enough! I am your leader—I order you to stop, Yellow Splatters!”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn. Then he carefully put one of his spade-like hands out and pushed the Worker out of the way.

The barracks, never loud to begin with, went completely silent. Every Soldier stared at Yellow Spatters and at Pawn, frozen where they stood. They stared at Pawn. The Worker seemed as stunned as the others. He looked to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier turned his back on the Worker and raised his fists.

Every Soldier in the room stared to their [Sergeant], and then to Pawn. They hesitated. They looked back and forth, and then, silently, chose. They turned their backs on Pawn, looking to Yellow Splatters instead. He smiled, and turned to Twin Stripes. The other Soldier was looking at Pawn, but he jerked back towards Yellow Splatters. He too raised his fist and Yellow Splatters beckoned. He lashed out and Twin Stripes dodged back wearily.

Helplessly, Pawn stood, watching the other Soldiers. Now they were all sparring, all carefully not looking at him. He looked around, but none of the other Antinium would meet his gaze. Guiltily, they looked away and followed their leader, Yellow Splatters. He smiled as he continued to spar.

Yes, this was how it should be. Pawn was a…Worker in the end. He had his role, but that was only to assist the Soldiers. They were doing the important job. Fight, train, and die. Fight to make sure the other Soldiers would live longer.

Wasn’t that all that mattered? Yellow Splatters looked into Twin Stripe’s multifaceted eyes and saw his reflection looking back. Yes. It was the only thing that mattered.

 

—-

 

The inn had never been so quiet, never been as empty as these last few days. Lyonette sat at one of the tables, cleaning up bowls of food, barely touched. She poured some lukewarm eggs from one bowl into another and paused.

“It’s so much. We can’t waste this, can we?”

“Dunno.”

Drassi shrugged, looking concerned. She had arrived a few minutes ago to help with what should have been the evening rush. Instead, she was helping clean up from the Antinium after they had left abruptly. Lyonette had no idea what had happened there, only that it had something to do with that strange Antinium with the yellow splashes on his body.

“I know the Antinium have eaten some of it, but it seems a shame to waste. Couldn’t we…feed it to someone? Give it away somehow? I mean…”

She didn’t really want to eat food the Antinium had been nibbling on, but it did feel like a shame. Drassi paused and eyed the table.

“What if we scooped it all up and found some pigs to give it to? There’s at least one [Farmer] around here who keeps pigs. Or goats. We could give it to them. I know this old Drake who raises these huge pigs that taste really great—I could ask him if you want. I don’t think the pigs will mind the bacon, I mean, they eat everything and I mean everything.

“That’s a good idea, Drassi!”

Lyonette smiled. The talkative Drake [Barmaid] grinned at her and emptied another bowl into a larger container. Then she froze and her scales turned pale as she looked up. Lyonette turned her head and froze.

A Goblin stood in front of their table. He was just standing there, but the Hobgoblin was taller than either Drake or Human, and both their eyes were drawn to the sword hanging at his belt. He was wearing pants and a belt—awkwardly, but that didn’t disguise his Goblin features, only emphasize them.

“Uh—uh—”

Drassi trembled and took a step back. Lyonette made herself stand taller and smile at the Hobgoblin, although her heart was pounding.

“Hi there. Headscratcher, isn’t it? Can I help you?”

The Goblin nodded. Gingerly, Headscratcher pointed to the bowls of eggs and mimed eating them. Lyonette blinked.

“What, you want them? Don’t you mind that they’ve been eaten?”

Headscratcher shook his head. Lyonette traded glances with Drassi.

“Okay then—uh, let us bring them over.”

She waited until Headscratcher retreated to the table where the five Goblins were sitting. They were already eating a pile of greasy bacon—and several loaves of buttered bread, but Lyonette knew their appetites were endless. She turned to Drassi and the Drake gave her a pleading look.

“Lyonette, I—”

“You just collect the bowls here, and I’ll bring them over, okay?”

The Drake gave her a pathetic look of gratitude. Lyonette hurried over to the table. The Goblins cleared a space and the one called Badarrow grunted in what might have been thanks. He was definitely the grumpy Goblin of the five. Not that Lyonette had gotten to know them that well; they kept to themselves.

They kept eating, and Lyonette finished putting the last bowl on their table. She retreated to finish cleaning up with Drassi. Both [Barmaids] got out rags and soapy water and began to scrub, chattering amongst themselves.

“That scared me. I mean, I’ve been here two days with them and I know they’re…okay. But I just come in and—”

“I know.”

Lyonette sighed as she looked back towards the Goblins. She caught one of them—Numbtongue—looking at her and both Goblin and Human quickly glanced away. Lyonette grimaced.

The Goblins. Of all Erin’s ideas, and she had had many good ones, crazy ones, and extraordinarily bad ones, this might be the worst. Not that Lyonette didn’t have sympathy or understand why she’d done it. It was just that the consequence of her actions had really sunk in by now.

The inn was deserted. No one had come in today, from Celum or Liscor save for the two adventuring groups staying here. Added to that, the one employee who came by—Ishkr still hadn’t returned after Brunkr’s death—was scared stiff of the Goblins. If it came to that, so was Lyonette.

How could she not be? They were Goblins, no, not just Goblins, but Hobgoblins, the terror of little children’s dreams! You heard stories of Hobs sneaking into houses to kidnap children, and the way they could kill Silver-rank adventurers. It was all very well for them to sit around and just eat, but every time Lyonette saw their crimson eyes or caught them staring at her, she felt afraid.

And she never knew what they were thinking, either. The Goblins rarely spoke, just poked each other and grunted. And if they did speak, it was in their own guttural language. She couldn’t tell if they hated her, if they liked what was going on or anything. Whenever they came out of the cellar Lyonette felt like she was walking on eggshells.

Drassi clearly felt the same way. She was chattering, as usual. And whenever Drassi was upset, she chattered more than usual. Lyonette had gotten used to it and tried to tune most of it out.

“It’s just, I mean, I’m cool with Gnolls. Grew up around them my whole life, dated two—not that fun, let me tell you. Gnolls get so serious when you’re in a relationship, talking about the tribe, never wanting to just have a fling—and they’re furry. Hair everywhere, especially in beds. Scales I can handle, but hair? I don’t know how you Humans stand it. But then, you don’t have much hair, do you? But Gnolls…and the Antinium are fine. I don’t see them much. Klbkch has been around ever since I was young, so I’m totally used to him—”

“Mhm.”

“And Humans? Hah, totally cool. Okay, every year there are drills and alarms when the Humans send an army to the Blood Fields and we’re not supposed to like them and ancient history and all that but, Ancestors, at least they’re fun to party with! That door to Celum is great—and the plays! I liked them, I really did, although a bunch of my friends hated the Juliet and Romeo one. You know, because of interspecies relationships? I dunno, I don’t mind, do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Exactly! So Goblins. Totally get what Erin’s saying. I think. No killing Goblins. They don’t kill us, we don’t kill them. Easy. Except for the Goblin Lord. And Goblins who steal. That’s a problem. But I wish they’d talk, you know? Raise their voices? It’d be better than scaring my scales off—I might go bald! At my age! If they just said something—”

Too late, Lyonette realized where Drassi was going and saw a Goblin moving. One stood up from his table and Drassi shut up quick. She backed up and Lyonette stepped in front of her. The Goblin who was walking towards them was…Numbtongue. She smiled at him, remembering where Erin had told her all of Octavia’s alchemy weapons were hidden.

“Hi, sorry about that. Drassi was just talking.”

“Hm.”

He narrowed his eyes are her. Lyonette could feel Drassi shaking. She smiled, and then, amazingly, Numbtongue grunted and spoke.

“No offense. Clarify. To Drake. Why Goblins not speak.”

She gaped at him. Behind him, Drassi had frozen.

“You can speak?

Numbtongue gave her an exasperated look and nodded. The other four Goblins were leaning out from their table, peering at his back. They looked away as Lyonette’s eyes slid towards them. Numbtongue grumbled a bit, and then looked at Drassi. He narrowed his eyes at her and spoke again.

“Goblins can speak. Speak all kinds of word. And can hear. Can listen. Don’t speak because we don’t need. Understand?”

The Drake quivered and nodded repeatedly.

“Y-yes! I totally understand! You’re good? That’s good! I’m glad everyone’s good! Please don’t get mad! I was only—”

Drassi shrank back against the wall, serving platter clutched in front of her like a shield. Numbtongue looked at her, snorted, and then stomped away. Lyonette wavered between going after him and comforting Drassi. She chose the latter.

“Don’t worry! He was just trying to—to well, explain, I guess. Goblins can speak, they just don’t want to. And they can hear us, okay?”

“Got it! Got it. I was just—I was talking and I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure they’re not offended.”

Lyonette peeked at the Goblins. Badarrow rolled his eyes and shook his head. Shorthilt looked up, halfway through inhaling a rash of bacon, and waved a hand. Drassi relaxed a bit.

“Okay.”

“But why don’t we talk about something else instead? Or not talk?”

“I can do that, I think. Not talk. I did that for an entire day once, on a dare. Selys bet me two silver coins I couldn’t do it, and it was worth it seeing her face. And I don’t talk all the time, I just like to talk, you know? Who doesn’t talk to people? It’s better to talk than not talk is what I say, which is why I thought about being a [Receptionist], but Selys said that if I applied she’d quit, so I decided—”

Smiling, Lyonette rolled her eyes and turned around. She frowned as she saw a flash of white by the stairs.

“Mrsha?”

Every head downstairs turned. The Gnoll cub froze as she crept downstairs, the wand she’d stolen from Pisces in hand. Her eyes went wide as she saw the Goblins looking at her. She looked to Lyonette.

“It’s okay. They’re just eating. Sorry—”

Lyonette looked at the Goblins and they turned back to their food. Erin had explained to the Goblins that Mrsha was afraid of them, although they hadn’t brought up the details of Goblins actually slaughtering her tribe. Lyonette approached the stairwell, holding her hands out. Mrsha was trembling as she stared at the Goblins’ backs.

“Mrsha, honey—”

The Gnoll looked at her, made a hissing sound, and fled back upstairs. Lyonette nearly went after them, until she heard Erin’s voice.

“Okay, I am done making bread! I’ve made enough bread for an entire month, so if we need it—bread’s done! Whew!”

She emerged from the kitchen in a small cloud of flour, dusting her hands. Erin had been cooking a lot in order to keep up with the Goblins’ appetites. She spotted the Goblins and waked over to them, smiling carefully.

“Heeeeeey.”

They looked up at her warily. Erin paused a few feet from their table and raised her voice. She was trying a bit too hard to be friendly, Lyonette thought.

“How are you guys doing? Good? Sorry about the Antinium. Don’t know what was up with that. You liking the food?”

They nodded. Erin stared at them.

“How’s the bacon? Good? Anyone want more?”

They nodded, and then shook their heads. Lyonette stared at Numbtongue, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anything. Erin hesitated. Clearly she would have preferred conversation.

“You’re cool? I mean, you don’t want more food?”

The Goblins nodded. Erin stared helplessly at them.

“Okay, then. Let me know if you need…anything.”

They did not. And when they were done eating, they got up, went to use the outhouse, and then opened the cellar door and went into the basement without a word. Lyonette collected the bowls and utensils. They’d been licked clean.

“I guess you can wash these if you want.”

She suggested that to Drassi. The Drake nodded, and then looked anxious.

“Lyonette, look…I haven’t been doing much, and there’s not a lot for me to do right now. Are you sure I should be here? I can work less time if you think—”

Lyonette forced herself to smile at Drassi reassuringly.

“What, and rob you of your pay? Don’t worry about it. Erin tells me we have a lot of money, and I don’t want to wash all these dishes.”

“Still, wiping a few tables and washing dishes isn’t exactly a lot, you know?”

She had a point. Lyonette thought and replied carefully.

“If you want to take care of the Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers when they come by, I could use a break. How about that?”

Drassi beamed in relief.

“Oh, yes, thanks! I can’t just go back and not do anything; I’d feel like a total sponge, just like Wessa! Have I told you about her? Dreadful. She’s got no class—or classes! I think she’s what, a Level 2 [Laborer]? She sponges money off of everyone. Now, I try to talk to her, but she never listens. Do you know what she told Selys one time? Selys nearly decked her for saying it. Okay it was—”

Lyonette listened to her for a few more minutes, nodding mechanically, and then excused herself to go into the kitchen while Drassi wiped the Goblin’s table down. Erin was sitting in the kitchen, in front of about forty loafs of pristine bread. Lyonette stared at the bread pile and then looked at Erin.

“Everything…okay, Erin?”

“Yes. No.”

Erin stared at the bread she’d baked all day, looking glum. She turned towards Lyonette.

“No. It’s the Goblins.”

“What…precisely about them?”

The [Innkeeper] sighed.

“I don’t know if they like it here, Lyonette. I don’t know if I’m talking with them or if it’s all pointless, you know?”

“I think I do.”

Erin nodded, ticking off problems on her floury fingers.

“They don’t like chess, other games, talking, or hanging around upstairs, Lyonette. I guess I can’t blame them, since no one likes them. And no one will come here until they’re gone, which I know might not be a bad thing, but if they go now—”

“You want to be friends with them first?”

Lyonette rested her backside on the counter. Erin looked at her, shrugged, tried to laugh, and gave up.

“Not that. I don’t need to be friends with them, but I want them to understand me. I want to understand them, just a bit. Or—or I want them to leave and know how I feel about them. I’m just trying to tell them—I don’t know.”

Erin sighed, her shoulders slumping. She looked at Lyonette, worry in her eyes.

“If they disappear in the middle of the night Lyonette, or decide to try and find Rags or—or do anything, I think they’ll be killed. Zevara’s watching the inn—I can feel it. And I’m not sure the Halfseekers wouldn’t follow them either. And if they got around all of them, if they go back north—the Goblin Lord’s soldiers will kill them, right? They’re the enemy tribe.”

“Maybe. But they’re used to living alone, aren’t they? Don’t you think they’d prefer to find their own people?”

Carefully, Lyonette peeked at Erin. The young woman sighed.

“Probably. It’s just that I don’t think they know where Rags is. And…they’re lost, Lyonette. Lost. That’s what I get from them. I want to help them a bit. And I just don’t know if I can, or if they’re willing. I can’t understand them.”

“I think they understand more than they let on.”

“Yeah. Probably. But even if they do, that’s not the same as connecting with us, as liking us or—or getting to really know us.”

“Mm. Maybe they don’t want to. Have you thought about that?”

Erin looked up. Her gaze firmed a bit as she met Lyonette’s eyes.

“I have. And I don’t believe that. Rags wanted to know. I think these Goblins are just—afraid.”

Afraid? Only Erin would characterize them that way. Lyonette sat with her, not knowing what else to say.

“They’ll have to do something sometime. They’re already starting to eat less.”

“Yeah. I think it’ll end soon, one way or the other. Thanks for putting up with this, Lyonette. I know Mrsha’s…”

“Yes.”

Mrsha. She refused to eat downstairs anymore, and she had grown increasingly agitated as days went by. She refused to play with Lyonette, refused to give back Pisces’ wand—not that he’d tried hard to recover it—and Lyonette knew she was growing more upset. She might have tried to get Selys or Krshia to look after her, but Mrsha refused to go. She refused to leave and she refused to go anywhere near the Goblins.

Both girls were silent for a moment, and then Erin looked up.

“Thank you for all the help, Lyonette. Can you bear with it for a while longer? I think it won’t be long.”

“I can, don’t worry about me.”

“Thank you.”

Lyonette smiled. And she was telling the truth. But as she left Erin to sit by herself in the kitchen, she thought that she wasn’t the one Erin needed to be worried about. The inn had been empty for days, Drassi was afraid, Mrsha wouldn’t go downstairs or interact with Lyonette, and the Goblins were growing restless.

The Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers barely came back except to eat and sleep, and sometimes not to eat. And the Antinium had been acting very odd lately. Especially the one who’d refused to eat his food. If they all started refusing to eat at Erin’s inn, how long could it stay open with almost no revenue?

Yes, she wasn’t the one Erin should be worried about. It was everyone else.

 

—-

 

Night fell. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t work to do. Yellow Spatters knew the dungeon sent monsters to attack be it day or night, so he took the first rotation on the front lines. They had been pushed up right to the dungeon’s entrance, so he took nineteen Soldiers, including Twin Stripes, to be on alert.

They clashed with monsters twice, both times smashing the enemy—a wave of Shield Spiders and then giant centipedes—into pulp. Yellow Splatters kept the Soldiers at their post for four hours, and then brought them back to the barracks.

He was tired now, but he still had enough energy, so Yellow Splatters began to spar with the Soldiers on the night rotation. Train, train! He wanted to get to Level 13 today or tomorrow. He was so engrossed in his mock combat with the two Soldiers that he only noticed Twin Stripes when he walked into the sparring arena.

The new Antinium Soldier was battered from his day’s activities. The cracked chitin from Yellow Spatters’ blows, the fatigue of going above and then patrolling with the other Soldiers—he was clearly tired, but Yellow Spatters appreciated his willingness to spar. He stepped towards Twin Stripes, ready for a bout, when the other Antinium began to suddenly shudder.

Yellow Spatters stopped in surprise. Twin Stripes was trembling in place, in the center of the sparring area. He was shaking, bending to clutch at his antennae, backing up from Yellow Splatters. His mandibles clashed together wildly, and then his body convulsed.

His head lowered, and then it rose. All four of Twin Stripe’s hands clenched into fists, and as he looked up, towards Yellow Splatters, there was something different about his gaze. His mandibles opened as wide as they could, and a strangled, half-scream emerged from his mouth.

The Soldiers in the barracks froze. Soldiers didn’t speak! They couldn’t make real noises, but Twin Stripes—

There was madness in his gaze. No, not madness. Something worse. He trembled as he lurched towards Yellow Spatters, and the [Sergeant] Antinium realized with a cold chill what had happened.

Aberration. Twin Stripes had become an Aberration.

But how? He was Individual! He shouldn’t become—Soldiers almost never became—

It was too late for questions. Twin Stripes lunged at Yellow Spatters, hands reaching to tear him apart. He bit, his mandibles trying to pierce Yellow Splatters’ body, his fists pounding on the larger Antinium.

Other Soldiers rushed forwards, yanking Twin Stripes off Yellow Spatters. There were over a hundred in the barracks, but Twin Stripes fought with possessed strength, throwing Soldiers off him, battering the ones who tried to hold him down, all the while trying to attack Yellow Spatters.

In the end, Twin Stripes was contained, bars of iron bent and hammered into crude restraints to prevent him from attacking anyone. He still thrashed around on the ground though, staring at Yellow Splatters. With…hate in his eyes.

It was incomprehensible. Yellow Spatters lay where he had fallen, even when Pawn and Klbkch rushed into the barracks, demanding answers. He stared at Twin Stripes, as the Aberration gazed in fury at him and was taken to a holding cell. A holding cell that had to be constructed before he could be taken there.

Yellow Spatters lay on the ground, seeing Soldiers look at him, avoiding Pawn’s despairing gaze and sensing Purple Smile staring at him across the room. But all the while, he was looking at Twin Stripes, at the Soldier who had abandoned who he was. Why? For what reason? They were doing this for Soldiers like Twin Stripes. Everything Yellow Spatters had done—the war was still continuing. Why had Twin Stripes become Aberration?

He did not understand.

 

 

—-

 

Miles from where Yellow Spatters lay, far higher and aboveground, a young Gnoll was awake. Mrsha had not slept, though Lyonette was already wrapped up in her blankets in the room the two shared. No, Mrsha had been awake. Her nose twitched as she padded past Lyonette’s head, tail tucked between her legs. How could she sleep when there were monsters, killers, murderers in the same building?

She crept around in her room, her nose full of the smells of the Goblins slumbering below. She could smell them throughout the inn now, no matter how much she buried her face in the comforting smells of Lyonette’s pillow or opened the windows to let the cold air in.

Killers. Tribe murderers. Monsters. Mrsha could remember them streaming through the snow, cutting down her friends, family. The Stone Spears tribe, everyone—

Urksh.

The memories tore at Mrsha. Mrsha, the [Lone Survivor]. That knowledge weighed on her hardest of all. She sniffed, and knew the Goblins were sleeping. They were right below her, right below.

She prowled, and her teeth ground together as her claws clicked across the floor. The wand she’d stolen from Pisces was grasped awkwardly in her paw. Mrsha swung it again, but it didn’t do any magic.

They were here. And they would be in the inn, eating, laughing, living, while her tribe was dead. Not right. It was not right. Mrsha growled, and Lyonette stirred. The Gnoll quieted, but the feeling remained in the silence. She sat up as the night grew longer, her paw gripping the wand tightly, smelling the Goblins.

Hating, hating, hating.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.41 L

Yellow Splatters woke up a few hours after dawn for his shift. He got up, ate the pinkish-brown paste he was served, and marched at the head of his unit of Soldiers to the front. Pawn was not there. Neither was Twin Stripes.

It felt wrong. And yet, this is what Yellow Splatters had wanted, wasn’t it? The thought threw the [Sergeant] as he set a quick pace down the tunnels. Yes. No. It was…different from what he’d wanted.

He hadn’t wanted Twin Stripes to become an Aberration, obviously. That was simply an anomaly, something Yellow Splatters couldn’t explain. Weakness, perhaps. As for Pawn, he just wanted the Worker to know his place. And that place was helping Soldiers, not—not running off!

“Ah. Yellow Splatters. You’re here.”

The Soldiers stopped and the thirty Soldiers he’d brought paused behind him. Anand, Belgrade, and Pawn were all standing around the command ‘table’, which was really just a folding table made of wood they could put a map on. Pawn met Yellow Splatters’ eyes as the Soldier approached, but said nothing. Yellow Splatters did his best to pretend he didn’t exist.

If Anand was aware of the situation he didn’t show it. The [Tactician] was rapidly giving out orders to Soldiers and Workers around him. The dungeon’s attacks weren’t exactly like clockwork—not that the Antinium were familiar with that concept anyways—but they could be predicted with a good deal of accuracy. And right now it was about to get dangerous.

“I’m already receiving reports of movement around two of the dungeon entrances. I want to be ready when they hit. Yellow Splatters, divide your command into three equal groups for today. I will be using them to strike targets of opportunity while you engage the most dangerous foes that appear.”

Yellow Splatters snapped to attention and turned. He gestured, and the Soldiers moved with mechanical precision. Gone was his indecisiveness of earlier, his worries. This was what he was made to do. War. It was so simple.

Anand nodded in approval and immediately sent Yellow Splatters towards the nearest signs of monster activity. The other two groups were assigned to Pawn and a Soldier as Yellow Splatters left. He didn’t like Pawn being in charge, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The monsters were coming.

 

—-

 

Trivipers, a group of armed Raskghar and Cave Goblins, a small horde of Shield Spiders and worst of all, a Bagrhaven. The monsters seemed unusually agitated today, or perhaps there were just more of them than usual. Yellow Splatters didn’t care. His group of ten Painted Soldiers smashed into each new threat, sometimes accompanied by other Soldiers, sometimes not.

It didn’t matter. They won each time. Yellow Splatters fought as hard as he could, relishing the simple brutality of it. He didn’t have to think when he was in combat. Actually, he did—but it wasn’t about difficult things.

Like Twin Stripes. Or Pawn. Yellow Splatters couldn’t get his mind off them, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t his fault that Twin Stripes had become an Aberration! No. No it wasn’t. Twin Stripes had…done something wrong. Or maybe he was wrong from the start. But Yellow Splatters had shown him what to do, what was right and he’d become an Aberration on his own. That was all there was to it.

The Soldiers under Yellow Splatters’ command retreated after slaying the Bagrhaven, their carapaces damaged by her long claws. Personally, Yellow Splatters thought they could fight longer, but Anand had given them the order to pull back.

The [Tactician] was leading the fighting around all three dungeon entrances today. Belgrade was giving no orders, which both puzzled and relieved Yellow Splatters. He would have been happy if the Workers had left everything to Anand, but distressingly, they were still holding the ground around all three entrances, far closer to the dungeon than made sense. Anand’s mobile strategy was far more difficult to employ in the few tunnels they were holding.

The [Sergeant] marched his unit back behind the lines of Soldiers and Workers flooding ahead to hold the breach and clear away monster and Antinium bodies, thinking hard. Was it because Anand was worried monsters might slip through into the rest of the Hive? Or was it Belgrade’s stupid ideas taking hold in him as well? He wasn’t sure, but he was angry. And he got angrier when he saw the stone.

In the tunnels where his unit had been pulled back to rest in was a sea of Workers, far more than usual for the front. Workers were poor combatants compared to Soldiers and usually only repaired tunnels or hauled away dead bodies. But these ones were here for a different reason. They were hauling blocks and chunks of stone towards the dirt tunnels, deconstructing walls, opening the area up. Yellow Splatters stared in disbelief.

What were they doing? They were removing the tunnels he normally fought in with his Soldiers—the area in which monsters would begin to attack each other if given the chance. And worse, they were using stones! Stones? Who used stones?

In the Hive, construction began and ended with dirt for the most part. The Antinium could pack dirt so tightly together and create support beams out of the stuff. Only rarely did they need to use wood, and stone they left alone unless they had to dig through it. It was too cumbersome to use and unnecessary since a group of Workers could excavate a tunnel or rebuild one in less than an hour.

But for some reason, stone had been ordered and here it was. And of course, one [Tactician] was supervising it all. Belgrade was overseeing whatever construction was going on here. Yellow Splatters stared at him with distrust and suspicion until he was ordered back to the front.

This time it was to stop a group of Crypt Lords that were rampaging forwards with a small army of zombies. It was a huge push, and Yellow Splatters arrived at a run to find that one group of the Colored Antinium was already fighting the undead with every Soldier and Worker in the area.

Purple Smile led a group of ten Painted Soldiers, smashing zombies down and stomping the corpses to bits. Yellow Splatters froze when he saw the other Antinium. Anand had put him in charge of the other soldiers? His soldiers? Why?

But there was no time to wonder. A Crypt Lord charged into a group of regular Soldiers, a gaping mouth spewing black poisonous blood everywhere. Yellow Splatters ran at the hulking monster and began tearing it apart with his Soldiers.

Advance, tear, punch, rend. Rip. The way Yellow Splatters fought was simple. He trusted to his [Tough Carapace] Skill and used his other abilities to inflict as much damage as possible. The Crypt Lord went down after knocking one of the Painted Soldiers into a wall and spitting black blood over the second.

Yellow Splatters immediately sent the Painted Soldier running back towards the command area for an antidote potion and turned to see how Purple Smile was doing. He was a Soldier, after all. That meant he had to be good at fighting, right?

To his outrage, Yellow Splatters saw that across the wide tunnel, Purple Smile was running away. The Colored Antinium had all of his Soldiers in full retreat as two Crypt Lords lurched towards them. Why was he running? They had to hold this place! Yellow Splatters ran forwards as the Antinium withdrew. He only froze when he heard a voice shouting at him.

“Sergeant! Hold!”

It was Anand’s voice. The [Tactician] had come to the front himself. The Antinium had fallen back as the Crypt Lords moved further into the tunnel. The zombies were nearly all destroyed, and as Yellow Splatters watched, he saw Purple Smile and his Soldiers moving around the Crypt Lords, flanking them from behind. Anand raised his hand and bellowed an order.

Charge! [Decisive Blows]! [Evasive Tactics]!”

The two Skills immediately took effect and Yellow Splatters charged into the first Crypt Lord. Every time he swung into the rotting undead’s flesh he felt like he was punching as hard as he could. And when the giant monster swiped at him, Yellow Splatters and the Antinium around him were forewarned and already moving out of the way.

The battle ended with both undead torn to pieces. Not a single Soldier or Worker had been hurt or even wounded. Yellow Splatters looked at Anand with appreciation. This was real tactics! The Worker nodded at him and pointed back down the tunnel.

“Pull back your Soldiers for now, Yellow Splatters. I think the worst of it is over. We will discuss the after battle reports with Belgrade and Pawn.”

Yellow Splatters nodded and raised a hand. All twenty Soldiers in the tunnels fell in behind him. He felt proud, tired, but exhilarated with the combat. This was right! And none of his Soldiers had fallen in battle today. That proved he was doing the correct thing! His satisfaction lasted all of two seconds, until Anand turned to Purple Smile.

“Good work, Purple Smile. Your tactical decisions were most astute.”

The other Soldier nodded as Anand turned. Yellow Splatters turned to stare at him. His heart began to beat faster and his mandibles snapped together angrily. Purple Smile had done a good job?

What?

 

—-

 

“Work is proceeding smoothly. Today should be the end of it, unless I run into an unexpected situation.”

Belgrade was addressing the other two Workers at the table while Yellow Splatters stood at attention, fuming. Partly because he was being ignored, and partly because he had company. Purple Smile stood more or less at attention; he was slouching and rubbing at a cut in his armor with one hand. Yellow Splatters stared at him and clicked his mandibles together sharply and quickly until Purple Smile reluctantly straightened.

The other three Workers always discussed casualties, unexpected monsters and so on after each attack when they were together. It was sensible, but today Yellow Splatters didn’t want to be here, especially since no one would ask him his opinion. He was impatient and determined not to show it. Anand nodded to Belgrade as the first [Tactician] bent over the map.

“In that case, we will plan for the worst and assume another day of fighting. We are certainly able to keep the containment for another day at least. Casualties were higher, again, than usual, but thanks to the Colored Antinium we were never in any danger of being overrun.”

“Is that so?”

Pawn glanced at Yellow Splatters as the Soldier stood straighter. Anand nodded, glancing over to him. Then he looked at Purple Smile and lifted his mandibles.

“Yes. Actually, I was delighted to see how Purple Smile reacted today when the Crypt Lords attacked. Your group was efficient, Pawn, and Yellow Splatters subdued more threats than any other, but Purple Smile retreated when the Crypt Lords first attacked, choosing only to fight zombies and buying time for me to send reinforcements. Indeed, his defensive strategy may have saved more lives than if he’d attacked blindly.”

It felt as though Anand had taken a stick and jabbed Yellow Splatters in the insides. He stared at Purple Smile as the other Soldier lifted his own mandibles and waved with two hands at the Workers. Anand bowed slightly towards him, and Belgrade looked approving as well.

“That is fortunate. Indeed. No wonder you suggested he become a [Sergeant] as well, Pawn. I have witnessed Purple Smile’s efficiency in combat as well. He is not as powerful as Yellow Splatters of course, but his lateral thinking is very impressive. If I may compare it to chess…when I command Yellow Splatters I am reminded of a Rook. Direct, powerful, but limited in that sense. Whereas Purple Smile might be more like a Knight. Less useful in all situations, but able to maneuver around the enemy in many useful ways. In many ways, he fights like you, Anand.”

That last remark threw the [Sergeant] terribly. He had been getting angrier and angrier at Belgrade’s praise, until he’d heard that. Purple Smile? Like Anand?

Inconceivable. And yet—a part of Yellow Splatters pointed out that pulling back to strike a decisive blow later was a classic move Anand liked to use. Was he really as good as a [Tactician]? Purple Smile?

Yellow Splatters turned to look at the other Soldier. Purple Smile was trying to wipe a bit of liquid off his carapace with his hands. He didn’t even appear to be listening! Yellow Splatters’ mandibles ground together angrily.

No, he wasn’t like Anand at all. It was…different. Yes, it wasn’t right because Purple Smile was neither a [Sergeant] nor a [Tactician]! What right did he have to give orders like that, or make decisions on his own?

“Yes, it is useful to have different types of units at your disposal. Our Hive is sadly uniform, so it is difficult to respond to individual threats with specialized counters, as the other Hives seem to possess. Had I some Antinium in armor—or better, one of the Silent Antinium, I would feel far better able to eliminate threats with less casualties.”

The other Workers had kept chattering away as Yellow Splatters stewed. Anand sighed as he stood over the map, playing with one of the chess pieces he and Belgrade were using as markers. He lifted a rook and showed it to the others.

“The problem is that when we speak of units with self-preservation instincts, the autonomy to make their own decisions and so on…the chess analogy falls apart. While I appreciate the game, it really does not reflect the battle I have been through, Belgrade.”

The other Worker nodded hesitantly.

“And yet, Anand, it is still important because it teaches strategic thinking. Why else would so many [Tacticians] and [Strategists] play the game?”

“Because it makes one level. That is self-evident. My issue is that I do not understand why [Strategists] level because of the game.”

Anand frowned, the Antinium equivalent of lowering his mandibles and drawing them together slightly.

“I could understand a low-level [Tactician] benefiting from the game, but earning more than five or six levels seems incredibly suspect. That a high-level [Strategist] could level up by playing a game with set, finite rules that is so far removed from a real battle or war is…odd. I would almost suspect an error in the way we level.”

“An error in the way we level? That means an error in the world.”

Belgrade stared at Anand. The other [Tactician] merely shrugged.

“I only state what is apparent. Regardless, exploiting this benefit is useful to us and the Hive as a whole. Shall we play a game once you are done with your duties?”

“Yes. Pawn, would you like to join in?”

“Hm. I do not know. I have things I should be doing…but chess is a tempting offer.”

Pawn glanced hesitantly at Yellow Splatters. He tried not to shift from leg to leg in impatience. He wasn’t interested in chess at all. Why was he still here?

Someone apparently agreed with him. Purple Smile raised a hand and all four Antinium stared at him. When he was sure he had their attention, Purple Smile faced the Workers and pointed with two of his arms down the tunnel. With his other two arms, he mimed walking with his two spade-like hands. It was clumsy, but it got the message across.

“Oh, I apologize. We did not mean to keep you, Yellow Splatters, Purple Smile. You may go of course.”

Anand straightened, twitching his antennae apologetically at the two. Yellow Splatters stared in disbelief. He didn’t feel relieved to be dismissed. He was angry. Again.

Purple Smile had no right to—the effrontery of—why hadn’t Yellow Splatters—he stomped after Purple Smile as the other Soldier wandered off. Yellow Splatters pointed, and the other Soldiers hastily fell into a line behind him as he marched back to the barracks. All the while his mind was racing.

Purple Smile. Pawn. The Workers. They were all so, so…shortsighted! They didn’t appreciate Yellow Splatter’s opinions, didn’t care, didn’t ask—and Purple Smile was inferior to Yellow Splatters! He was the [Sergeant]! He knew what was best! He had done everything right. Soldiers had to fight. They didn’t retreat, they didn’t run—and yet, Purple Smile had been praised. He was being considered for [Sergeant] as well, as an equal to Yellow Splatters!

Unacceptable. Why? And why had Twin Stripes become Aberration? Why was he locked up? Was it his fault? Why did Pawn look at him like that? Why were they fighting near the entrance? Why did he feel like he was losing control? Yellow Splatters’ mind was confused. He marched, not seeing the Workers he nearly ran over, or the way his Soldiers hesitated as they followed him—the wrong way—through the Hive. He was too preoccupied, too caught up in his anger and frustration.

He did not understand.

 

—-

 

It was all going wrong. Lyonette had felt everything going south the last few days, but the final confirmation was seeing the Goblins smuggling some of their breakfast into the basement. That meant one thing. They were planning on leaving soon. And meanwhile, the tension in the inn was so thick that even a knife could bounce off it. She had to talk to Erin. Unfortunately, after an incident in the morning, that meant doing it as she slowly poured a healing potion over Erin’s feet.

“Ow, ow! It hurts! Do you have anything to get the shards out with, Lyonette? I can feel one stuck in my foot!”

Erin moaned and winced as she sat in a chair, her bare feet pointed towards Lyonette. Blood dripped onto the floor, but Lyonette could still see the shards of porcelain that had buried themselves in the sole of Erin’s foot.

“I see it, Erin. It’s big. I’ll try to get it out. Hold still.”

Lyonette had a handkerchief in one hand, a healing potion in the other. She gently tried to grasp the bit of pottery, but it was slippery with blood and she didn’t want to break it and leave it in Erin’s skin. Neither did she want to use the healing potion right away; that might mean flesh growing over the shards and that would be bad. Erin whimpered as Lyonette concentrated; Mrsha sat anxiously by the table, eyes wide, watching.

It had happened this morning. Someone had broken an empty cup on the ground in front of the trap door leading to the basement and sprinkled the shards around. The porcelain was sharp and would have cut the Goblin’s feet badly if they had stepped on it. Unfortunately or perhaps, fortunately, Erin had tried to go to the basement first and gotten several shards through the light soles of her shoes.

“Stop wiggling, Erin. If I slip—”

“I’m trying, but it hurts! Ow! Okay, do it.”

Erin gritted her teeth and stopped moving. Lyonette took a deep breath, then grabbed the largest shard with her handkerchief and pulled. It came loose with a horrible, tearing sensation and she saw Erin bite into her lip, drawing blood. Lyonette pulled the shard out and immediately poured healing potion on the spot. The wound closed and she saw Mrsha’s wide eyes going to the bloody shard.

“Do you think the Goblins did this?”

“No. There’s another piece—”

“I see it.”

Neither girl looked at Mrsha as they spoke. The Goblins had been the first to hear Erin scream, and Headscratcher had carried Erin to the table. They’d let Lyonette take over, and, because Mrsha was there, they were in the basement now. Lyonette could only imagine what they thought of all this.

She glanced at Mrsha and saw the Gnoll staring with wide eyes at the blood dripping to the floor. Lyonette felt her chest twist and saw Erin looking at the Gnoll as well. Both paused for a second, and then kept talking about the Goblins because that was easier, for the moment.

“I think they’re leaving, Erin. I saw, uh…Shorthilt hiding several biscuits in his pants when he was going downstairs. And Badarrow had several sausages—he wasn’t trying to hide it. They’re going, Erin.”

“Biscuits? But those pants aren’t large enough to—where were they hiding—never mind. Look, if they go…they go. But I’m going to have them upstairs and having fun today Lyonette, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Erin gritted her teeth as Lyonette’s fingers slipped on the second shard. Lyonette stared at the [Innkeeper].

“Why are you doing this, Erin? Really? Do you want them to stay? The Halfseekers haven’t eaten dinner here the last few nights, and no one’s coming in. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know. I’m just—ahh! Just trying to get them to talk to me, Lyonette. If I can do that, I think it’ll be okay. I just want to talk to them, to understand them before they go. But it’s not happening no matter how hard I try.”

Erin closed her eyes as the second shard came out. Lyonette stared at it, pulled sliver out of Erin’s foot, and then healed the rest. Some of the color rushed back into Erin’s face and she got up very gingerly.

“Thanks, Lyonette.”

“Don’t mention it. Okay, look, talk to the Goblins. I’ll—clean up I guess—”

“I’ll do it!”

Drassi had been hovering by the two Human girls the entire time, wringing her claws and looking horrified. She had already swept up the other fragments. Lyonette nodded gratefully.

“Okay. You do that Drassi. Erin will serve the Goblins breakfast and I’ll—go upstairs with Mrsha and have a talk.”

Erin paused as she looked down at the white Gnoll sitting by her feet. Mrsha wasn’t looking at anyone and she was trembling slightly. She looked at Lyonette and nodded.

“Okay.”

She stepped gingerly towards the trap door, keeping an eye out for fragments as Lyonette washed her hands in a bucket of water and then looked at Mrsha.

“Come with me, young lady.”

The Gnoll flinched and followed Lyonette upstairs to their room. Once there, Lyonette sat, heart pounding, as Mrsha sat near her bed and pretended to be very interested in the covers.

How was she supposed to do this? She didn’t remember her mother ever sitting her down like this. Her father—his disapproval had been frightening, but he’d never really talked to her one-on-one before. And yet, Lyonette had never done something like this. She’d caused trouble, but it had been her [Tutors] and other guardians who had taken her to task for it. But this?

She did what she could. Lyonette spoke, voice trembling but trying to sound stern rather than heartbroken.

“That was a very bad thing that happened to Erin, don’t you think, Mrsha? She looked like she was really hurt.”

The Gnoll glanced up at Lyonette, and then away, swiftly. Lyonette paused.

“It looked like it hurt. It was very bad. Wasn’t it?”

The Gnoll nodded slowly. She still wouldn’t meet Lyonette’s gaze. That was what broke the girl’s heart. Oh, if only she could blame it on the Goblins or anyone else. But Mrsha was a poor liar. She folded her arms and tried not to let the stinging in her eyes become tears. It wasn’t right what she’d done. It wasn’t right, but Lyonette understood it.

“Do you know anything about this?”

The Gnoll shook her head half-heartedly. Lyonette paused, gulped, and raised her voice.

“Mrsha, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she did. Lyonette met her gaze, her fingernails digging into her arm.

Do you know anything about this?

The Gnoll looked away. That was an answer. Lyonette paused.

“Erin was in a lot of pain because of that, Mrsha. She could have been hurt worse. What if she’d stepped on the shards and one broke off in her foot? She’d need a [Healer] to cut it out of her, then.”

Mrsha began to tremble in place. Lyonette felt her heart breaking and stopped because she couldn’t go on.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant for her. Maybe that—trap—was meant for someone else. Like the Goblins. Well, if it was, it still wouldn’t be nice, understand?”

Something changed. Mrsha’s head slowly rose. She stared at Lyonette, and the guilt and sadness in her eyes dried up. Lyonette realized she might have chosen the wrong words.

“Mrsha. Hurting the Goblins isn’t right. Understand? You can’t—”

Mrsha’s hair was rising. She sat up straighter, and glared at Lyonette. The Human girl hesitated.

“I know how you must be feeling—”

Wrong words. Mrsha looked away from Lyonette and the young woman snapped.

“Mrsha! You can’t harm the Goblins! These are Erin’s guests and they’re all Hobs, understand? If you cause trouble, I will punish you. In fact, I’m already punishing you—no lunch!”

The Gnoll looked back towards Lyonette and now her eyes were glaring. Lyonette glared back.

“No lunch, and it’ll be water and bread for dinner unless you go to Erin and apologize, understand? And if I ever catch you doing that again—are you listening?”

Mrsha reluctantly turned back towards Lyonette. Her ears were flat, her eyes alight with anger. The Goblins. Lyonette wavered between compassion and anger, and lost.

“Look, Mrsha. You don’t have to go near them. You can go to the city if—no? You don’t want to stay with Aunt Selys? Okay. But Erin’s very hurt, even if she didn’t say it. You know it hurt? Don’t cry. Don’t—come here.”

She reached out and gathered up the Gnoll into her arms. Mrsha wept silently, big tears rolling down her furred face. Lyonette hugged her, as her mother never had, and tried to say the right things. Only, she’d never heard them herself.

“It’s okay. I know you’re sorry. You can apologize—we’ll do it together. Its okay, Mrsha. You’re not a bad girl. It’s just—”

She didn’t have the words to express it. Lyonette held Mrsha for a long time, until the tears had stopped. Then they went downstairs.

Erin was cleaning up the tables, and the Goblins were finishing their breakfast. Lyonette froze and Mrsha’s claws dug into her clothing, but she made herself go downstairs. Erin met them by the stairs, smiling, and Lyonette had Mrsha apologize there, while both girls shielded the Goblins from view. Mrsha still smelled them, though. Her nose kept twitching even as she licked Erin’s face and hugged her and was hugged in return.

“Hey, at least I can get Drassi to buy some more cups. We need more—specially designed ones, I think. The Soldiers can’t hold the regular ones, and I’d like them to have better bowls, too.”

The tone Erin used was light and playful as she spoke to Mrsha, but from the disappointment in her eyes, Lyonette knew she hadn’t gotten through to the Goblins today either. She’d seen Erin sitting at the table, trying to get them to talk to her, telling bad jokes, showing them how to play chess—there was no real connection there, and no one else was trying. Lately, Erin had gotten desperate and inventive.

“I’ve got a guitar that no one needs, now. I saw it in the market and I thought it would be so cool to play, but—I don’t know how.”

Erin showed Lyonette and Mrsha a strange instrument that reminded Lyonette of a warped lute. Mrsha plucked at a string and her ears perked up at the sound. Lyonette stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] tried to play something, and the guitar made a strangled noise.

“That’s a what, Erin? A gui…”

“Guitar. It’s an instrument. Don’t they have them where you come from? The Gnoll said it’s not very popular, so he sold it to me cheap!”

“I can see why.”

Lyonette looked at the guitar, at Erin, and then back at the guitar.

“Why did you buy this?”

“Oh, you know.”

Erin made a face and nodded covertly towards the Goblins. Lyonette saw and felt Mrsha tensing up. She shifted with the Gnoll cub in her arms.

“Erin…”

“I know. Look, if I could play it—turns out they don’t know how. I think they thought it was a weapon. I guess music isn’t…never mind.”

Erin turned towards the Goblins, smiling, and they all looked away from her. They had been looking, Lyonette thought, but she was distracted by Mrsha’s claws digging into her arm.

“Ow! Mrsha, honey. You’re hurting me.”

The Gnoll withdrew her claws, but she remained taut in Lyonette’s arms. She was shaking, and Lyonette thought it was time to go back upstairs. The Goblins were glancing their way. She saw one of them, Headscratcher, looking furtively at her. Lyonette looked away and realized he’d done the same. And like that, in a flash, she realized the Goblins knew she was afraid of them. It was obvious with Drassi—but they could probably tell that Lyonette was too.

“Erin, I’m taking Mrsha upstairs. Sorry, but I won’t be down for a bit.”

“That’s okay. Drassi’s here and it’s not like we have much business, right?”

Erin gave her a strained smile. Lyonette thought about returning it, and didn’t. She turned towards the stairs as Erin went back towards the Goblins. The girl sat close to them, but not close enough to touch. The Goblins stared back, and there was that invisible wall between them that Erin couldn’t breach.

“Hey…so, sorry about that. I uh, have I showed you this guitar? Yes? Okay. Um—”

It wasn’t working. Lyonette didn’t know if it was something Erin lacked, or something she wasn’t doing, but as it was, she thought she’d wake up tomorrow or the day after and they would be gone. And would that be such a bad thing?

Part of Lyonette wished they would leave. Maybe it was for the best. Mrsha stared at the Goblins as Lyonette carried her upstairs. Her eyes narrowed and she growled. She still hated them. Erin getting hurt had done nothing to change that, and so Lyonette resolved to watch the little Gnoll until they were gone.

It was all going wrong. And that was before the Antinium came again. Then it went wrong and got worse.

 

—-

 

Yellow Splatters decided that Purple Smile was unfit to be a [Sergeant]. He might be unfit to be a Painted Soldier. Could he stay somewhere else? He was so…so different! He didn’t spar when all the other Soldiers were copying Yellow Splatters’ example, he liked going aboveground, and he didn’t fight like a proper Soldier.

He didn’t belong in Yellow Splatters’ unit. And that thought was incredible and troubling. So Yellow Splatters didn’t think about it. He stared at Purple Smile as the other Soldier wandered around the barracks, following…what? He’d rolled up a ball out of dirt and wet it with some water. Now he was rolling it around, following after it, picking it up and tossing it, and following it again.

He was too strange. Yellow Splatters didn’t know how to address it, but he was working up to some good ideas when Pawn walked into the barracks with eight Workers and spoke.

“Purple Smile? Your patrol for this morning awaits. Please take these Workers above as well with the regular group of Soldiers.”

Purple Smile turned and nodded. Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn in astonishment. Hadn’t he made it clear what a waste that patrol was? But then—Workers. They were…acceptable? Yellow Splatters was undecided. But he froze when he saw the two Soldiers standing behind the Workers and saw eight more of the Painted Soldiers, his Soldiers coming forwards.

They stopped when he looked at them. Yellow Splatters struggled internally. He’d made it clear—but if they wanted to eat—but he had shown them—maybe it was only for security? Pawn stared between Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters, and then nodded to Purple Smile.

“I have no objections to you taking Painted Soldiers. Go. And remember what I told you.”

Purple Smile nodded to Pawn, and pointed. The regular Workers and Soldiers lined up meekly, and the eight Painted Soldiers fell into line behind them after a moment’s pause. None of them looked at Yellow Splatters. He stared at them and felt an emotion rising in his being. He had to struggle to find the word to express it.

Disobedience. Betrayal. He raised his head and stared at the Soldiers, and then at Purple Smile. This was his fault. But what could he do? The other Antinium was already leading them out of the Hive—

The convoy of Antinium jerked as Yellow Splatters strode towards them. But he fell meekly into place behind the last Soldier. Purple Smile stared at him for eight seconds, and then slowly moved the procession forwards again. Yellow Splatters raised his mandibles. He was just coming along, that was all. Just to remind the other Soldiers, remind Purple Smile who was in charge.

They made it to the inn just past lunchtime. The Goblins were eating, and the Horns of Hammerad had found their way into the inn as well. The Halfseekers were silently talking in one corner of the room and eying the Goblins. A Gnoll had come from the city for the first time in over a week, and Mrsha had crept downstairs with a wand in her paw without anyone noticing.

 

—-

 

Apista was napping by the faerie flowers blooming on the windowsill. The Horns of Hammerad were arguing, covered in mud after hunting a pack of regular, hungry wolves. Erin was hugging Ishkr. Lyonette smiled as she wiped a table and listened to them talk.

“I’m so glad you’re back! Are you okay? If you need more time off, I understand. I just…”

The Gnoll looked embarrassed as he stood in the inn, his red-brown fur engulfing Erin as she hugged him. He growled apologetically.

“I am fine, Miss Erin. I apologize for my absence. It was inexcusable. If you wish to dock my pay—”

“Don’t be stupid! How could I not get it? I know—I can’t believe Brunkr—”

Erin wiped her stinging eyes on Ishkr’s fur. The Goblins stared furtively at the Gnoll and he looked at them.

“I see we have new guests. I did not believe it when I heard the rumors, yes? Miss Erin would you like me to serve them? Miss Erin? Would you let go of me?”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Erin let go of Ishkr and smiled with genuine pleasure for the first time in days.

“We’re getting lunch out. If you don’t mind serving that’d be great. And we could use some more water, although it’s wet.”

“I can get it! Nothing like wet Gnolls to stink up a place. Hi Ishkr!”

Drassi smiled and waved at the Gnoll. He smiled back, not seemingly bothered about the wet Gnolls comment and began serving the Goblins with only a moment of hesitation. Ishkr was quiet, but he seemed resolved to do his job today.

That was all Erin and Lyonette wanted right now. The Antinium had come back as usual, only, Lyonette was sure it wasn’t like usual this time.

“Erin, that Soldier with the yellow paint is back. And I think he and Purple Smile are not getting along.”

Lyonette hissed at Erin as the Antinium took a table close to the doors. It was a mark of how the relationships in the inn were different that when they sat, it was next to the Horns of Hammerad while the Goblins sat on the other side of the room. Add in the Halfseekers, and there were three zones of tension and a very narrow pathway down the center of the inn that was in theory, neutral ground.

Erin and Lyonette stood there, talking, while Drassi came in with more water, complaining about melting snow and Ishkr brought out plates. The Halfseekers and Goblins were staring at each other silently, but Lyonette could only devote half an eye to them—she was more worried about the Antinium. As far as she was concerned, the way the Antinium with yellow splatters was acting required an eye and a half. At least.

“He’s that guy who poured his food on the ground, right?”

Erin frowned at Yellow Splatters as the [Sergeant] sat at his table, looking around with all four arms folded across his chest. Purple Smile was waving at her and she waved back with a smile to him. Then she turned to Lyonette.

“Okay, serve him last and let the other Antinium begin eating first. If he does that again, I’ll talk to them. But I’m worried about the Halfseekers too. Jelaqua’s not looking happy.”

“Of course she’s not! But she probably won’t start a fight.”

“You sure? Right, just don’t serve her anything strong, okay? Feed her, don’t let her drink. A happy Selphid’s a fat Selphid. Or something.”

Lyonette smiled and hurried off. Erin circulated the tables, smiling at everyone and not getting many smiles in return. The Goblins were muttering to themselves, the Halfseekers looked like they were having an argument. Ceria and Ksmvr were helping get some mud off Yvlon and Pisces was complaining about his order to Erin. The Antinium were just—just sitting there, waiting for their food.

And then it happened. There was a yelp and Headscratcher sat up in his seat. Instantly, the room tensed. Erin turned, and saw Jelaqua and the Halfseekers half-risen from their chairs.

“Wait, wait!”

She shouted at them as Lyonette stared at Headscratcher. He was grimacing, raising one of his arms. It rose over the edge of the table and, hanging from it, her teeth still buried in his arm, was Mrsha.

Mrsha!

Lyonette cried out in horror and rushed forwards. Headscratcher regarded the Gnoll, wincing as she growled and bit into his arm. She refused to let go, and the Goblin didn’t seemed inclined to make her let go. He had frozen with the other Goblins. Badarrow watched Lyonette tensely and moved back, eying the Halfseekers and Lyonette went over to Headscratcher and Mrsha.

“I am so sorry. Mrsha! Let go now, little miss! I mean it! Let go now or—”

Mrsha let go and dropped onto the table. She growled, her eyes flashing. Her mouth was red with blood. Lyonette froze. There was more than a bit of feral animal in the small Gnoll. Ishkr growled something at her and she snarled wordlessly at him. Erin turned back towards the table, concerned. Across the room Ceria whispered to her team.

“What’s wrong with Mrsha?”

The Gnoll was growling at the Goblins. Headscratcher leaned back, not so much afraid as wary. Lyonette seized Mrsha and waved desperately at Drassi and Ishkr.

“Keep serving! I’ll—Mrsha, you’re apologizing. Now!

The Gnoll fought her, clawing at Lyonette, snapping. Lyonette could barely hold on, and Erin was hurrying over to her when the second thing happened. Ishkr went over to the Antinium, holding bowls of ground beef seasoned with hot pepper and a fried egg on top. He passed it to Purple Smile, and the Soldier passed it to a Worker. And Yellow Splatters lost his temper.

 

—-

 

Yellow Splatters had seen Mrsha sneaking downstairs and underneath the Goblin’s table. The Gnoll was quite good at concealing herself despite her white fur. Perhaps only he had seen it; the other Antinium were too focused on the smells of cooking and the other people in the room were all glaring at each other.

He didn’t care, but when Mrsha bit the Goblin, Yellow Splatters appreciated her ferocity. The smell of blood and the sudden, sharp spike of tension and scent of fear—he felt like he was on the battlefield again.

That was good. But he stared at Purple Smile and hated the other Antinium for everything he was, everything he was not. Part of Yellow Spatters knew it didn’t make sense, but he didn’t care. He was just angry. Frustrated. He was in charge, but eight of his Painted Soldiers had still come here! And Pawn and Anand and Belgrade all liked Purple Smile. And why had Twin Stripes become Aberration?

Then the Gnoll with red-brown fur came over and handed a bowl of food to Purple Smile. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have served Yellow Splatters first, but the [Sergeant] was prepared to overlook that. What he wasn’t willing to forgive was when Purple Smile took the bowl and handed it to a Worker.

A Worker. Not a Soldier. Not one of the warriors who risked his life to fight day and night for the Hive, who gave their lives—Yellow Splatters’ four hands clenched into fists as the Worker hesitantly accepted the bowl. It looked up at Purple Smile, and the Soldier raised his mandibles and gestured for the Worker to begin eating.

That was it. That was the last straw! Yellow Splatters rose and flipped the table over. The Worker and other Soldiers flinched back as he charged around the table at Purple Smile. The other Soldier leapt to his feet, and then Yellow Splatters was punching at him, trying to bash the Antinium’s head in.

“What the—”

The Horns of Hammerad were on their feet. Ksmvr leapt to his feet and thrust Yvlon back as the adventurers reached for their weapons. Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters ignored the cries of alarm throughout the rest of the room. There was only the two Soldiers, face-to-face, mandibles nearly touching, each one throwing punches, blocking, dodging as they fought.

Yellow Splatters knew he had the advantage. He was bigger, stronger, thanks to his classes, and he had the [Touch Carapace] and [Power Strike] Skills. Only, he wouldn’t use [Power Strike]; he’d just beat Purple Smile within an inch of his life to prove to everyone who was right! He lashed out and Purple Smile dodged backwards, two hands raised protectively, the other two warding off punches.

“You two Antinium desist! I am Ksmvr, former Prognugator of the Hive and you are causing a public disturbance in—”

He was doing it again! Yellow Splatters clashed his mandibles together, throwing punches at Purple Smile. He was retreating! Running away! The Soldier was dancing backwards, refusing to let Yellow Splatters get a clear shot at him. All of Yellow Splatter’s blows were blocked or deflected. The other Soldier tried to express his fury as he charged forwards.

This wasn’t right! He should be undefeatable. Purple Smile shouldn’t be fighting equally with him! No one should listen to him! It was Yellow Splatters who had all the answers! Only his opinion mattered! He was right! He couldn’t be wrong! He was right! hE wAs RIghT!

“Enough!”

Erin was pushing towards them, but two of the Goblins were thrusting her back. One had a sword in his hand and was rising, wary and tense. Another was fiddling with a bow. Across the room, the half-Giant was arguing with his companions, raising his staff. The Horns of Hammerad were similarly caught in indecision, tense, waiting for the stalemate between the two Soldiers to break. Every eye was on the Soldiers now, and Lyonette’s grip on Mrsha had loosened.

The Gnoll took the chance. She wriggled out of Lyonette’s grip, kicked off from the stunned young woman and leapt onto the table with the Goblins. They were all distracted. The Gnoll reached for the wand she’d hidden with a bit of string on her furry body. She tore it loose and ran towards Badarrow. She raised the tip of the long, thin, pointy magical wand, and then she thrust it into his ear.

 

—-

 

Time slowed. Lyonette saw Mrsha thrusting with the wand, the hard, thin stiletto of wood. It was aimed right at Badarrow’s pointed ears, and it went into his earhole, towards his brain.

Only Badarrow’s warrior reflexes saved him. The Goblin twisted at the last moment and the wand was torn out of Mrsha’s grip. It flew across the room, and Badarrow clutched at his left ear. Blood trickled from it as the Goblins jerked and stared at Mrsha. She snarled, bared her teeth—

“Mrsha!”

Erin’s voice was shocked. Lyonette didn’t wait for words. The horror of what Mrsha had done, tried to do, moved her body. She grabbed Mrsha. The Gnoll wriggled, hissing, biting in her grip—Lyonette flipped her over and began to spank her with all her might.

At first, the shock of what was happening froze Mrsha, but then she was wriggling, yowling in pain, trying to get away. Lyonette held her in place, spanking the Gnoll hard, tears in her eyes.

“You do not do that! Understand? How could you? You do not do that, Mrsha!

The Gnoll was crying now, from the pain as much as Lyonette’s shouting. Lyonette kept going, trying to tell the Gnoll, remembering the tip of the wand going into Badarrow’s ear—she only stopped when someone grabbed her hand.

Headscratcher stopped Lyonette’s arm as it rose for another swat. The Goblin looked at Mrsha, and Lyonette saw the Gnoll’s face was streaked with tears. Mrsha leapt from the table and raced upstairs. Lyonette sank to the floor, sobbing.

Across the room, the fight between Purple Smile and Yellow Spatters had reached its conclusion. The [Sergeant] had cornered Purple Smile and was bashing through his guard. The other Soldier was blocking but his guard was failing. A few more blows and Yellow Splatters would be tearing his carapace off, beating him into piece—

The cold prick of metal jabbed into his side, painful, making his break off. Yellow Splatters turned and froze. A shortsword was at his neck—an arrow trained on his face. Ksmvr held both his shortbow and shortsword with his three hands. He shifted the arrow to Purple Smile.

“Hold still, both of you. This fight is over.”

The two Soldiers froze in place, staring at Ksmvr. The Antinium’s voice wobbled a bit, but steadied as he continued.

“I am a former Prognugator of the Hive. That gives me no authority.”

He paused. The Soldiers glanced at him and each other. Ksmvr pressed his sword further into Yellow Splatter’s side.

“No authority. At all. But I am led to understand that this sword gives me all the authority I need. Move and I will injure you non-lethally but in a very painful way.”

The two Soldiers didn’t move. The other Antinium were on their feet, staring at them. The Goblins were clustered around Badarrow. He looked expressionlessly around, one hand clamped to an ear leaking blood. The Halfseekers were staring, the Horns of Hammerad were ready to defend Ksmvr. Lyonette was crying, Drassi and Ishkr were uncertain.

And Erin knew what she had to do. She stepped towards Lyonette and Apista buzzed off the windowsill. She flew around, stinger protruding dangerously. Erin took a cautious step and Apista landed on her arm. Erin looked at the Ashfire Bee and lost her temper.

 


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4.42 L

The inn was tense silence. Erin’s heart was in pieces over Mrsha, and she was afraid for Ksmvr, confused about the Antinium. She looked at Badarrow, bleeding, expressionless, and her heart broke in a different way. And then there was the bee.

Apista fanned her wings dangerously as she slowly extended her stinger on her abdomen. Erin stared at the Ashfire Bee coldly.

“Sting me and Lyonette will have to sweep you up, Apista. Understand?”

The air around her froze and the bee hesitated. Slowly it withdrew its stinger and flew off Erin’s arm. It landed on a table and hid behind a mug. Erin nodded. She took a deep breath.

“Okay. Everyone? Freeze.

It wasn’t so much the words as the atmosphere that came with it. A chill and a pause swept through the inn, which halted the adventurers, the Antinium, and the Goblins where they stood or sat and drew every eye to Erin. She nodded.

“Good. Now, the first person who moves I will personally break their arm. No one stands, draws a sword, or does anything until I say they can. Got it? Good.”

She looked around. The room was quiet. Erin bent and went to Lyonette.

“Lyonette?”

The young woman was crying.

“I had to—I couldn’t—”

“I know. But Badarrow’s fine. Lyonette, look at me.”

The [Princess] did, eyes red, nose dribbling. Erin gripped her arms.

“Go upstairs.”

“But—”

“You don’t have to go into the room. Just sit outside it and make sure Mrsha doesn’t go anywhere, okay? Can you do that?”

Lyonette hesitated, and then brushed at her nose. That only made things worse.

“I—I can. Okay.”

She got up slowly. Erin looked around. Next? Goblins. Antinium. The Goblins were staring. She pointed at Drassi and the Drake flinched.

“Healing potion, Drassi! Give it to Badarrow. Now, as for you—”

She turned to the tableau of frozen Antinium. All three of them stared at her as she walked over. Ksmvr had the tip of his shortsword jammed into Yellow Splatters’ side. A trickle of green blood was running down the length of the blade. Erin stared at Ksmvr.

“Put your sword down.”

He hesitated.

“Miss Erin—”

“I said, down, Ksmvr. Bow as well.”

He reluctantly obeyed. The other two Soldiers shifted when he did. Yellow Splatters began to raise his fist and Purple Smile tried to slide away across the wall. Erin stamped her foot and there was a localized tremor. The Antinium went still.

“You three, sit. Now.”

They looked at her, confused. Erin stared at them. There was a…look in her eyes. A suggestion that she might be willing to beat all three to death with her bare hands if she was not obeyed. The look of a Prognugator of a Hive.

“I said, sit.

All three Antinium sat down. The two Soldiers and Ksmvr looked up at Erin from their cross-legged positions on the floor. She eyed them but decided not to comment.

“Good. Now, keep sitting. If any of you three move, I will have Moore come over and hit you. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll get Jelaqua to do it.”

She nodded at the Halfseekers. They stared at her. Erin flashed them a smile and walked over to the Goblins.

“I am very, very sorry about what Mrsha did.”

She said that to Badarrow first off. He stared at her and his face twisted into a sneer reminiscent of Pisces. He had already poured healing potion into his ear and was tilting his head to hold it in. Erin hoped his eardrum hadn’t been punctured or if it had, the healing potion would fix it. She looked at him and around the table.

“I mean it. That was inexcusable and shouldn’t have happened in my inn. You have my word she won’t do it again.”

The other four Goblins shifted in their seats and looked at each other. One gave Erin a half-hearted nod, and another shrugged.

There. That was what Erin felt, had been feeling this entire time. That sense of…disconnect. They didn’t believe her. Or if they did, they thought she wouldn’t be able to keep her word. Or—they were Goblins. They were used to being attacked. That was life.

And that was wrong. Erin hesitated just for a moment. But this was it. She felt what she had to do at last. She reached out and touched Badarrow. She grabbed his hands with hers, feeling his hands—warm and real, in hers.

He jerked, a trickle of potion and blood spilling out of one ear. Reflexively he tried to pull his hands away but Erin wouldn’t let him. She held his hands. His fingernails were long, yes, and his skin was green. Of course. But they were warm hands, and she could feel his pulse. It was accelerating. He was nervous. And as she stared into his crimson eyes, she saw a person there.

“There you are. I knew you were like me.”

He didn’t understand. Erin smiled at him. She leaned closer, and now she could smell him, and he couldn’t look away. She looked into his eyes and spoke.

“I am sorry about Mrsha. But she has a reason to hate you. Goblins killed her tribe.”

He flinched at that. All the Goblins did. They looked at Erin and away. They understood what she meant in a heartbeat of course, but they tried to distance themselves. They tried to hide in what they were and what she was. Goblins and a Human. Two species destined for conflict. They had given their hearts away once and lost them. They didn’t want to feel. But Erin was too close. Badarrow couldn’t look away.

“It was recently. A few months ago. And when she came here…I think she’s afraid you’ll kill her. I know you won’t. But I’m asking you to forgive her. I know she tried to kill you. But she’s a child. I’ll try to get her to come downstairs. I’m not asking you to do anything—but I hope you understand.”

Badarrow glanced into Erin’s eyes and away. He tried to turn his head, but she kept drawing him back. And then he looked at her as if intoxicated. They were close. She was real. And so was he. He nodded, slowly and Erin smiled.

“Thank you. And I want you to know that I had a friend, once. Her name was Rags and she was a Goblin. She and I didn’t always understand each other, but I thought of her as a friend, as a person. I think you’re people too.”

The Goblins stared at her. Badarrow’s face was filled with expressions the other Redfang warriors had seldom seen. Shock, surprise, and then…a smile. As if he couldn’t help it. Erin smiled and looked around.

“Wait, please. Ishkr? Give them food and make sure everyone has something to eat. I’ll be down shortly.”

She strode towards the stairs and took them two at a time. She looked back only once. Badarrow was staring at his hands and another Goblin, Shorthilt, was prodding at his palms. He looked up at and met her eyes. And she smiled at him and knew he was embarrassed. All that Goblin mystique, all the tension, the uncertainty—she’d forgotten that if you looked into someone’s eyes, you could see their soul. And it shone brightly in the Goblin’s gaze.

Upstairs was different than below. The murmuring below and thawing of shock was at odds with the sound of crying above. Mrsha was sobbing and Lyonette was in tears. Erin strode towards the door to their room and opened it. Lyonette hovered at the doorway. Erin turned to her.

“I think I need to talk to Mrsha by herself.”

Lyonette hesitated, and then nodded. She went downstairs and Erin went inside. She found Mrsha curled up in her bedroll, quivering and making sobbing sounds, although of course she couldn’t fully articulate them. She had no voice, but some things were wordless. Erin reached out and the ball jerked under the covers. A head poked out and Mrsha stared at her.

“Mrsha—”

The Gnoll swiped at her with a paw. Erin caught the paw gently and looked at the Gnoll.

“We need to talk.”

Mrsha didn’t want to talk. She wanted to be sad. She wanted to hurt. Erin understood that, but she also had to be heard. So she compromised. She held Mrsha’s paw and stroked it. At first, the Gnoll tried to pull away, but then she gave up and lay there, weeping, as Erin patted her head and stroked her fur. After a while, Erin felt it was time to speak.

“I should have talked with you a long time ago about this, Mrsha. About the Goblins, I mean.”

The Gnoll froze up and her paw was suddenly sharp with claws in Erin’s hand. The young woman adjusted her grip and sighed.

“Mrsha. Listen to me.”

The Gnoll didn’t want to listen. She pulled hard, and Erin pulled right back. Surprised, Mrsha tumbled out of her bedding and met Erin’s eyes. The [Innkeeper] bent her head and spoke in a quiet, direct voice.

“Mrsha. Hating the Goblins is not wrong.”

The Gnoll Cub froze. She looked up at Erin and the young woman nodded.

“No, it’s not. I should have said that to you earlier. Hating the Goblins isn’t wrong. They killed your tribe, your friends—why shouldn’t you hate them?”

Confusion. Mrsha stopped pulling and listened. Erin tugged her closer, until she was sitting across from Mrsha, very close. She met the Gnoll’s eyes.

“It’s not wrong. Anyone would hate them for that. Hating Goblins isn’t wrong. But hating all Goblins, hating these Goblins—that’s not right, either.”

The conversation had only one voice, but it was not one-sided. Mrsha narrowed her eyes and Erin went on.

“Listen, Mrsha. I am going to tell you something important. Something you have to learn. And it’s this: people are not the same. Understand?”

A silence. Uncomprehending. Pain.

“That’s all there is. People are not the same. Where I come from Mrsha, people look…well, we’re all Human. But we’re not all the same. Some of us have black skin, some have white skin, others have long hair—some are men and some are women. We are not all the same. Not all Humans are the same, right? That’s simple. You’re smart. You know that Lyonette and I aren’t the same, right?”

A smile and in return, a small nod. Puzzlement.

“But some people think that, oh, because Lyonette and I are both female that we’re the same. Or—they think all people with black skin are the same. And that’s not true. There are good people and bad people, Mrsha. And they might look alike in some ways, but they aren’t. I could look at Ishkr and Brunkr and if I was really silly, I’d say they look alike. But they’re not, are they?”

A quick shake of the head.

“No, no they aren’t. But some people think that way. In fact, most of us do it. We don’t mean to, but we do. And that means we judge everyone by the actions of a few. Like Goblins. They are not all the same.”

Eyes widening. Looking away, tense.

“Mrsha. Not all Goblins are the same. That is what I have to tell you. Just that.”

Just that? Looking back. A nod.

“That’s it. I’m not going to tell you all Goblins aren’t evil, or they aren’t all murderers, because then I’m talking about all of them. I’m just telling you that you can’t judge all of them without seeing them. Like the ones downstairs. They’re Goblins. But they haven’t hurt anyone. Aside from evil goats, that is.”

Looking down. Paw clenched. Erin lowered her voice softly.

“You don’t have to like them. I won’t ever make you do that.”

Mrsha looked up.

“I promise. You don’t even have to go near them. But you can’t hurt them. Because they’re not the ones who killed your tribe.”

The Gnoll began to shake. Erin drew her closer and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, Mrsha. They’re not. They might look like Goblins, but they are not the same. They didn’t know. And you don’t have to like another Goblin if you don’t want to. You don’t have to forgive. Not right now. But you can’t blame them all for the same thing. They’re different. Like you and like me.”

Silence. Trembling. Erin tried to explain the last bit. The most important bit.

“I’m letting them stay here. Not because I think they’re innocent, but because I don’t think they’re bad. And Mrsha, they’ve given me no reason to distrust them. If they did, I would kick them out in an instant. Believe me. But they’ve done nothing bad. So that’s why I’m giving them a chance.”

She whispered to the Gnoll as she hugged her.

“They might not deserve a second chance. But everyone deserves a first one. That’s what I think. And you don’t have to like that. You don’t have to like them. But you do have to accept that that’s what I believe. And if you try to hurt them again, Mrsha—that can’t happen. Understand?”

The Gnoll looked down. She wasn’t crying now. She was just…lost. Erin looked at her.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going downstairs to sort the rest of this out, Mrsha. And you’re going to come with me.”

The Gnoll jolted in fear. Erin held her.

“You don’t have to do anything. You can sit with the Halfseekers. With Moore. And you’ll be safe, Mrsha. The Goblins won’t do anything. If they hurt you, if they do anything bad, you tell me and I will cut them up into little pieces. But I don’t think they will. If you see them doing something bad, you tell me. Otherwise, you come down this once, and then you can do what you want, okay?”

A long pause. Erin waited as Mrsha thought about this, as she struggled—and then nodded slowly. Erin bent and kissed her on the head.

“You’re very brave. And I know you’re hurting. Just remember what I told you. People are not the same. Now, let’s wipe that blood off and bring you downstairs. You can eat something hot and we’ll sort the rest of this out, okay?”

She reached out and a small Gnoll took her hand. And if Mrsha was afraid as they went downstairs, if she flinched from the Goblins, that was okay. She went willingly and sat next to Moore and Jelaqua, holding both their legs for support. That was all Erin had hoped for.

A start.

 

—-

 

This was how it got better. With food, with enforced sitting, as the blood cooled and regrets took over. With an [Innkeeper], going around to each table, talking to people, holding hands—treating them as people. Yellow Spatters sat very still and didn’t look around. He could sense the other Soldiers and Workers looking at him.

And he was lost. He didn’t know what he’d done. He’d tried to kill Purple Smile at the end of it. Another Soldier. One of his brothers.

One of his people.

He was barely conscious of Erin moving around the room, and then her exasperatedly arguing with the Gnoll, Ishkr, over an object.

“Why did you buy this if you cannot play it? It seems like a waste of money, yes?”

“I thought I could learn! I want music, Ishkr, and I don’t want to pay for a [Bard] or something. If I could teach myself—”

“Why not let me play?”

“Wait, you know how to play?”

Erin stared at the Gnoll in disbelief. Ishkr looked embarrassed and scratched behind one ear as Lyonette and Drassi passed out strong drinks for everyone.

“I play a bit. Not this instrument, but I have earned coins doing it before. Hrr. Ahem. This is similar to instruments I know, though. Still.”

He frowned at the guitar, looking at it dubiously.

“Why not an oud, or a mandolin? I’ve played a gittern, but this?”

Ishkr poked the guitar with one claw, looking dubious. Erin stared at him anxiously.

“I have no idea what those other things are. Most of the music from my country is on this…well, I guess there’s the violin, cello, and so on. Ukuleles…look, if you can play this, that’d be great.”

“Hrr. I can try.”

The Gnoll lifted the guitar and slung the strap around his shoulder. He strummed across the strings, making a sound that Erin hadn’t been able to after ten minutes of trying. Erin gasped with delight and hurried into the kitchen. Lyonette stared as Ishkr played a chord quickly and easily.

“Don’t your claws get in the way?”

Ishkr smiled at her.

“They do. I cut them short, but I’ve also learned to play with them. Many Gnoll instruments are made to be easier for my people to play anyways, though. And this is one.”

“Oh. No wonder Erin couldn’t play it.”

“Hrm? What? Humans could play it without much difficulty. Perhaps she is just, ah—”

He broke off as Erin came out of the kitchen. She had a bit of parchment in one hand and thrust it at him anxiously.

“I tried to write down songs in my spare time. Good ones from home. I can remember the lyrics, but the notes—I uh, I think I’ve gotten it mostly down. Could you—could you try playing this?”

Ishkr accepted the parchment and studied it. After a second he looked up.

“This—is not music, Miss Erin. I cannot read it.”

“What? No, it’s good music! Pop songs! Why can’t you play it?”

The Gnoll looked incredulously at her, and then shifted the parchment and pointed at a section.

“It says here…twang, twang, higher-pitched twang? How am I supposed to play that?”

Erin turned bright red and snatched the parchment back from him. Across the inn, a Goblin laughed out loud and then fell silent as everyone stared at him. But the laughter was good.

“I’m not good with music, okay? Look, how about this? Can you play something like—”

She hummed, and Ishkr tried to copy the sound. Erin broke off.

“No, not like that. Do it more like—double the sound here. Good! And make it lower. Longer—don’t glare at me! I know how it should sound in my head! Try another string. No, not that string. This string!”

As she argued with Ishkr, Lyonette went around the room, trying to serve the three different groups in the room and praying none of them would cause trouble. Surprisingly…they didn’t. The Antinium were sitting in a kind of meditative silence, Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters sitting and staring at each other and at Erin. Yellow Splatters had his arms folded, but he didn’t look like he was going to start another fight. He looked like he was sulking, actually.

The Goblins were listening to Erin and Ishkr, wincing every time he played a discordant note. But they seemed more entertained by this than they had by anything else. As for Mrsha and the adventurers—she was having her fur stroked by three different sets of hands at once as she stared at the Goblins. All was tranquil for now, and Lyonette conspired with Drassi and several mugs of alcohol to keep it that way.

“We’ve never served the Goblins ale!

Drassi hissed at Lyonette as they filled up mugs by the bar. Lyonette shook her head. Really? They hadn’t? But everyone drank. And yet, Lyonette couldn’t remember ever serving the Goblins a real drink besides milk, juice, or water. That felt a bit…wrong, to her.

“So what? They’re guests, Drassi. Fill the mugs and serve them, and help me find the stronger stuff. Where does Erin keep it? We’ll try them on it, and if they don’t like it, well, Jelaqua and Seborn drink like mules!”

The Drake grimaced, but didn’t object. She pointed to the kitchen.

“Erin keeps it hidden behind the potatoes, remember? After Mrsha tried drinking some—”

“Right. Thanks!”

And then there was music. Lyonette went back into the common room and heard something. A melody. It was quiet, and had a few mistakes at the start, but there was a…feeling it carried. Just a few repeating notes on a guitar played by a Gnoll. But then Erin began to sing.

At first her voice was out of place. The guitar and her words were not enough. Erin frowned and looked around.

“Guess I don’t have an immortal moment. Hold on, we need a drum for this to work properly.”

She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a long wooden spoon and a wooden tong. After a moment Erin grabbed a large bowl and ran out. She plonked the bowl onto a table in front of Numbtongue. He stared at it.

“Can you give me a beat? And you—Headscratcher. I bet you can match my voice, right? I need a chorus.”

The Goblins gaped at her. But now the guitar solo had an accompaniment. Erin began to clap her lands rhythmically and Headscratcher was the first to copy. She turned.

“Come on, then! I need some help! Numbtongue, give me a beat.”

The Goblin picked up the spoon and began to hit the bowl. The sound was high—too high. Erin made him slap the bowl and then the Goblins began to pound on the table. She turned, and then she needed voices.

“Ceria? I know you can sing. Yvlon—Ksmvr? Pisces? Aw, don’t be like that. All you need to sing is this—now, I want a beat! Come on Numbtongue, hit that table!”

The Goblin slapped the table and there was something like a proper drumbeat. Ishkr bent over the notes, playing, and now Erin had a crowd. She pointed at the other Soldiers and Workers.

“I could use some clapping! Join in any time? Okay? Let’s start. I’ll start and you join in like this? Ready? One, two, three!”

And then there was music. It started out disjointed, and then it grew louder. Erin began to sing as the guitar’s melody became only one part of a symphony. Voices joined with hers, and the Goblins clapped and slapped the table to music. The first music they had heard.

Sitting by himself, Yellow Splatters tried to ignore it. He did. He tried to tell himself there were things that mattered more. He sat, hunched, trying not to listen. It was just sound.

But then he heard a Soldier begin to stomp on the floor. The voices of the singers blended with the beat. Yellow Splatters stared at the Soldier. He was thumping the floor with his feet, and then clapping his hands together clumsily. He knew Yellow Splatters was watching, but the other Soldier didn’t care. And then another Soldier stood up. He began to beat a rhythm on the table with an empty cup, and the others joined in.

Now the beat ran through the inn. Erin stood in the center, laughing and singing. And one of the Goblins was singing too. Numbtongue had memorized every word. Across the inn, Moore was gently thumping the table as Mrsha bounced up and down. Jelaqua, Ceria, Yvlon—even Pisces was joining into the chorus. Drassi and Lyonette were singing as they passed around drinks.

And now the music was reaching into Yellow Splatters’ mind, into his body, tugging at his heart, searching for his soul. He couldn’t help it. He uncurled and his leg began jiggling to the beat. That was the start.

Erin paused the music and amid cheering, began to teach them another song. She started with Ishkr, and then gave the others a beat and words to sing to. And the words reached into a place that Yellow Splatters had forgotten he had. He listened to Erin, a Human who knew nothing of his pain, sing. And somehow, the words were meant for him. She sang about home, about belonging, and the music broke Yellow Splatters’ heart and healed it at the same time.

That was how it began. Erin knew a hundred songs, some which required guitars, some which required a beat, others which were solo. Some were sad, others tragic. Others made the people in the inn sit up and made the hearts beating inside race. Others made them dance. Erin grabbed Headscratcher and linked arms with him. She began to dance with the surprised Goblin.

“Hey all of you! Is this a party or not? Come on! Show me how you dance!”

That was how it began. Yellow Splatters found himself dragged up and spun around. Soldiers didn’t know how to dance. But he found that there were no rules to it. He saw Purple Smile doing a two-step with Ksmvr across the floor, taught by an amused Erin. At one point Jelaqua took the dance floor and began what the Antinium could only term enthusiastic flailing. But it was so enjoyable that a Worker, Mrsha, and Drassi copied her.

Dancing was different. The music demanded it. Yellow Splatters found himself whirling, arms wide, spinning in place. And that was fun! And then Erin told them they were only getting started. He looked at her and felt like crying. Because at some point he’d realized he was wrong. And when Purple Smile looked at him and offered him a mug of ale, Yellow Splatters searched for the pain and anxiety and anger in his chest and realized it was gone.

The music had taken it away.

 

—-

 

The party in the inn had music, people, food, and more importantly, a need. After so many days of tension and anxiety, all of that emotion had to go one way. And so Erin took it and released it. She filled her inn with music and people heard.

“I heard an odd sound. What is going on? Oh. Hello Ksmvr, other Antinium I do not know. Are you having a good day? Good. I am Bird.”

The Antinium on the roof came down, swept up by the music. He found himself shouting at Badarrow about arrows as the Goblin admired his bow. Bird quite enjoyed that. He kept waving his arms and shouting over the music.

“You shot me! It was a good shot! I said good shot! Show me how!”

That was the first. Then a Worker took a wrong turn going to the bathroom and Octavia poked her head into the inn, looking outraged.

“Hey, what’s all that noise? I’m trying to wor—hey, what’s this music?”

She came in. And she was the last. No one would come to an inn with Goblins, after all. No matter what they heard.

 

—-

 

A group of Drake and Gnoll [Guardsmen], or rather [Guardspeople] since there were [Guardswomen] among them as well was patrolling around Liscor, searching for monsters nests and so on. They heard the music echoing from the inn on their way back.

“Hey, that’s a good song.”

One of the Drakes looked up as she heard the beat coming from the inn. Another Drake leaned on his spear and sighed.

“Huh. That’s loud.”

The other [Guardsmen] looked at each other. One coughed.

“There’s Goblins at that inn now.”

The others nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Damn Goblins.”

“Can’t imagine what that innkeeper’s thinking.”

“Eh. She was always crazy. Remember that time she was singing and there was all that music? Good food. Dancing…”

“Yeah. Shame she has all those Goblins there.”

“Yeah.”

The [Guardspeople] stared towards the inn, where the music was flooding the wet landscape. On this grey day, it was as if someone had taken the sun and brought it inside. It was as if the light was music and it was flooding out of the inn. One of the Drakes sighed.

“Damn lucky Goblins.”

 

—-

 

“Good night! Good night to you all! Don’t get lost on your way back! And don’t fight with each other anymore, okay? Or I’ll come over and kick both your butts!”

Erin said goodbye to the Antinium just before midnight. Her voice was raw and her legs hurt. She wasn’t the only one.

The Goblins had passed out downstairs. Numbtongue, true to his name and past, had practically lost his voice. He could actually sing! And he had taken the guitar. Ishkr had signed off with a hefty overtime bonus, complaining his claws hurt. But he had been smiling.

As for the others? The Halfseekers went to sleep tired, but beaming. None of them had danced with the Goblins, but as they had found there was room in the inn for both of them. The Horns of Hammerad had passed out in their room already. And Mrsha was in her room with Lyonette.

Healing. It was a long process. But if Erin was good at one thing, it was bridging gaps. Between people, in hearts…Yellow Splatters walked slowly back with Purple Smile and thought about all the mistakes he’d made.

Because he’d been wrong. The Antinium needed Erin Solstice more than they needed him. They didn’t need more training. They needed to stare at the sky.

And he had forgotten that. Because…because he’d seen too many of his people. Because he’d forgotten what had made him Individual to begin with. Because he was a fool.

And that knowledge left him quiet and empty. Despair over Twin Stripes crushed him. His failures hung about him. If the music and food had not filled him with hope and happiness, Yellow Splatters might have been lost. As it was, he was simply sad.

He reported back to his barracks and sat for a long time by himself. The other Soldiers had brought gifts for the others. Food from Erin’s inn—still fresh, one of Mrsha’s balls she’d given them to throw around, and even a small keg. The Soldiers mainly just stared at that since they’d forgotten to bring bowls.

As for Yellow Splatters? He looked at Purple Smile and thought the other Soldier would be a good [Sergeant]. And he wondered if he could be one as well. He looked around the barracks, at the sparring area, and then at a space that had never really been used.

A few pieces of carefully-bound paper sat in a corner. Just ink and paper. But Pawn had seen the value in them. Yellow Splatters went over, and, with many Soldiers watching him furtively, sat down and picked up a book clumsily.

It was very hard to turn the pages, and the lighting wasn’t good. When Yellow Splatters got the first page open he saw there was a Drake child on the page. A Drake child with a magic sword.

He had no name. The book had no words. It was just pictures. But there was a story there. Yellow Splatters read the book slowly, turning the pages laboriously, but caught up in the little Drake’s story.

He had a sword. A magic sword, surely, because when he found it, it glowed. And it slew a Mothbear, a Wyvern, a horde of undead, and then it carried him into the sky to fight a Giant on a mountain. The Drake became a hero. He had friends. He led an army. And then they crowned him as he sat in a city he had built.

It was a simple story. A simple story for a child, with no real moral other than that magic swords were amazing, and that slaying monsters was good. But it was the first one Yellow Splatters had ever read. And it was magic.

When the Soldier looked up from the book, he found he was not alone. Someone sat across from him. Pawn. The Worker looked tired, but smiled as Yellow Splatters froze and looked at him.

“I did not want to disturb you from your reading. Forgive me. I did not see you at the front as usual so I grew worried.”

The front? But that was in—Yellow Splatters checked his internal clocked and realized it was long past dawn. Morning, in fact. He’d read the book for—he shot to his feet in a sudden panic. The fighting! The monsters!

He’d abandoned his post. He would have run towards the front had Pawn not caught him.

“Be calm, Yellow Splatters. There is no need for fighting today. Hopefully…not tomorrow or much at all.”

What? Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn uncomprehendingly. The Worker nodded.

“It will be easier to show you. Come.”

He took the [Sergeant] down the tunnels, past groups of Soldiers who did not march to their deaths but rather wandering around, looking confused. Yellow Splatters arrived at the place where they normally fought and found something else in its place.

A barricade of stone and dirt. High walls—intersecting tunnels filled with disguised pits filled with spikes, tunnels designed to collapse once triggered. And wide areas designed to funnel monsters into each other so they would kill each other. Belgrade was explaining all of this at length to Klbkch and Purple Smile when Yellow Splatters arrived.

“You see, it takes advantage of the dungeons’ radius. Monsters will pass by this point and into this room and begin to attack each other. We have set it up so monsters will arrive at roughly the same time. After they have reduced each other’s numbers, we have many, many trapped tunnels which they will be forced to travel through. And if they survive that—”

“A kill zone.”

Klbkch studied the final room, in which rows of Workers stood. Workers, not Soldiers. There were Soldiers at the ready, but they had yet to fight today. Instead, the Workers were armed with the Antinium’s crude bows and arrows. They stood behind battlements that had been constructed to let them fire behind shelter, and they had slaughtered the few monsters that had made it to their position with massed volleys. Belgrade nodded proudly.

“Pawn has long said this and both Anand and I agree. It is time for Workers to take charge of defending the Hive as much as Soldiers do. Moreover, we need an archery-based unit. Thus, we have found those Individual and regular Workers who seem to have an aptitude for aiming and equipped them. You will note in the budget report I sent that I am requesting better bows and arrows.”

The Revalantor flicked through several pages of parchment and nodded.

“I see. And your prediction?”

“Over 86% reduction in casualties taken and a greatly reduced need for constant combat. True, the material costs rise by a small margin, but this would allow our Hive to allocate resources and bodies—”

“Yes. I see. Am I to understand this was your undertaking, Belgrade?”

Yellow Splatters stared at the [Tactician]. Belgrade nodded as Anand walked over, munching on an apple. Purple Smile must have offered it to him.

“That is correct, Revalantor Klbkch. Recently, my acquired Skills have shifted in nature. Both Anand and I have received Skills, but while his pertain to rapid movement and assaults, I have obtained Skills suitable for static defenses. My two latest Skills—obtained from reaching Level 20—are [Simple Trap Construction] and [Basic Fortification Construction].”

“Very useful.”

Anand munched down the rest of his apple. Pawn nodded. He stepped forwards as Klbkch turned to him.

“It is a project all of us have worked on tirelessly, Revalantor Klbkch. Were it not for the Painted Soldiers, we would not have been able to hold the areas around the dungeon’s entrance to construct this defensive network.”

Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile turned to Pawn. Realization flashed between the two and Yellow Splatters trembled inside. Klbkch looked around, clicking his mandibles, seemingly at a loss.

“Very…good. Unexpectedly good. Carry on. I will relay this to the Queen. I do not doubt she will be very…well, good.”

He walked off. The Workers stared at him, and then gathered around to celebrate.

“I think he was impressed.”

“I owe it all to Erin. And you, Pawn. And you, Anand.”

Belgrade seemed overjoyed, his antennae trembling with emotion. He spoke, fondling a chess piece on the command table as he did.

“It is as Erin said, every time I despaired of beating you in chess, Anand. Practice can defeat talent. And when I applied that to the real world—preparation and planning will win battles in advance of reactionary tactics. I may not have your gift Anand, but I can contribute to the Hive in my own way.”

“I did not doubt it for a second, Belgrade.”

Anand grasped Belgrade’s shoulder, speaking softly. He indicated the maze of defenses.

“This is beyond me. This is your accomplishment. And the scope of it—you have won battles before I needed to fight them. I believe this understanding is key to what it means to be a [Strategist], and not simply a [Tactician]. That is why you will reach that class first, Belgrade. Be proud of what you have done.”

The Worker quivered in place. Anand hesitated, and them embraced him. The two Workers hugged as the other Antinium looked on. After a second, Belgrade spoke in a more normal voice.

“While I appreciate the gesture and am very emotional Anand, I do not seem to have acquired the ‘warm and fuzzy’ feelings that Erin spoke of.”

Anand let go and nodded.

“Neither do I. Perhaps it is an error in our methods? Our expertise?”

“Let us ask her when we next meet.”

“Yes. For now…I think we have earned a break. Pawn, we shall be sleeping now. You know how to manage the defenses—”

“And I will wake you if needed. Rest, you two. You deserve it.”

Pawn let the two Workers stagger off, and then turned. The two Soldiers stared at him. Pawn nodded.

“We will need a few Painted Soldiers in case of dangerous enemies, but far fewer than before. You two are relieved of duty for now. We will have to find more ways to occupy you two in the future. More patrols perhaps. Or maybe…books.”

He looked at Yellow Splatters as he said that. The [Sergeant] just stood in place. No more fighting? His people wouldn’t die? He was…what a fool he’d been.

Perhaps Pawn sensed it, because he put a hand on Yellow Splatters’ shoulder. And surprisingly, so did Purple Smile.

“I know what you have been going through, Yellow Splatters. And some of the fault is ours. We did not want to speak of what we were doing, should we fail. But we should have told you. As for the rest…I am glad.”

Glad? Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn in astonishment. After all he’d done, after what he’d done. Perhaps it could be forgiven. But Twin Stripes? Never.

Again, Pawn read his mind.

“Come with me. I have one last thing to show you. And this is my accomplishment.”

He led the two Soldiers away, through tunnels, to a new area. A small room had been hollowed out and a door installed. Two Soldiers stood aside as the Worker opened the door. Yellow Spatters froze as he saw Twin Stripes chained to the ground.

“Ah.”

The Aberration Soldier was thrashing. Pawn bowed his head and stepped forwards, but both Yellow Spatters and Purple Smile moved forwards protectively. Twin Stripes was trying to move, trying to get at Yellow Spatters. The [Sergeant] wanted to let him.

But it was Pawn who moved. The Worker walked forwards, heedless of the Aberration struggling in his manacles. He bent, and raised something.

A hand. And in it he held light. Or…was light drawn to his hand? He reached out, and Twin Stripes froze as it touched his head gently.

Two more hands rose. Pawn’s other hands reached out and touched Purple Smile in the chest, and Yellow Splatters on the arm. The Worker’s mandibles opened and he uttered a word.

“Hope.”

It was the simplest of messages. A quiet word, breathed into the silence, spoken with all the sincerity in the world. And with it came forgiveness, peace.

A blessing.

Yellow Splatters jerked, feeling warmth and light entering him. Twin Stripes stopped thrashing and Purple Smile touched his chest as Pawn withdrew his hands. The Worker bent over Twin Stripes and the Soldier looked up. The Soldier, not the Aberration.

“This is my gift. Three times per day I may use [Benediction of Hope] to ease those in need. I think it calms the thoughts. It gives our people hope, a small blessing. And perhaps—understanding. Of what it means to be Individual.”

Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn. He was shaking. He should have been exhausted after being up for over a day. But now he felt fresh. And the despair that had gripped him, the pain and guilt—it was still there. But something else was in him, balancing it out.

Hope.

And he looked down at Twin Stripes and knew the Soldier was back. Slowly, Yellow Splatters bent and freed the Soldier. Twin Stripes got up slowly, and Yellow Splatters bowed his head. The two were silent for a moment before Purple Smile seized both of them up in a hug. The Soldiers struggled, and then went limp. It was not warm and fuzzy at all. But it was…perfect.

Pawn looked at the Soldiers and smiled. He bowed his head.

“Congratulations, [Sergeant] Purple Smile. I think you and Yellow Splatters will be a wonderful team.”

Yellow Splatters looked at Purple Smile as the other Antinium let go. Purple Smile tilted his head to looked at Yellow Splatters, and the [Sergeant] saw the weight of command settle on his shoulders. But that was the thing about Purple Smile. He just brushed the weight off.

And that was the word for it. At last, Yellow Splatters realized what was missing. He looked around. Not leader. Not alone. That wasn’t what he was. At last, he knew. He was one of many. Not the lone leader. He could rely on others.

He had a team. A people. A mission.

A family.

 

—-

 

One last thing. In the Wandering Inn, as Erin went back to her kitchen to snore and Lyonette lay in her bed, sleeping in a quieter manner, a small Gnoll sat in her room and listened. She heard only silence.

She had had a big day and she was tired. She had been angry, sad, happy…Mrsha knew she was still in trouble and she still had a lot of being sorry to do. But the music had helped. The food had helped. And Erin…

The words were still in her. She did not have to forgive. And she hadn’t. Mrsha had been afraid, so afraid when she’d gone downstairs. But the Selphid had leaned down and whispered to her, and Moore had smiled and given her a bud that bloomed into a flower in her hands. Mrsha had felt safe with them.

She did not forgive the Goblins. But she had sat in the inn and watched them all day. Not all people were the same. And yet, Mrsha couldn’t forget it was their people who had slaughtered her tribe.

Each time one of them laughed, Mrsha hated all of the Goblins and their entire species. When they smiled, she wished their happiness would go away. It was easy to hate them, then.

It was harder, much harder, to hate them when they cried. When they shed a tear for a sad song that made Mrsha curl up inside, or when they hugged each other and looked around as if they expected there to be others with them. Then it was hard.

Mrsha had gone upstairs, but she could still smell them in the basement. Sleeping. She could even smell they were sleeping. Their scents were one of many in the inn. Only, she’d been focused on them for so long she had forgotten the other ones. Now she could smell Lyonette next to her, comforting, and Pisces in another room, playing with dead bones. And Yvlon—still smelling of fire and burning.

The Goblins were below. Mrsha knew that. She still hated them. And maybe she always would. But she stopped waiting for the moment when they would draw their swords and kill her. Mrsha curled up into a ball and slept.

At some point, Apista crawled out from a mug downstairs and looked around. She had miraculously survived the raucous party simply by the expedient of hiding in the mug and scaring the daylights out of anyone who reached for a drink. She fanned her wings and flew up to the ceiling, where she perched by a windowsill and fanned her wings in the warm sun.

Everyone was sleeping of course. Partying did that to people. As for insects, well, their opinions were less well recorded on the matter. Apista consumed a bit of nectar from the faerie flowers. She might not be a person. But she was happy.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.43

“I’m going into the city now. Do you want to come or stay?”

The next day, Lyonette was sitting in front of Mrsha, talking to her. The small white Gnoll was chewing on the tip of her wand and looked up curiously at her. Lyonette went on.

“The Horns of Hammerad are resting. Ceria got bit badly on the leg and butt yesterday and no one wants to do much after the party, so the Halfseekers might be here all day too. You can stay with them or come with me. Which is it?”

Mrsha rolled backwards and then slumped onto her side, accidentally jabbing the inside of her mouth with the tip of the wand. She yelped and Lyonette sighed.

“I told you not to play with that! Give it here, Mrsha. You can’t keep—”

The Gnoll scuttled away from Lyonette, holding her wand possessively. She glanced at Lyonette and after a moment, shook her head and pointed to the floor.

“You want to stay here? You’re sure?”

Mrsha hesitated. But then she nodded. Lyonette smiled a bit.

Progress. After yesterday, it seemed like she could leave the inn without Mrsha coming with her. The Gnoll seemed secure if she was around the adventurers, especially Jelaqua and Moore who doted on her. It felt like all the anxiety and stress everyone had been under was a memory of months ago, rather than yesterday. Lyonette was grateful for that beyond words.

But there were still things she had to put her foot down on. She and Mrsha had done a lot of reconciling since yesterday, but one thing had to change.

“No more wand. Come on, give it here.”

She held out her hand. Mrsha clutched the magical artifact worth hundreds or thousands of gold pieces to her chest and shook her head rapidly. Lyonette sighed.

“Mrsha, I know you like biting it. But it doesn’t bother you where that wand has been?”

The Gnoll paused as she put the tip into her mouth and stared at Lyonette. Clearly, soap and water cured all ills in her book. She shook her head and darted back as Lyonette tried to grab the wand.

“I’m sorry, but you’re still not keeping it! Come here, missy!”

A short chase and struggle later, Mrsha was reaching for the wand and making unhappy sounds as Lyonette walked downstairs. She walked over to a table where the Horns of Hammerad were relaxing in good spirits and plonked down the wand in front of a surprised Pisces.

“Here. Your wand. Please don’t let Mrsha take it again.”

Pisces stared askance at the wand which was wet with drool. He picked it up gingerly with two fingers and stared at Mrsha. The Gnoll stared back.

It had become either a game or a contest between the two over possession of the wand. Pisces would keep it every time Lyonette managed to wrest it out of Mrsha’s paws, and the Gnoll would try everything in her power to steal it back. She’d hide under tables, try sneaking into his room at night—her latest trick had involved ambushing Pisces right as he left the outhouse.

The game amused Mrsha and Pisces, but not Lyonette. She glared at the [Mage]. He smiled at her.

“I shall endeavor to keep it out of young Mrsha’s possession, Miss Lyonette.”

“Don’t endeavor. Try.

She turned away before Pisces could tell her that was what he’d said. He couldn’t ruin her good spirits. She found another group sitting at a table and gingerly approached.

“Miss Jelaqua?”

“Kill me.”

The Selphid was draped over the table, groaning audibly. She winced as Mrsha hopped onto the table and patted her head. Jelaqua sat up with a wince as Mrsha pulled a bit at the stitching around her head.

“Don’t pull at that, Mrsha. I’m no Stitch-Woman and if the head comes off, you’re going to see something you won’t like. What’s up, Lyonette?”

“I need someone to look after Mrsha while I go into the city. Erin’s going and Ishkr’s going to be busy, so I was hoping…”

“We can take care of her.”

Behind Jelaqua, a slumped figure sat up. As usual Moore was sitting cross-legged on the ground, there not being a chair large enough for him. He smiled tenderly at Mrsha and she waved one paw at him. Lyonette looked over and a shape in dark clothing groaned at her. Seborn looked more dead than alive, and the crustacean side of his body looked like it was leaking some kind of liquid.

“Mrsha’s fine to stay with us as long as she wants, Lyonette. I don’t think we’re in any condition to do…anything.”

Jelaqua informed the [Barmaid] as she winced herself upright. She was clearly feeling the effects of heavy drinking last night. She looked longingly towards the door to Celum.

“We won’t go far, although we might go to Octavia’s shop and see if she sells any hangover potions. Otherwise I think Seborn will shank himself to end the misery.”

Don’t tempt me.

Lyonette grinned as Seborn looked up. Drowned Man he might be, but Seborn drank like a sailor, at a pace only matched by Jelaqua’s enthusiasm and Moore’s capacity for alcohol.

Very quietly thanking the Halfseekers, Lyonette walked stealthily away from them and towards the kitchen. She was nearly there when she heard a terrific crash of falling pots and pans. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Seborn twitch and Jelaqua’s eyes roll back into her head for a moment.

“Oops, sorry!”

Erin cheerfully poked her head out of the kitchen and waved at two of the Goblins sitting at a table who’d looked up. Headscratcher and Shorthilt looked at the smiling young woman and then went back to sharpening their swords with a grunt. Lyonette passed by them, staring as they carefully maintained their well-worn steel blades.

This was how things were better. Lyonette didn’t guiltily look away when Headscratcher noticed she was looking. She just smiled politely and the Goblin tried to do the same. There was still a strong sense of…of distance between her and the Goblins, but the fear had mostly gone.

The inn felt better. It truly did. And as Lyonette walked into the kitchen, she saw Erin was smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. She was masterminding a grand operation with a harried Ishkr, and by the looks of it, she was generating enough dirty dishes to keep the Gnoll busy all day.

“Okay, frosting’s done! And the batter is good—I’m sticking it in the oven now, Ishkr. You’re sure you can take it out after thirty minutes or when it looks done? Remember what I told you about sticking a fork in?”

The Gnoll [Waiter] nodded, licking a bit of frosted white sugar off the hair on his arms.

“I will not forget, Miss Erin. And I can smell when cooked food begins to burn.”

“Awesome. Okay Lyonette, I think I’m ready! Is Mrsha coming or staying?”

“Staying. I think she’s tired from yesterday.”

Lyonette smiled as Erin took off her apron and the two young women walked out of the inn. Erin waved at the Horns of Hammerad, pausing only long enough to ask where Ksmvr and Yvlon were. Both Ceria and Pisces pointed, and the two Human girls found the [Warriors] outside, sparring.

Ksmvr was dodging back and forth while Yvlon struck at him with a crude wooden practice sword. He had two wooden swords as well, although both were wearing what armor they possessed. As Erin and Lyonette watched, he leapt up into the air, incredibly high.

“Whoa!”

The Ring of Jumping let Ksmvr soar upwards. Erin and Lyonette heard a voice from above.

“Oh. Hello Ksmvr. How are you d—”

Bird didn’t get a chance to finish. The Antinium landed behind Yvlon and lashed out. But she, forewarned by the jump, was already stepping forwards. She poked Ksmvr in the chest and he raised his swords.

“I have died again.”

“Stop saying that. I keep telling you, it’s ‘lost’. And you did well. If you could just jump less high, I wouldn’t have time to react. As it is, you’re a target.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, I miscalculated. I had intended to land on your head.”

“Please don’t do that. My helmet might not survive the impact. My head definitely won’t.”

The two disappeared as Erin and Lyonette walked down the hill. Both girls had to work hard not to slip in the slushy snow. Erin wobbled as she walked in her thick winter boots.

“Whoa! Slippery. It’s really getting warmer, isn’t it? Only, there’s so much snow that it’s still not melting.”

“True. It’ll probably be a week or two before it melts. But I can feel a layer of water underneath now. And if I walk into some of the valleys, I’ll be waist-deep in water and drenched before I blink.”

Lyonette made a face as she walked. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. According to Olesm, it’ll get worse when it starts to rain. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I guess you won’t be harvesting any more honey, right? I mean, putting them to sleep is one thing, but the snow’s your emergency fallback. I don’t think I’d be okay with you not having a way to get away if the faerie flowers don’t work.”

“Maybe. I was thinking there might be another way to distract the bees in case something bad happens. A distraction—something Octavia might have. I’m going to ask her about it, if you’re okay with me spending some gold.”

“Sure. Ashfire Bee honey makes us a lot of money. Just don’t let her sell you any other potions while you’re at it.”

Their conversation was light, revolving around business and life in general. And that was what they wanted. In these days when it seemed like every two seconds there was another report about the Goblin Lord burning a village or marching here or there…this is what they wanted.

Peace. At least for a day. So Erin and Lyonette walked into Liscor and did normal things. The first thing they did was visit Krshia.

 

—-

 

They hadn’t been sure that the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] would be at her stall today. She had been absent since Brunkr’s death. And while Erin had visited the Gnoll in her apartment, it was a relief to see her at her small stall like usual.

“Erin! Lyonette. It is good to see you two, yes?”

The Gnoll turned with a jar of ointment in her hands. The two Humans waited patiently while Krshia closed her deal—selling an ointment for dry scales to a harried Drake woman. Then they had time to talk.

Was it a sign of how Krshia’s fortunes had changed that she was stuck on the edges of the market, in a far smaller stall than the one she’d used to have? Then again, it could be argued that her enduring business was a sign that her popularity among customers hadn’t waned.

It still hurt Lyonette to see the stall and remember what she’d done. But Krshia and Erin acted as if there was nothing to remember. They chatted happily, not giving voice to darker memories. It was something everyone there understood. The voices that whispered and the images that rose unbidden at night and in quiet times would come regardless of happiness in the day. They clung to better moments like sailors adrift at sea.

“I did not think to see you without young Mrsha today. But then, I have heard that you reached an understanding of sorts yesterday with the…Goblins.”

Krshia sniffed at Lyonette, and the girl was reminded that Gnoll noses, like Gnoll hearing, picked up far more than their owners usually let on. Erin smiled teasingly.

“You just happened to hear it from Ishkr?”

“Hrm. He is a distant nephew and a dutiful one. But many heard it themselves. The music your inn played was audible to many [Guardsmen] on the walls. Several complained about missing the fun as they saw it, yes?”

Erin laughed.

“If they wanted to have fun, they could have come! The Goblins aren’t dangerous.”

“So you say. But I am afraid it will take more than your words to bring others into your inn. For me as well, I regret to tell you.”

“Really?”

The Gnoll smiled gently at Erin’s crestfallen look.

“Memory runs deep, Erin Solstice. This city and this continent still remember the Goblin King and what he did. But I will trust you, even if I will not visit for now. Now tell me, why are you here? To chat, or buy as well?”

“Oh! Well, we could use more sugar. And eggs. And meat—everyone eats a lot of that and I want to make a hotpot. Of course, we could use a lot of alcohol—a few kegs, actually. I know the Street Runner can’t carry that many, so maybe you could let us know when we should come and pick them up? Ishkr and Bird can do it since…I don’t want to. And I’d like to order some pottery bowls the Soldiers could use. I was thinking they could be bigger and easier to hold…”

Erin ran down a very long and rambling list of items as Krshia nodded and scratched at a piece of parchment with some charcoal. She probably had around a tenth of the items Erin was requesting in her shop at best, but she knew everyone who sold what Erin wanted, and would talk to them and get it all sent to Erin’s inn for the young woman.

It was an interesting system that Lyonette hadn’t experienced in Terandria. But as Erin had remarked, it was worth however many coins Krshia charged to have the Gnoll do her shopping for her. In fact, that was one of Krshia’s main sources of income—she was the Gnoll a lot of her customers went to in order to avoid hours of shopping.

“Hmm. Costly this time. I will have it all ready for you by tomorrow at the latest. Give me…hrr. Yes, six gold coins for all of it. The pottery being custom-made will be expensive. But I may be able to talk the [Potter] down. I will let you know.”

Erin handed over the gold coins and Krshia swept them into a small bag. She glanced up at Erin, and then, looked sideways at Lyonette.

“I have a thought. Lyonette, if you are willing, would you come to my apartment after I close my stall for the day? I will only be open for another hour or so; I have many orders like Erin’s to begin filling. I would like to chat for a few minutes if I may.”

“Of course.”

Lyonette exchanged a surprised glance with Erin. She made plans to meet with Krshia and the two said their goodbyes. As they walked away, Lyonette leaned over to Erin at the same time the other girl was doing the same. They nearly knocked heads.

“What was that about, Lyonette? I didn’t know that Krshia liked you enough to invite you into her apartment.”

“I have no idea, Erin! I know she forgave me a bit, but—what should I do?”

“Dunno. Just go and see what she wants I guess. Oh, and eat lots of the raw meat. It’s good and also, polite.”

“R-raw meat? Do I have to…?”

The two young women walked on. They had things to do, or rather, not do. It wasn’t that Erin was a huge fan of shopping in general; she had better things to do than spend her money on personal expenses like clothing and so on, especially when she had her inn to think about. But window-shopping was relaxing, as was finding which [Merchants] had come with expensive and rare magical artifacts to sell.

“Ooh! A magic ball that runs away when you chase it!”

Erin admired a minor artifact that was attracting a lot of children. She thought Mrsha would love it—although the price tag was far more than she was willing to pay. A few dogs were also trying to go after the ball, but the [Merchant] who owned the object was determined to protect his wares, lest dog drool drive down the price.

“It’s so weird seeing a Gnoll owning a dog.”

“Why? I’ve seen Cat-Tribe Beastkin who have their own cats. They’re just animals. Plus, I hear Gnolls and the Beastkin make great pet owners since they establish themselves as pack leaders easily.”

Lyonette looked at a Gnoll who was indeed leading a large mastiff around with ease. The Gnoll growled at the dog as it tried to run after the ball and the dog froze, whining a bit. Erin noted the lack of a leash.

“That’s cool. But don’t Gnolls also eat dogs?”

“Well…so do Humans. And it’s not all of them. Just a few tribes and some Humans. Honestly, I’d be more worried about Ceria. I know for a fact that half-Elves will eat dogs.”

The Gnoll dog-owner looked at Lyonette and Erin, horrified, and hurried her dog away as if she was afraid they would break out the forks and plates right then and there. Guiltily, Erin and Lyonette walked away.

Life was good. Tranquil. Placid, even. Both girls weren’t exactly waiting for the ball to drop, but when it did, they weren’t surprised. They were just about to split up for Erin to go visit Klbkch and Lyonette to see Krshia when they heard someone shouting at them.

“You there! Human!”

It was a vaguely familiar voice. Erin turned around, frowning, and saw a Drake wearing fancy clothing striding towards them with a small host of Drakes following behind. A few things struck her at once.

The first was that she’d seen him before, although her memory was a bit fuzzy. The second was that this Drake was rich. He had fancy clothes on, and a number of sparkling rings on his claws that were clearly magical. And lastly, he was drunk. The Drake was walking well, but there was a certain unsteadiness in his steps that told her he was some degree of sloshed, and early in the morning as well.

“Can I help you?”

The Drake stumbled as he approached Erin and she took a step back. He looked at her, slightly unfocused. He reeked of drink and looked…well, Erin had seen Relc on a bad day with his scales flaking off, bloodshot eyes, and reeking of sweat and grime. This Drake was pretty much all those things except richer, which meant he’d covered up the smells with cologne and his clothes were new at least.

“You’re that Human. The one who owns the inn.”

He looked at her and Erin recognized him at last. Wall Lord Ilvriss was hard to recognize without his armor and in his disheveled state. But he still managed to sneer at her and project quite a bit of arrogance into his tone.

“Human. I have business with you.”

“My name is Erin Solstice. And I remember you. You’re the lord-guy who was with Zel. You ran into my inn with Olesm two days ago, right after him! You knocked over two tables and nearly stepped on Mrsha’s tail!”

Erin put her hands on her hips and glared as the rest of Ilvriss’ escort caught up. She spotted Olesm hovering at the back of the group of important-looking Drakes. She waved at him.

Ilvriss sniffed. He glared at Lyonette.

“I am Wall Lord Ilvriss, [Innkeeper]. I have confidential business I wish to discuss with you. Your employee may leave.”

It was ironic, Lyonette thought, that she was on the receiving end of the treatment she’d used to give Erin and other people. She glanced at Erin and the young woman made a face.

“If you want to go Lyonette, I’ll handle Wall-Face over here. It might take a while so meet me back at the inn when you’re done.”

“Okay.”

Lyonette backed away, half-wanting to stay as Ilvriss narrowed his eyes at Erin. The young woman turned back to face him, frowning.

“So what do you want? Hey, didn’t I throw a pan at your head once?”

The Drake blinked, and then frowned at Erin.

“Yes. I recall. You should consider yourself fortunate that at the time I had not activated my rings for battle. You are equally fortunate I overlooked that transgression. Now—”

“Wait, your rings? How would that help?”

There was a muted gasp of collective outrage from behind Ilvriss as Erin interrupted the Wall Lord. She didn’t care; she was enjoying herself. From Olesm’s face, he was equally horrified and amused.

Ilvriss paused. He was clearly drunk and hung over, and thus behind even Seborn in terms of mental acuity at the moment. He stared, irritated, at Erin and raised his hand slowly. Two fat rings, one made of ruby, the other sporting a large topaz in the center, glinted at her.

“I am a Lord of the Wall, one of the Drake nobility, you ignorant Human—I am naturally equipped with many magical items that ensure my safety. But my attire is not why I wanted to speak to—”

“Oh yeah? What does that one do?”

Enjoying herself now, Erin pointed to one of the rings. Ilvriss blinked.

“That ring sets my scales aflame with magical fire. Stop interrupting. I—”

“And what about that one? The shiny yellow gem one?”

“A projectile shield. Would you—”

“And that?”

“Strength enchantments. Wait—stop asking questions!”

The scales around Ilvriss’ face grew redder, and Erin saw his escort shifting their feet and twitching their tales. She heard a strangled noise and saw Olesm trying valiantly not to burst out laughing. He was having chest convulsions trying to hold it in.

Ilvriss glared around and massaged his temples, seeming to wake up a bit more. He growled and stepped closer to Erin. She stepped back to avoid the fumes of his breath.

“You stink. Have you been drinking? It’s not healthy, you know.”

“I don’t—stop talking—I came here to—”

“I should know. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

Shut up!

Ilvriss finally roared at Erin, and she did shut up, if only to wipe spit off her face. The Wall Lord breathed heavily for a few seconds, and then straightened.

“I came here to discuss a mutually profitable arrangement, Human. You need not speak—no, be quiet! Simply listen. You are in possession of a powerful magical door that is enchanted with the [Teleport] spell.”

“Yup.”

Erin smiled as the Wall Lord nettled. She didn’t exactly dislike him—she thought he was a rude jerk, but he had helped her before and she mainly just enjoyed annoying him. Ilvriss purpled a bit, but he went on slowly.

“I understand your magical door connects to the Human city of Celum, a hundred miles north of here. I wonder if it could be attuned to another location?”

“You mean, another city? Sure. I was planning on getting it to link to Invrisil, but then there was that Goblin Lord business…why, do you want to take a trip somewhere?”

Ilvriss nodded, and several of his adjutants murmured as he straightened.

“I am in need of rapid transportation, Human. Obviously I am reluctant to ask your ki—I would like to make a trip to my home city, of Salazsar at all speed. How quickly can you connect your door to that location?”

Erin blinked at the Wall Lord.

“Salazsar? Oh…that’s one of the Walled Cities, right?”

She’d assumed nothing could make Ilvriss more irate, but that off-hand remark seemed to drive his annoyance with her to another level. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then replied as his tail thrashed the ground angrily.

“Salazsar is the premier Walled City, the hub of Drake civilization and an icon of the continent you ignorant—ape!”

“Fine. No need to be rude about it. Okay, how far away is it?”

Her cavalier attitude seemed to be stumping Ilvriss. He paused.

“Does that matter?”

Erin nodded.

“Yeah. You see, my door can only go as far as Invrisil in terms of distance and even then, it’d only be able to transport one person at a time and it would take a day to recharge each time.”

The news elicited a groan from the Drakes behind Ilvriss. The Wall Lord frowned.

“Really? Is there no way of improving upon the enchantment?”

“Nope. At least, Typhenous and Pisces didn’t think so. I could probably recharge it fast if I had mana stones, but that doesn’t mean I can make it go further.”

Ilvriss glanced over his shoulder at one of his aides. The female Drake was doing calculations on an abacus, which intrigued Erin. She glanced up at the Wall Lord and nodded.

“That would save us at least a week of travelling, Wall Lord, not to mention the dangers of the journey.”

“Very well.”

He grunted and turned back to Erin.

“If the limit of your door is to Invrisil…that puts it at around four hundred miles…then I request it be linked to Pallass. That is a Walled City, Human.”

“I knew that! I think. And I’d be okay with that, Mr. Rude Drake, but I can’t do it just like that.”

Erin glared at Ilvriss. He glared back.

“Why not?

“Because…I need to put an anchor at the place I want to go before my door can connect to it. So, sorry, but until I get someone to run all the way to Pallass or Invrisil, I can’t make the door connect anywhere else. I was going to get a Courier to do it, but then the Goblin Lord appeared and…”

Erin shrugged helplessly. Ilvriss rubbed at his face and growled.

“Ancestors preserve me. The door needs an anchor? Very well, I will employ the Courier in this city to take whatever this…anchor is. I assume it is not heavy, or at least, portable via a bag of holding?”

“Oh, it’s really small. But I already asked Hawk and he said—”

“I don’t care what he said! He will begin his journey this day on my orders, threat of Goblins or not! I am a Lord of the Wall, not some [Innkeeper] with a few gold coins!”

Ilvriss snapped at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Well excuse me. It’s just my door that you want to use. What if I said no?”

By now their discussion had attracted a few people who were watching with interest.. Ilvriss’ jaw worked silently as he glared at Erin.

“You are in no position to refuse—”

“My inn, my rules. I’ll let you use the door if you ask nicely.”

Erin folded her arms and smirked. Ilvriss looked like he was swallowing his tongue. Olesm was doubled over and clutching at his stomach, much to the concern of the Drakes around him. When Ilvriss did find his voice, it was strangled with the effort of restraining himself.

“I will send one of my people to the building you call an inn. Give them whatever instructions you need. And when the door is connected to Pallass, I expect to be the first person through. If not, I will ensure you regret it.”

There was nothing to really say to that. Erin stuck out her tongue and Ilvriss recoiled as if it were a snake. He took a step back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he turned and snapped at his escort.

“Come. We’re returning to the Tailless Thief. At least there the innkeeper knows how to treat people above his station with respect. Swifttail, with me.”

He beckoned and Olesm reluctantly trotted over. The [Tactician] glanced apologetically at Erin as Ilvriss began to walk off. Erin could hear the Wall Lord speaking loudly as he walked.

“I appreciate you not gagging in front of the Human. I understand the reaction, but they do become hard to deal with.”

He clapped Olesm on the shoulder and Erin scowled at Ilvriss’ back. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted at him.

“Hey! You’re a jerk, you know that?”

Her voice, amplified by her [Loud Voice] Skill, echoed down the street. Ilvriss froze mid-step and the people around Erin gaped at her. She looked around and shrugged.

“What? Someone had to tell him.”

Ilvriss stormed back down the street, furious. Erin waited until he was close and then spoke.

“You’re also drunk and smelly, by the way. You shouldn’t wear so much cologne. It stinks.”

“I should cut you down for your insolence. Were you in a Walled City, I could have you flogged for your tongue!”

“Really? Well guess what? You’re not in one, and unless you want to walk the rest of the way back, you’d better be nice to me!”

Erin shot back. Ilvriss rumbled in his chest.

“I could confiscate that door—”

“Try it! If you do I’ll hit you with another pan, you jerk! And I have Gold-rank adventurers in my inn! And evil Goblins! Lots of them! You won’t take my door alive! I’ll help you, but only because I don’t want you around, got that?”

Erin shouted back at the Wall Lord. He looked ready to throttle her, and Olesm and another Drake had to hold Ilvriss back. She grinned at him, and privately thought she’d pushed her luck as far as she could. Erin turned.

“Smell you later!”

“Don’t walk away from me! I am a Lord of the Wall! You do not leave without my consent!”

Ilvriss roared at her back. Erin turned and stuck her tongue out again.

“Oh yeah? Watch me!”

She began to walk away, faster this time. Ilvriss tore himself loose of his escort and charged after her.

“You do not walk away from a Lord of the Wall. I depart, and you wait. Stop, I command you!”

There was something incredibly sad about the way he tried to bar Erin’s path. She danced around him and he blocked her. And then Ilvriss pointed.

“I said stop.

He used a Skill. It had to be one, because his aides, the people on the street, and Erin’s own feet immediately halted in place. She froze, and felt Ilvriss’ command holding her still. It lasted for all of two seconds, until Erin got mad.

“You don’t order me around!”

She felt a flicker in her chest, a…feeling. It was like when she’d used her own [Inn’s Aura] Skill, or resisted Magnolia’s charmed voice. Erin reached inside herself and pushed back. It was very hard, but she began to move her feet. Ilvriss gaped at her as Erin laboriously began to walk again.

“How are you—stop! I command you!”

He pushed again, but Erin was ready and pushed back. Her feet kept moving and Erin began running away. It was very hard to resist Ilvriss’ command and she decided she’d had enough. Time to go back to the inn. Unfortunately, Ilvriss didn’t know when to quit.

Halt! I will not be disobeyed!”

The street was frozen as the Wall Lord chased after the Human girl. She ran, making rude gestures at Ilvriss as he unsteadily staggered and shouted at her. Olesm, halted in mid-stride, could only stare at Ilvriss’ back as the two disappeared down the street. It was over a minute before his limbs could move again.

On the whole he reflected, that had not been one of Ilvriss’ finest moments. But he also had to admit, it had been incredibly funny. Olesm giggled to himself as Ilvriss’ aides debated going after him in hushed voices. He was in a good mood today. Or maybe he’d just had too much to drink already.

It was probably the latter.

 

—-

 

“Why would a Lord of the Wall want to speak with Erin Solstice? It is curious how many famous and powerful people she attracts, is it not?”

Krshia shook her head as she refilled Lyonette’s cup. The Human girl sat tensely in her seat across from the Gnoll and nodded.

“It is. But Erin’s…special. I think she can handle him.”

“True. But I hope whatever he wants does not lead to another incident. Erin Solstice is adept at causing those as well.”

Krshia shook her head as she sipped at her tea. She picked up a cube of meat and popped it into her mouth, and then offered Lyonette the bowl. The girl eyed it and reluctantly took a cube. She bit into it and her face changed.

“This is good!”

“You think so? Truly?”

“Yes! I mean, I don’t eat raw meat because it leads to disease. Not that I’m saying this meat is bad, but us Humans—”

“Yes, I know of your customs.”

Krshia smiled, interrupting Lyonette’s babbling. She nodded at the bowl.

“Be at ease. We Gnolls know how to prepare such food. We ensure it is clean and prepared correctly. You need not have any if you are uncomfortable.”

“No—I’ll have some more.”

Lyonette helped herself to another cube, making Krshia smile. That mattered to the young woman. She shifted.

“I wonder if I could make it. Or take some for Mrsha? I’d like her to have her people’s food to eat. Erin makes great food, but the taste of home…”

“Hmm. It is not good to transport such food, but I could teach you the recipe. And you could bring Mrsha here more often. It would be good to teach her more of our ways. Although she was born to a tribe that lived in the wilderness…she may know more than I do of some things.”

Krshia sipped at her tea and Lyonette nodded. The girl paused as she sipped from her cup. It was hard to forget how she’d been raised—she was acutely aware of her posture and the way she held her teacup. She felt as though she were back in court, sipping tea with nobility. Only, there was no such thing as a Gnoll [Lady]. That was a pity.

How strange life could be. Lyonette looked at Krshia, and remembered the sensation of being grabbed by a huge paw, staring into the Gnoll’s eyes and seeing huge fangs as a stall burned behind her. She was ashamed of that. But now she was sitting in said Gnoll’s apartment. The same place where her nephew had lived. Where Brunkr had…

Lyonette’s eyes moved around the room and Krshia noticed. The [Shopkeeper] lowered her cup.

“There is little of Brunkr here, I am sorry to say. His shield and sword remain, but he arrived here as a warrior, not meaning to stay long. I have only my memories to remind me of what he was.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was just—”

“I take no offense, Lyonette. Actually, it is that I wished to talk with you about.”

Krshia put down her tea cup and Lyonette felt her heart begin to beat faster. The Gnoll sighed, and in the privacy of her own home, she slumped. She seemed tired, old, and sad all at once. When she looked at Lyonette, there was loss in her brown eyes.

“I still wonder if I could have known. If I had paid more attention, if I had not been blind to that traitorous Regrika Blackpaw’s true nature—she is no true Gnoll. And she will be hunted. But if I had only had the foresight to question instead of being blind—would he be alive?”

Lyonette sat still, not knowing what to say. Krshia shook her head.

“These are useless thoughts of course. What is done is done. Only justice and mourning remain. But I am plagued by them. Yet I would not burden you with my grief, Lyonette. No. I wanted to call you here to thank you, instead.”

“Thank me? But why—”

“For making him a [Knight].”

Krshia spoke plainly, and Lyonette’s heart constricted with fear. The Gnoll looked at her, not accusingly or with suspicion, rather, with certainty.

“I know you are a [Princess], Lyonette. And I know you gave your blessing to Brunkr to make him a [Knight].”

“How—how do you…?”

The Gnoll snorted.

“I have ears. Brunkr is not good at keeping secrets. As for the rest…it is enough that I know.”

Lyonette was frozen in place. Krshia shifted, watching her carefully.

“Mistake me not. I do not seek to profit from this knowledge. I have no other motive than to give my thanks.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

Lyonette whispered. Krshia shook her head again.

“No. You did much. True, he only had the class for a matter of days. But becoming a [Knight] was Brunkr’s dream. It was thought that he would never achieve it, since Gnolls have no [Lords] or other noble classes that could bestow such a class. But you gave it to him, and I must think it made him happy in his last days. For that small gift, I thank you.”

She bowed her head and Lyonette burst into tears. For a few minutes there was just her snuffling and Krshia offering her a handkerchief, wiping at her own eyes. Silence. Words unspoken. Lyonette managed a few words after she had finished.

“I don’t deserve thanks. All I did—”

“Water.”

Krshia raised her hand as if catching raindrops and tossed it away. She sighed.

“You have done much to offend. Much it is true. But that is the past and you have changed. The debt has been paid, and while I might hold a grudge—no. My nephew’s life is worth more than mere hatred. I forgive, Lyonette. And I thank you for changing. Not least for taking care of Mrsha.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Laughing, crying. Krshia smiled and Lyonette grew calmer over time. At last, the two sat, drinking and returning to something like normal conversation. But now the secret was out, Lyonette felt compelled to speak.

“The reason why I ran away—it may seem silly to you, but I really felt like I had to. I was wrong—stupid, arrogant—but if my family knew where I was, I’m sure they’d send someone after me. They might be looking already, but they have no idea where I am and I’m not exactly a First Princess or high-level, so…”

“I understand. I shall say nothing of it if you do not wish me to.”

“Thank you.”

After a while, Krshia spoke again.

“It is curious how you were able to make Brunkr a [Knight], though. He said you spoke only a few words and he gained the class that night. Is it truly so easy?”

Lyonette hesitated. But now was not the time to keep royal secrets. She nodded.

“It’s…well, it’s not supposed to be that simple, you understand. But in practice you can make someone a [Knight] with only a few words. It’s usually a matter of ceremony because it’s so important, but if you’re in a hurry you can skip all that. At least…I can. I think [Lords] have to work harder at it, you know, have a crest, induct the person into their service and so on.”

“But a [Princess] is able to do the same more easily? Because your class is superior?”

“Maybe…well, no. I think Mother explained it once. You see, a [Princess] has a different role from a [Lord]. They have their own households, vassals, and so on, so they can support quite a lot of [Knights] depending on how rich and powerful they are. Whereas even a high-level [Princess] has a limit on the amount of [Knights] she can appoint. Mine are personal protectors, you see, so I can choose them quickly and as I please, whereas a [Lord]…”

“Must set up such circumstances. So I see. That is fascinating.”

Krshia nodded. Lyonette smiled and went on.

“It’s a feature of royal classes. Obviously a [King] can appoint a lot more classes, like [King’s Champion], specialized knighthood orders and so on. I can’t do any of that—the only other thing I can do is royally appoint some business I like.”

Krshia had been chewing at her raw meat. Now she paused and gulped.

“Royally appoint? I am not familiar with this.”

“It’s simple. I can bestow a royal class on someone. Like…say you’re a [Gardener], right? If I want, I could make that person a [Royal Gardener]. Although that’s rare and I can probably only do that for one person. Father has a [Royal Chamberlain], but it’s not common to do. Although it does help!”

“I imagine it would. Such a class…hrr. Am I right in thinking it offers better Skills, or perhaps more unique ones?”

Lyonette nodded cautiously, trying to dredge up half-remembered lessons.

“I think so. It’s just an addition, so you can change classes and transform it like normal. It just makes, you, well, better.”

She paused as Krshia mulled this over, and then had a crazy thought. She spoke before her courage failed her.

“Would you like me to give one to you?”

Krshia choked on her tea and nearly sprayed it all over Lyonette. When she’d finished coughing, she looked at the [Princess].

“You are joking.”

“No.”

Lyonette met her gaze, her legs trembling wildly.

“I’m serious. I could give it to you if you want.”

“Why? I am not your subject. And such a gift—”

“I gave Brunkr a [Knight] class. I think…well, I just think that he’d want me to help you if I could. And that’s the only thing I can do.”

Krshia looked at Lyonette. She sat back in her chair, speechless. When she spoke, it was distantly.

“Say I accept. I would receive a royal title and…nothing else? It would be a gift, yes, not an obligation?”

Lyonette hesitated. She frowned and gulped some tea.

“I don’t know. It’s been years—decades, really since my family gave their blessing to anyone. We make [Knights] and [Lords] and so on, but businesses are different. It’s…I can remember my grandmother knew a fruit seller who she made royal. I think it helped her business, but I can’t remember if it did anything else. You don’t have to, I’m just offering…”

“I see. But if it is so useful, why have your family not appointed more? Surely it would help your kingdom. What stays their paws…hands?”

“Trust, perhaps.”

Lyonette looked wistfully up at the ceiling. She shook her head in response to Krshia’s confusion.

“It’s just…you see, it’s so political back home. If my family gave a [Merchant] a royal blessing and he started working for another country, or denounced our kingdom, it would be a scandal, you see. And it’s not as if my family meets with many ordinary people that often. Not that I think you’re ordinary! I…”

“I know what you mean. So. That is what you offer and it is for me to accept or not. From what you say the risk is small. However.”

Krshia got up and walked back and forth for a few seconds. Lyonette looked at her anxiously, regretting opening her mouth. Why had she said that? And yet—she remembered Brunkr and couldn’t regret offering.

At last, Krshia slowed. She sat down heavily in front of Lyonette and looked around. Lyonette did too. Krshia’s apartment wasn’t large, but it was comfortable, and showed many years of care and hard work. The [Barmaid] remembered that Krshia had apparently come to Liscor decades ago to work.

“It has been long, and I have worked hard to get to where I am. I lost much.”

Krshia raised her paw to forestall Lyonette.

“Much. Material goods and money…but I received a gift far greater than that in return from Ryoka Griffin. I do not begrudge you that. As for my nephew, I ache. Now I must rebuild, and yet I asked myself the other day whether it was worth trying, if I had the strength to do so another time. And now a gift is offered, unprompted. Would I be a fool not to take it?”

Lyonette held her breath. The Gnoll nodded.

“All things change. This is what we Gnolls know. To stay the same is to be a fool. So you offer and I respond thusly: yes. Lyonette, if you will give me a blessing, a royal title, I would accept with gratitude.”

She stared at the [Princess], and Lyonette stood. She trembled with nerves as much as anything else. She raised a hand and Krshia looked up.

“Hrr. Should I kneel?”

“No. I can…no. I just need to say a few words.”

Lyonette took a few breaths. She felt…she remembered staring at a Gnoll’s back, her legs and arms covered in sweat, holding a sword and feeling the skin of her palms sting. She blinked, and Krshia was looking up at her, waiting. Lyonette spoke, and felt a shiver as the words spun out from her heart. Ancient words. Familiar words. True words.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin do solemnly grant you, Krshia Silverfang and whatever business you pursue my royal favor, now and unto perpetuity. You who have forgiven when we did not deserve it. You, whose kin we called friend however briefly. You, who have lost much—we offer our small blessing. Let the world know you are favored and that favor grant you all the riches you wish for.”

She reached out and touched Krshia on the brow. The Gnoll bowed her head and Lyonette waited a second. Then she withdrew her hand. It was over.

“Did it…work?”

She looked at Krshia. The Gnoll blinked and touched the spot on her head, wrinkling her brows. She rolled her shoulders and sniffed the air and looked at Lyonette, tilting her head from side to side and shrugging.

“Hrm. I do not know. I do not feel different. But perhaps…let me sleep on it.”

She grinned, showing her teeth, and Lyonette smiled as well. There was a moment where the past was forgotten and they were just enjoying themselves. Two people, one step closer to becoming something like friends. Then it passed, leaving everything different. Krshia raised her tea pot.

“More tea?”

Lyonette gulped. She looked at Krshia and smiled guiltily.

“Maybe. But first…could you tell me where the bathroom is?”

 

—-

 

“Bow, Human worm!”

“No, you bow, you jerk!”

The Wandering Inn was full of shouting voices. Two in particular. Ilvriss staggered as Erin hit him with her authority, trying to force him down. The air was thick around the Drake, but his own aura of command pushed hers back. He pointed.

“I will not stomach such insolence from a Human!

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?

The Drake [Lord] and Human [Innkeeper] circled each other like angry pigeons, trading insults, fighting with their respective auras. They circled rapidly, and then walked, and then finally sat and snapped at each other. Erin wiped sweat from her forehead and accepted a glass of water from Ishkr. Ilvriss looked up with bloodshot eyes and waved at the Gnoll.

“Give me a drink.”

Ishkr looked at Erin. She nodded and leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Mrsha leapt onto the table and licked her face.

“Give him something, Ishkr. I’ll kick him out if he’s being a jerk.”

“I’d rather leave…than stay at a Human inn.”

Ilvriss sat upright, looking hung over and miserable. Erin pointed to the door with a hand that shook.

“Go for it, buddy. It’s a nice walk through the slush.”

Ilvriss considered this and leaned back in his chair as Ishkr came out with a cup of cold water.

“I don’t answer to you, Human.”

He grimaced as he drank from the cup.

“Water? What am I, impoverished? Get me something stronger! Alcohol if you even serve it. Not some cheap ale, but a proper Drake drink, like Firebreath Whiskey!”

The Wall Lord snapped at Ishkr, forcing the Gnoll to hurry behind the bar. The Drake did drink the water, though. Erin eyed Ilvriss.

“Haven’t you already had enough? You’re drunk already.”

“So? My affairs are none of your business. I will have you know that I am in mourning. I grieve and my drinking is thus excusable.”

Ilvriss grimaced as Ishkr came back with a mug brimming with the fiery orange liquid that had done so much damage to Seborn and Jelaqua yesterday. Erin glanced at the mug and then at Ilvriss.

“Is that because of Ulrien? Or Brunkr?”

“Who?”

The inn went quiet. Ilvriss looked around and grimaced.

“Ah. The two casualties of the Named Adventurer and her accomplice? No. This is…personal.”

He lifted the mug and drank down what must have been at least five shots of whiskey. Erin saw Jelaqua put a hand to her mouth, but Ilvriss only swayed a bit in his seat as he finished. He thrust the mug at Ishkr and the Gnoll sighed. Erin stared at him and raised her voice.

“No alcohol for the Wall Lord, Ishkr. Give him something else like milk and honey.”

“Milk and—who are you to dictate what I drink?”

“The [Innkeeper]. And it seems like you’re pretty upset, buddy. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Erin scooted her chair over towards Ilvriss’ table. He eyed her, but seemingly didn’t have the energy to move away. Instead he put out a long-suffering sigh as Ishkr came back with warm milk and honey, a Mrsha favorite.

“So this is how far I’ve sunk, to be denied drinks at a Human establishment. If Periss could see me now…”

He shook his head, slumping in his chair as the shots of Firebreath Whiskey hit him all at once. Erin looked at the Wall Lord.

“Who’s Periss?”

“None of your business. And if you think I’ll drink this swill—what are you doing?”

Ilvriss was pushing away the mug when Mrsha leapt up onto his table. The Gnoll was staring at his mug and the Wall Lord instinctively drew it closer to him. Erin smiled.

“That’s Mrsha. She wants a drink. Ishkr! Can you make one for Mrsha? Thanks! Try it, why don’t you? It’s good?”

The Drake stared at Mrsha, who was eying his drink with clear desire. There was possibly no better endorsement than the longing on her small face. Cautiously, he sipped at the milk and his eyes widened.

“Sweet!”

“Isn’t it? We get Ashfire Bee honey here so we can make a lot of sugary stuff. This is a house special.”

As Erin had observed, sugar was a rare treat even for the rich in this world. Ilvriss began sipping at his drink and Mrsha, once she’d gotten her own mug, began happily lapping it up. Erin looked around.

The Horns of Hammerad were staring at her, and the Halfseekers were eating a very, very late breakfast. As for the Goblins…Ilvriss glanced at Headscratcher and Shorthilt as they paused in maintaining the small bucklers they carried into combat.

“So those are the Goblins. Hmf. I can see why this inn is abandoned. Tell me, Human. Are you insane, or just odd as Shivertail claims?”

It took Erin a moment to realize he was talking about Zel, not Selys. She made a face at him.

“I’m not odd! I just think Goblins are people, and they saved my life! Besides, they haven’t hurt anyone. If you’re afraid they’re going to mug you, well…they won’t!”

Headscratcher nodded. Shorthilt paused and eyed Ilvriss’ rings until the other Hobgoblin jabbed him in the ribs. Ilvriss snorted.

“I am not afraid. Disgust keeps me from patronizing this establishment, not fear. I am capable of slaying however many Hobgoblins that infest this inn myself.”

He put a hand on the hilt of his sword and both of the Hobs growled. Headscratcher eyed Ilvriss, and Erin sat up, scowling.

“Stop bullying them! Can’t you not be a jerk for five seconds? I thought [Lords] were supposed to be noble, but you don’t act like it!”

Ilvriss glared back.

“I am a Lord of the Wall. I realize that means little to you, but it is my sworn duty to defend my city and Drakes as a whole from enemies of our king. Goblins are one such threat. Traitors the other, which is why I fought to defend you with Shivertail in this very inn despite my hatred for all Humans. Do not lecture me about duty.”

Erin fell silent. She saw Ishkr pause as he went about the inn and the Halfseekers stop eating.

“Oh. Right. You did help. Thank you.”

She hadn’t asked for his help, but when she’d talked to Zel before confronting Regrika, he’d mentioned that he would bring someone he thought could help. By all accounts, Ilvriss had risked his life fighting in the city when he and Zel had been teleported.

There was a silence as Ilvriss looked at Erin and then around, noticing the silence his words had caused. Mrsha stopped lapping at her drink and curled up into a ball on the table. The Drake stared at her and then at Erin’s face. Then he sighed.

“…I should be the one apologizing to you, Human.”

“What?”

Ilvriss sat a bit straighter and his voice was less slurred as he looked at Erin.

“It was my weakness that allowed Regrika Blackpaw and the traitor with her to escape. That they slew a Gold-rank adventurer…this was my fault and I apologize to you for it.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Erin spoke automatically. Ilvriss glared at her.

“It was. Do not interrupt! It was my fault. Perhaps we were all at fault for underestimating our foes. Perhaps. But while Shivertail may have been the highest-level warrior there, I am most at fault. For I am a Lord of the Wall. When I fail, my failure is greater than any other. Thus I take responsibility. If you have any hatred, any regrets for what transpired, know that I am to blame.”

He sat straight and tall, both apologetic and proud at the same time. Mrsha uncurled to look at him and Erin closed her mouth. She frowned at Ilvriss.

“You keep saying you’re a Lord of the Wall. But what does that really mean? You’re a [Lord] in one of the Walled Cities, right? Is that really that special?”

Ilvriss’ eyes flashed.

“More than special! We are nobility whose lineage extends back to the age of Ancestors, of Dragons! We built the Walled Cities with their help, to shelter our people. And though millennia have passed, my role is the same. To lead and inspire Drakes, to defend our home from any invaders, to pass justice as I see fit, to hold others of my station accountable. It is an honor, a calling, and a privilege. That is what it means to be Lord of the Wall.”

There was a brief silence after he had finished. Then a lapping. Mrsha tilted her mug and slurped loudly. Ilvriss looked at her. Erin rested her chin on her hands.

“So if you’re that important, why did you come all the way to Liscor? Shouldn’t you be at your Walled City, defending it?”

The Drake hesitated. He bowed his head.

“Yes. I should be. But I came here searching for the truth. The truth which your Runner friend hid. And which…I have now uncovered. Ah. Periss.”

He slumped again, and Erin saw Pisces look up at his table speculatively. She wondered what she should do, but it was Mrsha who padded over on the table and awkwardly patted Ilvriss on the shoulder. He stared at her and she sat by him, sipping from her mug.

“It sounds like she was really special to you.”

“She was. She was glorious, brave, a fine officer and more. If I had known….”

Perhaps it was the drink, perhaps it was the absurdity of it. Ilvriss sat and drank his honeyed milk. Erin pulled her chair up to the table and patted his shoulder as the Drake bent over his mug.

“Come on, tell me all about it.”

He did. It was a confusing story, full of forbidden romance with a subordinate, chance meetings, battlefield exploits and close calls. And sex. Erin carefully put her hands over Mrsha’s ears when Ilvriss got to any lewdness. He was drunk and not a good storyteller, despite what he might have believed, but one thing was clear.

He had loved her. And now she was gone. Ilvriss finished one mug of milk, and then two and Mrsha matched him for every sip. And when he had finished, Erin sat with him and patted his shoulder.

“I’ll get you back to Pallass. Don’t you worry.”

“I—thank you. I have no remains to inter, but I must notify her family in person and—and see to fitting funeral arrangements.”

Ilvriss stared at the table. He looked so wretched that Erin called for some food. Mrsha wagged her tail. Ilvriss looked up as Ishkr brought him lunch.

“What is this?”

“Soufflé. It’s egg and cheese and carrot and…it’s good, okay? Hot, too.”

“There is no way you could have made it quickly. Unless—is the Gnoll a [Chef]?”

“Nope. I’m the cook around here. But I have a food preservation skill. Go on, try it.”

“Human cooking? I think I’ll pass—”

Ilvriss’ stomach rumbled as he pushed away the bowl. He stared at Erin and she grinned at him.

“Go on. Or Mrsha will eat it. Mrsha, no. You’re getting your own. See? Ishkr has it right there. Be a good girl and sit down. Not on the table.”

The Gnoll did, patting the table happily as Ishkr gave her a fork and warned her not to eat fast since the soufflé was hot. Grudgingly, Ilvriss emulated Mrsha’s example. He was clearly trying to eat just so he could disparage Erin’s cooking, but soon he was scraping the bowl with his fork.

“Not…bad. I will have another.”

“Really? Good! Hey, when you go to Pallass, I wonder if I can find a way to make the door transport a bunch of people at once. I bet the Drakes there haven’t had anything like my cooking!”

Ilvriss coughed, looking somewhat more alert after what might have been his first meal of the day. He hesitated as he glanced towards the magical door.

“Pallass. Yes. I forgot how inconvenient that might be.”

“What?”

Erin looked at him. The Wall Lord grimaced.

“The Courier is not the issue. It is…personal. As a Wall Lord of another Walled City, my entering Pallass will result in political strife. I have enemies who would impede me.”

“Oh. There are jerks in Pallass too, huh?”

“It is amazing how your crude Human expressions come so close to the truth.”

Ilvriss sighed. He looked at the second soufflé and poked at the puffy crust with his fork. Mrsha waved for a second one and Ishkr sighed again.

“Well, I will not have to worry about that issue for a few days at least. Enough time to make preparations.”

He began to bite into his meal. Erin saw Pisces sit up.

“Pardon me, but you said a few days? How far is Pallass exactly? Most maps I ah, have read refuse to give the exact distance as a matter of Drake security.”

The Lord of the Wall might have been persuaded to talk to Erin and Mrsha, but he clearly wasn’t happy about being addressed by Humans. He gave Pisces an arch look which the [Mage] returned and grudgingly replied.

“About the same distance as Invrisil. Four hundred miles give or take. More like three hundred and eighty.”

“Whoa. That’s far. You sure a Courier can get there in a few days and not…weeks?”

Erin was hazy on distances, but three hundred and eighty miles seemed like a lot of distance to cover even if you had a car. Ilvriss sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“The average Courier can outdistance a horse over the course of a day, regardless of whether they could outrun one in a race. It will not take the Courier long. Hawk, I believe his name is.”

“Hold on, not long?”

Jelaqua frowned. She too had come alive with food and she was eating her fifth soufflé. Erin hadn’t made that many and she was worrying Ishkr was running out in the kitchen. The Selphid began counting on her fingers.

“A mounted rider with an able mount can travel up to sixty miles per day without Skills. So that means it’d take…six days? Seven?”

Ilvriss sneered over his cup at Jelaqua.

“I said horse, not horse and rider. And Hawk is a veteran [Courier], not some City Runner who has barely achieved the rank but still has the [Runner] class. He is able to travel over a hundred miles in a day.”

Erin stared at Ilvriss.

“So it’ll take four days for him to get to Pallass. Maybe three. You know, you could just say that and not be a jerk about it.”

The Wall Lord growled at her. Mrsha poked him with a claw. He stared incredulously at the Gnoll and then glared at Erin.

“Why are you sitting here?  I am used to the dignity and space my station deserves. Were Peslas serving me, I would feel far more comfortable.”

“You’re staying at the Tailless Thief?”

Erin’s brows rose. Ilvriss smiled.

“Indeed. It is the only acceptable inn in the entire city.”

The [Innkeeper] shrugged.

“If you say so. I thought Peslas was kind of a jerk when I met him, though. But then, he’s sort of like you.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Ilvriss’ left eye began to twitch. Erin grinned at him, and then frowned seriously.

“But he really is one. You know, the Halfseekers were staying at his inn until he kicked them out. Just because Jelaqua’s a Selphid and Moore’s big.”

The Lord of the Wall looked up. Jelaqua waved at him and raised her voice.

“We don’t mind! We’re used to it. Besides, here is nicer. Oi, Ishkr! More soufflés! Give me three more! Moore and I are hungry!”

The Drake eyed the Halfseekers and looked troubled for the first time.

“Peslas ejected them? He should not have done that. I am familiar with the Halfseekers. A Gold-rank team that has featured two Drakes among their number. You there, Selphid.”

Jelaqua looked up, spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Me? I have a name. It’s Jelaqua.”

“Ivirith the Tempest. I recall. What became of two of your number? You had a Scorchling in your ranks a few years ago. Halassia Evergleam. What became of her?”

The Halfseekers paused and all three looked up. Moore’s face twisted and he bowed his head. Seborn looked at Ilvriss as Jelaqua glanced at the Redfang Goblins who had paused in their seats. That was all the answer Ilvriss needed. He bowed his head.

“I see. I trust her remains were sent back to her family?”

“They didn’t want them. We buried her ourselves.”

There was a strained note in Jelaqua’s voice. She stared at Ilvriss. Erin looked from her to the Wall Lord. She felt like she shouldn’t ask, but she had to.

“Um…what’s a Scorchling?”

A half-Drake.

Seborn answered for both of them. The Drowned Man gulped down another glass of water as he spoke, his deep and echoing voice somber.

They’re a kind of Oldblood Drake. Only, the way their heritage manifests isn’t in wings or the ability to breath fire. They’re born burnt by the fires within them. Most die with their mothers, but the few who survive live with their curse. The fire in their bodies makes their scales flake off, and causes them pain. Scorchlings are half-Drake and half ash, or so it’s said. In truth, they’re just people with a curse.

“Shunned.”

Moore spoke the one word and closed his eyes. Ilvriss nodded.

“They are. But some make a name for themselves even so. I knew of Halassia. She was born in Salazsar. That she considered you her allies, and that you took her in—I remembered your name, Halfseekers. For the kindness you offered Halassia when her kin would not, I thank you.”

He bowed his head, surprising everyone again. Erin looked at him.

“You don’t think Scorchlings are cursed?”

He glared at her.

“Half-Drake, you mean? Do I look like I’m afraid of ancient curses or believe in that superstition? No. And even if I did—half a Drake is still worth more than any Human, Gnoll, or any other species in this world. I personally believe such children cursed by our blood have the heart of true Drakes and should be treated as such.”

His little speech caused a hush, and made the Halfseekers look at him differently. Erin too. She leaned over and whispered to Mrsha.

“Now I can’t tell if he’s a jerk or just pretending.”

The Gnoll nodded. Ilvriss stared at both of them.

“I am going to leave now. Unexpectedly tolerable as this inn may be, I prefer the company of my own kind.”

He rose, rummaging at his money pouch. Erin interrupted him.

“Oh come on. You have to stay for dessert at least. I was going to save it for dinner, but—Ishkr! Bring out the cake!”

The word ‘cake’ made Mrsha choke on her soufflé and everyone in the room looked up. Ilvriss looked confused.

“Cake?”

It was a memory that Ishkr brought out of the kitchen, carefully set on a large plate. Erin saw the others in the room look at the cake and remember. She had first served it the night Brunkr had died. Erin stroked Mrsha’s head and smiled.

“It’s just cake, Ilvriss. It’s…good. I think you’ll like it. And it’s good to eat.”

She looked around, meeting the eyes of the Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers…Mrsha. Erin personally cut the cake and offered two slices to the Goblins, inviting them to call their friends. Ilvriss sniffed at his cake and watched as Mrsha hesitated over her slice. She looked sad for a moment, but then began to scarf the cake down. He pushed his own fork into the generously frosted slice of cake and bit. His eyes widened.

A sugar rush was not something Goblins had ever experienced. Erin saw Headscratcher’s eyes go round and Shorthilt immediately hunch over his cake as if he was afraid it would be stolen. She encouraged them to take three more slices down to their friends, but then decided to call them up—she feared the two Goblins would eat the extra cake themselves.

When she came back up, Ilvriss was scraping his plate with a fork and Mrsha was licking hers. She smiled expectantly at the Wall Lord. He cleared his throat, avoiding meeting her eyes.

“Mediocre at best, but I suppose it is original. I will have another piece. And some to take back with me. This is one dish that I have not encountered and I suppose I should share it with my subordinates. Unless…no, I’m sure Peslas can make the same.”

“I can give you another slice, but I’m afraid I have limited supplies of cake and I don’t want to sell it to someone who thinks it’s mediocre. Plus, you won’t get it anywhere else, Ilvriss.”

“What?”

Erin smiled evilly as the Wall Lord looked at her.

“As far as I know, no one has any baking powder or baking soda in this world but me. So that means my cakes are unique. No one can make anything like them even if they tried to copy it. Without me, the cake is a lie. No stupid Human, no cake.”

She paused and reconsidered her statement.

“Well, I suppose you could make cheesecake or angel food cake without baking soda. But that’s not real cake! Plus, I have whipped cream as well. Whoops! I forgot! Ishkr, for the second helping bring out the whipped cream!”

This time Ilvriss made the cake disappear as fast as Mrsha. He couldn’t really find an excuse for that this time, so he just mumbled about being hungry. That only made Erin laugh, and Mrsha giggled, on a sugar high of her own. And maybe it was the sugar, the alcohol, or something else, but Erin could have sworn she saw Ilvriss smile as well.

Just for a second. Then he was frowning at her and demanding to know how the cake was made. She laughed.

“With lots of sugar! And eggs! And flour and…well, it’s not good for you. You should probably exercise a bit.”

“I should?”

Ilvriss stroked at his face and then seemed to realize the state he was in for the first time. He felt at his eyes, his mussed clothing, and sat straighter.

“Dead gods, if Periss could see me—once I return, I’ll have to lead those lazy subordinates of mine in running laps around the walls! Ten to begin with, and I might as well teach Swifttail some sword drills while I’m at it.”

He sat straighter, and Erin saw a bit of fire ignite in his eyes. Maybe it was just burning pride, but it was what he needed, and she was glad of it. She smiled.

“Okay, but for now, I guess I will sell you that cake. And I have a special drink you might want to try before you go. It’s made with flowers.”

“Hmf. I suppose I can try—did you say another cake?”

“Yup. You can pay me a lot of money for it and give some to Peslas. Tell him he’ll never make it in a thousand years since I have an ingredient he can’t copy!”

Erin smirked, thinking of the way her pizza and hamburger recipes had been copied. Well, she’d have a monopoly on cake until people realized that Octavia was selling baking soda. She saw Ishkr bringing out the second cake and had to hold Mrsha back from getting at it.

Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater were having their slices of cake—and punching Headscratcher and Shorthilt who’d nibbled at the frosting—and Ilvriss was fumbling at his money pouch as Ishkr gave the second-to-last slice of cake to Yvlon. She’d eaten slowest out of everyone in the room.

By contrast, Ceria, Pisces, and Ksmvr had inhaled theirs. Actually, it was easier to say that of the inn’s guests, only Moore, Seborn, Erin, and Yvlon had shown restraint; everyone else had scarfed their first and second pieces down. Ksmvr was practically vibrating in place.

There was another whole cake sitting pristine in front of Ilvriss. Mrsha was nearly dribbling over it. Erin was asking Ishkr to bring up the last slice to Bird and Yvlon was fighting off Pisces and Ksmvr as she laughingly held her slice of cake up in the air. She turned to the doorway, holding her plate in her hands and froze.

The plate and slice of cake fell from her grip. The plate shattered onto the floor and Ksmvr and Mrsha dove for the cake. Pisces caught it in one hand and fled both of them. But Yvlon took no notice. She stared towards the open door, her face suddenly pale. Erin turned.

Someone was standing in the doorway, his body silhouetted against the setting sun. She shaded her eyes and a silver flash revealed a [Knight] in armor. He strode through the doorway, followed by a half-Elven [Mage] and a Dwarf dressed in full plate armor. The knight looked at Yvlon and removed his helmet. She gasped and spoke a name.

“Ylawes?”

Ylawes Byres smiled as he looked at his younger sister.

“Yvlon. At last I’ve found you.”

His eyes swept across the room and his warm smile froze for a second as he spotted Jelaqua, Moore and Seborn. Then he saw the Redfang Warriors sitting at the back of the inn. They shot up from their table, grabbing at their weapons and yelling. Ylawes swore and grabbed for his sword. He unsheathed it as he tore the shield from his side and raised it—

A cake smashed into his face. Erin sighed as the [Knight] blinked and frosting spattered off his once-gleaming armor and onto the floor. Mrsha was giving Erin a betrayed look. Erin raised her hands.

“See, this is why you always bake three cakes. Ishkr, go get me another.”

She sat down as Ylawes blinked at her and the Dwarf by his side began to laugh. Erin sighed, and then smiled. Her inn was getting weird again. Weirder, she should say. She looked at Ilvriss and he stared at her.

“Is your inn always like this, Human?”

Her laughter was his only reply.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.44 M

Chaos reigned at Lady Magnolia’s estate outside of Invrisil. Servants of all stations rushed through the expensive and expansive hallways or gathered together talking urgently in small groups. Such confusion was not normal for any location under Magnolia’s—or rather, Ressa’s—authority, which made the scene all that much worse to behold. But perhaps it was inappropriate to describe the situation that way.

Chaos reined over the Reinhart estate, pulling it out of its carefully controlled environment. If every house had an owner and every household its own ruler, then Magnolia and Ressa were the two monarchs of the estate. One was a tyrant, the other a generally benevolent ruler with a penchant for sweets. However, their rule had been upset, their authority overturned and chaos had gleefully seized the metaphorical reins and driven the household into madness.

Or did chaos as an abstract concept rain over the household? Yes, perhaps that was it. Chaos, that most insidious of forces trickled down from the heavens or whatever nebulous plane of existence it resided in, filling the hearts of the people below with confusion.

It was said that Magnolia’s servants were like her fingers. Some, many, were mundane [Maids] and [Manservants] who actually did what their classes suggested. They cooked, swept, and cleaned her many estates and enjoyed a protected, if sometimes unusual, lifestyle under their mistress’s authority. But as anyone in the know knew, some of Magnolia’s servants had…other functions.

They were assassins, spies, warriors, mages, and occasionally, rude. And when they went out into the world at her command, they resolved her issues. Magnolia’s fingers danced across the continent and sometimes the world, influencing events, securing power, removing obstacles—giving her the reputation of ‘The Deadly Flower Blooming In the North’. That was a rather longwinded way of saying she was a flower, a [Lady], delicate, unsuited to war in her Skills and classes, but nevertheless possessed of thorns.

And she could make her fingers play an exquisite melody if she so chose. So what had let chaos—in any way, shape or form—into her mansion was that the hand that guided said fingers was different today. It was scaly, rather larger, and at the moment, clenching a sheaf of papers as the owner strode about Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion, shouting at people.

It was probably easier to say it that way. There was chaos at Magnolia Reinhart’s household. A simple sentence and easy to grasp. But then, what is chaos without context?

 

—-

 

“Details!”

Zel Shivertail’s voice boomed through the hallways, making two [Maids] jump and nearly drop the trays they were holding. They gingerly approached the huge Drake [General], wincing at the volume of his voice as he shouted loudly enough for half the mansion to hear.

“I want details! Get me every report, every message from every cities that’s sending soldiers to the front! And if they haven’t written down the exact specifications of the soldiers they’re sending—levels, classes, how many per unit, if there are officers leading—send a message back and demand an immediate reply! How hard is it to ask? I don’t care if it’s nightfall—this is a military matter and they should know where their damned soldiers are at all times!”

He whirled and one of the Human [Maids] flinched. Zel stared at her and carefully plucked the single piece of fine white paper off of the tray she held. He looked at it and then bellowed again.

“And stop bringing me reports one at a time! Collect them, organize them, and—in the name of the Ancestors, stop sneaking up on me like that! Raise your voice if you want my attention!”

He turned and the [Maids] both fled at once. Zel raked a hand across the spines on his head and neck, muttering as he read down the short page. He crumpled the delicate and expensive paper with one claw.

“Ridiculous! ‘400 soldiers from the city of Befton will meet at the location provided as requested?’ That’s not a reply! It’s not coded, it’s not specific—what routes are these soldiers taking? Are they [Soldiers] or a militia? Do they have an officer? What are their levels? And when will they arrive? Do Humans not have any sense of organization?

“I believe we do. However, you would not know it to look at my household at the moment. General Shivertail, has it occurred to you that our people do things differently for a reason?”

A calm voice interrupted the [General]’s ranting. Zel Shivertail swung around and pointed a finger at Magnolia Reinhart as she sat in a chair, sipping at a cup of tea. Splayed around her largest sitting room were tables that had been hurriedly carried in and filled with different reports on paper and parchment, communications by [Message] spell across the continent.

It was an impressive sight and being added to every second by servants hurrying into the room. Still, Zel was not happy and so he growled at Magnolia.

“Don’t patronize me, Reinhart. I don’t care if you Humans enjoy dancing around rocks while singing naked in the moonlight—this is a matter of organization and I can’t lead an army if I don’t know where it is or who I’m leading! You promised me an army! This is a nightmare! Don’t you have any [Strategists] or [Lieutenants] or—anyone who could have warned you what a nightmare this was?

Magnolia Reinhart sighed and lowered her cup. Her face was calm and she was sitting still in an elegant dress, but her right foot jiggled—a sign of an impending sugar rush. She put aside her cup and another hand, Ressa’s, took it away before it could be refilled. The [Maid] tilted the cup so she could see the slurry of sugar mixed with tea and grimaced. Magnolia took no notice, but replied quickly and directly, focusing entirely on the Drake.

“While I know many such individuals, I do not, as a rule, consult with them on most matters, General Shivertail. I regret to say that I am woefully ignorant of all military affairs, which is why I sought a [General] worthy of the name to lead the army I was raising. My apologies—I thought simply requesting the soldiers would do. I had no idea coordinating their arrivals were so important.”

Zel Shivertail, the famous Lineholder, hero of two Antinium Wars and feeder of hungry Gnoll cubs everywhere, eyed Lady Magnolia sourly but relented. He nodded curtly and adopted a slightly more civil tone.

“I see. My apologies Lady Reinhart, but this is a critical issue. Your army might actually appear, scattered though it is, but the instant the first group of soldiers arrives they’ll want to have a place to camp, food to eat, orders—and if they don’t have them, it will take days to sort out the disaster that will unfold by the time all of them get there.”

Magnolia winced and sighed.

“I see. Well, you have my support and my staff has a direct line with every city and town on the continent. I suspect we’ll be waking up many from their sleep—”

“They don’t have aides or officers stationed around the clock for calls like these?”

The [General] stared incredulously at Magnolia. She looked at Ressa, and her [Head Maid] shook her head.

“I’m afraid not. Perhaps some cities do, like Invrisil, but there are no laws and it’s very much dependent on the [Mayor] or whatever leadership is in place. Oh dear. I fear we do look rather bad compared to the Drake chain of command, don’t we?”

Zel took a deep breath. Yes, it was true. Humans were disorganized, at least, in general. Or maybe it was Drakes who were too organized and judged other species by too high a standard? Whatever the case, Zel had grown up in the south of Izril, where even in the smallest Drake city-states, there was a clear chain of command at all times, the lines of communication were always open, and there was always order, even if the orders were incredibly stupid. Whereas here…

He looked around. The pink drapes, purple couches, cream colored walls, and deep red-and-violet carpets in the room made him feel like he was sinking into some kind of primeval swamp. He wasn’t used to elegance, had no sense or vocabulary to describe the subtle colors around him, and really didn’t care for the richness of Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. Oh, he could admit it was pretty in some ways, but her luxuriant lifestyle was at odds with his simpler outlook.

But here he was. A Drake [General] in a Human [Lady]’s mansion. A first, if you didn’t count stories of Drakes burning and destroying Human settlements during war. He was here in the name of peace, or rather, war for peace. He was her ally and she had invited him here, four hundred miles across the border that was marked by Liscor. And he had accepted.

The world might never be the same. Zel shivered at the thought. How many Drakes would call him a traitor once the news was out? How many Humans would be up in arms? But it had to be done. He was here, talking with one of the most dangerous Human women in existence because he needed her help and apparently, she needed his. To lead her armies, if nothing else.

But still, it was odd. Zel had had the most amazing of introductions to one of Lady Magnolia’s servants—Reynold—when the man had driven up to the gates of Celum, late by over half a day, his carriage practically drenched in Goblin blood. However, he’d given Zel a completely uneventful ride to Magnolia Reinhart’s estate, and she had welcomed Zel with open arms—as soon as she’d had her man Reynold pried from the driver’s seat. They had talked briefly, and Zel had jumped on the first issue he’d spotted.

Rudely, he supposed. Zel sighed. He knew this was not how you treated your allies, much less a [Lady], but he was uneasy being around Magnolia and he was a [General], not a [Diplomat]. Zel Shivertail tried to make his tail stop twitching and took stock of the situation again.

“Let’s go over this. You promised me an army. I thought you had one already, but apparently this one is comprised of levies from every city north of Invrisil. And you have delivered if all these [Messages] are to be believed.”

“I do believe they are. It isn’t rare for people to lie to me, but they seldom have the courage to commit it to writing.”

Magnolia inclined her head, smiling slightly and looking around for her tea cup. Zel grunted sourly.

“Well then, I’ll have an army at least forty thousand strong. But I have to warn you—it’s not going to be a good one. I’d rather have half again as many soldiers to take on the Goblin Lord.”

“Really? Why? I thought we had fine numbers. Or is it the quality of the soldiers you’re unhappy with? I can assure you they’re decent. Probably.”

Magnolia sat up with a frown. Zel sighed and shook his head. Civilians. He tried to explain patiently, as if he were talking to…Lyonette. Or Erin. Or Mrsha.

“You have the numbers Lady Reinhart, but that’s not an army. If I had ten thousand young men with swords, would you call that an army? And no, before you speak, it doesn’t matter if they’re all [Soldiers] because they’re all soldiers of different cities. They haven’t trained together, don’t necessarily know the same orders or fight the same way—and I don’t know how many officers there are.”

“And that’s a problem? You are a [General].”

“A [General] without a trained army is like a sharp mind and an unresponsive body, Miss Reinhart.”

“Ah. Oh, I do see now. Oh dear.”

Magnolia frowned. She wasn’t unintelligent, Zel could readily admit. She tapped at her lips and glanced at Zel.

“If it’s a matter of officers…I can see about levying some from more cities. Will that help, or will their unfamiliarity only exacerbate the issue?”

Zel shrugged.

“I don’t know. They could be useful…or not. I’m afraid I don’t know how well you Humans train your soldiers. I’ve seen good leadership and bad on the field of battle, but you don’t standardize your training.”

“While Drakes do. I am familiar with that. Your military chain of command is quite renowned across the world.”

The Drake grunted in response to the compliment. He looked over another sheaf of [Messages], speaking sourly.

“I’d give one of my claws for a few Drake [Lieutenants] or a battalion to fight with. A pity no Drake armies could cross north of Liscor without starting a war.”

“Hm. That’s very true. I did think about it, you know. But of all the mercenary groups in Izril—and there aren’t many—the only one of note was Liscor’s own army. And while they are for hire, I’m sure they wouldn’t respond to my requests and if they did…”

Zel looked up from the reports.

“No.”

“Indeed not.”

The [General] shook his head.

“That army is…not the kind you want if you value peace. I’m sure they’d manage to start a war if they came north. And given the uniqueness of their army, my Skills as a [General] would be least effective leading them.”

“That was my understanding. It is a pity though. They are formidable, for all of their detracting factors.”

Magnolia sighed. She found her teacup at last and wrestled with Ressa briefly before retrieving it. The [Head Maid] reluctantly filled her cup and Magnolia sipped it. She mused out loud.

“How does the saying go again? One Drake’s trouble, two is a fight, and three will burn your house down?”

She glanced at Zel swiftly, but the Drake didn’t react openly to her comment. He kept reading another report in silence and jotting down notes on another piece of parchment. After a minute he looked up.

“What are four Drakes, then?”

“A war, I believe.”

The [General] grunted. It wasn’t quite a laugh. Magnolia watched him cautiously and flicked her eyes up towards Ressa. The [Maid] shrugged and Magnolia pursed her lips. After another short break she spoke lightly but cautiously.

“We have not had a chance to speak long I’m afraid, Mister Shivertail.”

Zel didn’t react to being called Mister either. He turned one eye towards her and flicked his tail slightly.

“We didn’t. My apologies, but I decided to sort this out right away once I realized the issue.”

“Quite, quite. But ah, aside from our commitment to work together, you and I have quite a few issues we should discuss.”

“Really? It seems simple to me. You need a [General], I want to kill the Goblin Lord. And Az’kerash. Who you knew was alive for years and never did anything about.”

His claws tightened slightly on the parchment and Ressa tensed ever so slightly. Magnolia subtly leaned back to pat her friend on the leg and spoke.

“Yes. However, you never gave me a chance to explain my reasoning.”

Zel paused, and looked up. Two [Porters] paused with twin stacks of reports. He nodded approvingly and they hurried over to the table in front of him.

“Good. These are—organized? Excellent.”

The Drake blinked in surprise and began crossing off names on the list he’d compiled, checking estimated arrival times with each city and creating a master list, a big picture of his army for him to look at. He wasn’t good at this kind of work—it was the kind of thing he liked to let [Strategists] sort out—but he could do it in a pinch. He got a rhythm going before he addressed Magnolia again.

“Fine. Tell me why you let him live.”

“A few reasons spring to mind. To begin with, I’m embarrassed to say that I thought he was more your people’s problems than mine and uninclined to start trouble so soon after the last Antinium War.”

Magnolia leaned forwards, speaking crisply despite the late hour. She gestured to the map of the continent that Zel was using as a reference on one of the tables.

“This was the same Necromancer who caused so much harm during the Second Antinium Wars and proved so difficult to defeat—and not even kill, it seems. I knew he must have lost nearly all his undead after his defeat, so I was content to let him go into hiding.”

“And replenish his forces? How long were you willing to wait? Until he appeared and started destroying Drake cities?”

“Hardly. I was more hoping that he would reappear and the Antinium, Drakes, and everyone else in the nearby vicinity would join up to destroy him. You do recall that he made rather fierce enemies of every species on the continent.”

“I do.”

“Yes, well, I decided he could be left alone for those reasons. Additionally—he may be powerful, but he is still only one [Necromancer]. The limits of his powers were rather neatly pointed out in the last Antinium War. He can raise a powerful army—one that can level cities and rout lesser armies true, but only one army of finite size. That’s not as grave a threat as six Antinium Hives or a Goblin King, is it?”

Zel caught himself nodding and stopped with a grimace. Magnolia smiled and went on, watching his reactions.

“Add that to a final consideration, General Shivertail. A [Necromancer] is a powerful mage, but specialized. He can raise armies, but not throw around spells that destroy armies by themselves. He is defined by his creations and while those creations can be terrible, they are linked to him. If the [Necromancer] dies, his army is leaderless, mana-less.”

The pieces clicked. Zel looked up as his brain switched over from corroborating reports to what Magnolia was saying.

“You were going to assassinate him.”

“Indeed.”

Magnolia smiled brightly and sipped at her tea cup. She reached out to grab a sugar cube—Ressa snatched the bowl away.

“My intention was always to kill Az’kerash. Sooner rather than later, but I knew I had only one opportunity, so I wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, of my success. That meant I had a short list of about six individuals who could do the job. I did consider asking an Archmage, but that could be tricky…the problem was that of the six, there were only two I could contract discreetly and be sure of. Neither one accepted my offers, and I did offer quite a lot.”

“Huh. That’s the problem with [Assassins], I suppose.”

Zel raised a magical quill and scribbled on his list, highlighting a discrepancy for later. Magnolia laughed.

“As a matter of fact, only one of the six I was considering for the job was an actual [Assassin]. I wanted the best, General Shivertail, and I don’t underestimate my foes. My first pick for the job would have been the infamous leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, Three-Color Stalker.”

The Drake looked up and his tail twitched in surprise.

Her?

“She is one of, if not the most deadly [Rogues] in existence. And she is more adept at slaying enemy [Commanders] on battlefields than most conventional [Assassins]. Who better to deal with a target that is functionally immune to poison and is no doubt warded with many magical artifacts?”

Magnolia swirled the tea around in her cup. It was minty, although you would never have known that with as much sugar as it held. She lifted her cup.

“Do excuse me, Ressa, but pass me the bowl of sugar or I’ll throw this at you. And I should ask again as a good host—would you like tea, General Shivertail? Something else? A snack, perhaps?”

Zel and Ressa both shuddered, having tasted Magnolia’s tea. The [General] was shaking his head and then paused. He looked up. He was in the mansion of one of the richest [Ladies] in the world, after all.

“If you have it…milk with honey.”

“Milk with honey?”

Magnolia blinked. Zel smiled.

“I recently developed a taste for it. Milk with honey, if you have it. Ashfire Bee honey to be precise. And if you have bacon or sausage, wrap it in dough and fry it a bit.”

“I’m sure my [Chef] can make that. Ressa, see to it, would you? That’s an intriguing dish. What is it called?”

Zel grinned to himself as Magnolia blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“Pigs in the blanket. It’s a Human dish.”

“Not one I know. Ressa? I want some too. Add lots of honey to my milk.”

The [Head Maid] had slipped out the door and whispered briefly with a servant stationed outside. She swiftly returned to Magnolia’s side. Zel eyed Ressa. She was wary of him and he could sense she wasn’t just someone who cleaned around the mansion. Well, whatever. He nodded at Magnolia.

“So Three-Color Stalker denied your request?”

Magnolia sighed loudly.

“I don’t believe she ever read it. She’s an odd individual. I sent her a number of cards and paid the [Couriers] to report back on how she received them. As I understand it, she ate two of them, gold leaf and all.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said. I’m not sure if it was an insult or just her personality. And she has never replied to me. Well, not in words. I believe after my sixteenth letter she sent me a message back by City Runner. I received a badly decomposed muffin that had been in transit for about six months. It had travelled across the sea by boat and was delivered to my house. I thought it was poison when I got it.”

“Huh. That is odd. I’d heard there was something weird about each of the leaders of the Four Great Companies, but…”

Zel frowned as he went back to his reports. A muffin? That was Baleros for you. War-loving freaks. Not that he could really speak as a Drake. He looked up as a thought struck him. It had to be asked.

“…What kind of muffin?”

“What kind?”

“Was it blueberry? Plain? Apple? Insect?”

Magnolia traded a swift glance with Ressa.

“You know, I didn’t think to…that could be a clue. Or something. If Commander Foliana—Ressa? Make a note. Find out if anyone recalls what the muffin looked like.”

“Yes, milady.”

Zel eyed the [Head Maid] as she bowed slightly. He coughed.

“That’s an interesting maid you employ, Miss Reinhart.”

Magnolia laughed.

“Oh, Ressa? Don’t mind her glaring. She is protective of me. And nagging.”

“And armed.”

The [General]’s calm look made Ressa shift, and the impassive woman’s face hardened a bit. Magnolia stopped smiling and glanced at Zel.

“She is my protector, General. Rest assured I didn’t invite you here to kill you. I’d like to think I’m a bit smarter than that.”

“It never crossed my mind.”

Zel lied as he worked his way down the first stack of papers. He glanced at Magnolia and Ressa again and decided to ask another one of the questions that was on his mind.

“Very well. Say you’ve convinced me your intentions were good around the Necromancer. That still doesn’t explain why you wanted me, a Drake, to lead your army against the Goblin Lord. You have capable leaders in the north. Why not let your famous Lord Tyrion Veltras handle the Goblins?”

Magnolia’s face went sour at Tyrion’s name and Zel recalled too late that the Five Families weren’t exactly enamored with each other. He cursed internally. Human politics. Even at his best, he could barely stay aware of what went on in Drake lands.

“I don’t want to give that idiot a chance to shine, General Shivertail. Moreover, I don’t want a [General] for a few weeks or even a year. I had hoped you would see the long-term benefits of working together.”

“So your letter hinted. And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

Magnolia sat up and was about to launch into her carefully-planned speech at last when a knock sounded on the door. She slumped and Ressa scowled at the unlucky interrupter.

“Enter.”

“Your pardons, Lady Reinhart.”

Reynold?

Magnolia sat up and Zel turned as Reynold stepped through the door. The [Butler] was wearing a new, pristine suit and his hair had been combed. More to the point, all of his wounds had been healed and he was no longer drenched in blood. He bowed to Magnolia and Zel as a [Maid] stood at his side. Sacra, or as Laken would have known her, Odveig, bowed as well, her eyes flicking to Zel and then to her mistress.

“Reynold, I thought you were asleep! You should be resting—thank you for running over those Goblins, by the way. I received a missive from Wales that you had saved quite a number of people by buying them time, but really! You should be asleep!”

The Lady Reinhart wavered between scolding and praising Reynold by turns. He bowed crisply and spoke carefully, keeping his eyes on Zel as the [General] appraised him and Sacra.

“I do apologize Lady Magnolia, but I was told that General Shivertail was concerned with the state of the levied forces from the cities. As I have experience in that field, I believe I can manage the reports and let the general concern himself with more important issues.”

Zel could tell Reynold and Sacra were both warriors at a glance. The way they stood, the way they looked at him—their uniforms did nothing to hide that from his gaze. He nodded at Reynold as he set down a piece of parchment.

“Thank you for driving me…Reynold, is it? Are you a former [Soldier] of some kind?”

Reynold hesitated and behind him, Magnolia’s eyes flicked to him. But then the [Butler] nodded.

“I was a [Lieutenant], sir. An officer in charge of a cavalry unit. I have…experience in combat. And in war. I fought twice against Drakes in the Bloodfields.”

He waited for Zel’s response as the room went still. The Drake stared at Reynold and saw his companion, the [Maid] called Sacra, tense ever so slightly. He simply nodded.

“I understand. I’d be glad to let you take over, Reynold. And can I assume your companion knows war as well?”

Reynold bowed slightly.

“Miss Sacra is also familiar with military matters, General Shivertail. With your permission, we will tabulate a full list for your appraisal within the next few hours.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Reynold.”

Magnolia shot to her feet, clapping her hands lightly. She looked at Ressa and turned to Zel.

“I forgot Reynold and Sacra could be helpful. Do forgive me. Why don’t we let them take over—Ressa, they’ll need stamina potions, food, drinks, whatever they want. But I want those wrapped bacon snacks myself. General Shivertail, let us retire to another location.”

Zel raised his brows, wondering if he should protest. But one look at Reynold and Sacra as they began poring over his work reassured him they were competent. He let Magnolia steer him out of the room and down a corridor.

The next sitting room he found himself in was more intimate, and would have been familiar to Ryoka and Erin. Zel shifted and wondered why the couch had to be pink. But he had to admit, he was grateful for a chance to relax and by this point the milk and snacks had arrived.

“Oh! What a treat.”

Magnolia was salivating over the crisp, hot rolls of bacon wrapped in dough. She chewed on one, sipped from her honey and milk drink, and promptly ordered another plate made. Ressa took one look at the bits of bacon and cancelled the order.

“Ressa!”

“You don’t need that much food.”

“I can have it if I want. Look at General Shivertail. He’s eating.”

“He’s bigger than you are and a warrior. He can burn the energy. You’ll just get fat. Fatter.”

“How dare you! This dress is very slimming, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes. Too bad it can’t work miracles.”

Zel watched the [Lady] and [Maid] bicker like old friends for a few seconds before coughing. Instantly, both Magnolia and Ressa looked at him, all business.

“So I’m here to help you kill the Goblin Lord, and then the Necromancer. But from what you keep hinting at, you want more than that. Lady Reinhart, it’s time to stop dancing around before we trip on our tails. What do you really want with me?”

Lady Magnolia Reinhart grew still. She sat across from Zel Shivertail and looked him in the eye. Once, Magnolia had sat at this very couch—or one much like it—and bullied and played games with two young women. That was then. Now, she sat and addressed Zel Shivertail as an equal. Her voice was steady and unadorned with any Skill as she spoke.

“I asked you to join me Zel Shivertail, because I want to work with you. I have sent you letters—hounded you, I will freely admit—over the years because I wanted you and none other. Not just to guide my armies, but to form an alliance with me. To defend this sorry continent and deal with the many problems of our world. And if you accept, you will be the first.”

Zel sat in his seat, back straight, not touching the snacks or his drink. He looked at Magnolia and felt the hum of danger in the back of his head. It was distinct, far-off. Danger to him? Or someone else? He sensed that he was facing an important decision and wished he was sure of how he’d respond or what she would say.

“The first? What do you mean by that?”

Lady Magnolia straightened her dress.

“I have sent many letters to many individuals across the world, General Shivertail. But two I have bothered most consistently. It is my hope that if you announce your decision to work with me, the second individual I have contacted will lend his great strength to me. You see, I have a plan that involves you, and you are the first.”

“Who is the second?”

“Niers Astoragon. The Titan.”

The name fell into the room and silenced it. Zel felt his heartbeat accelerate as thunder rumbled in his head and pieces started to fall into place. He felt like he was staring at a picture and was only uncovering it one piece at a time. But the grand scheme of it…he wondered whether Magnolia’s ambitions were what Sserys had feared or what he hoped for.

“The famous strategist of Baleros. Why do you want him?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Zel grunted at Magnolia’s disapproving look. He understood what, but not why.

“An army. You want us to lead an army.”

She nodded. Her fingers were laced together, and Ressa was looking from her mistress to Zel. They hid their emotions well, but Zel could tell they were nervous. Magnolia went on.

“It is similar to a thought exercise, General Shivertail. How would you go about creating the most powerful army? I am no [Strategist], so I thought of an answer that involved people. Two. A world-famous [General] and an unbeatable [Strategist]. Two of the highest-level individuals on the planet, men or rather, a Fraerling and Drake that all recognize of sound character and honor. You two could lead any army, and I would give you an army of legends. Magical artifacts, arms, mercenaries…my coffers can fund whatever is needed.”

“That sounds…plausible.”

It sounded insane. Why would Niers Astoragon, a [Strategist] whom Zel had never met in his life, travel from Baleros to Izril? But if Magnolia was serious—and her eyes were purely focused and honest as far as Zel could tell—she had a point. Still, Zel felt compelled to point out an obvious flaw.

“If you’re talking hypothetically about a perfect army, even in the abstract, you only have two parts of the puzzle. A [General] to lead and a [Strategist] to coordinate is a solid combination, but the wildcard that can take an army apart is a [Mage]. Without a powerful spellcaster, there are ways to destroy even the best-equipped army.”

Magnolia smiled.

“I know that. But the [Mage] I already have. I know a…magic user beyond any other. If I had you and Niers, I think he would join too. And there are many more I would reach to, many whom I think would join once they saw what I was attempting to create. So I would have a leader, a planner, and a spellcaster. Three to lead an army.”

“And do what? Carve out an empire?”

“No. To create a resolution to this world’s issues.”

Zel stared. Magnolia steepled her fingers.

“Consider this, Zel Shivertail. In this world of ours, there is war. Always war. From Baleros to Terandria, there is always a conflict going on. And some threaten to destroy entire species. We are threatened by the Antinium, a menace we have never seen before. Twice we have gone to war and twice made peace. But I think you and I know they are planning for a third war. A final war and I am not of the opinion we can be so complacent about them this time.”

Zel thought of Pawn, of Klbkch, Xrn, and nodded slowly.

“No. They are…changing.”

Magnolia nodded.

“And that is only the tip of the iceberg. In Rhir, the Demons fight with the Blighted King. As they have always done, and yet…there was an attempt on the Blighted King’s life last week. Imagine what would have happened had it succeeded? And the King of Destruction stirs from his slumber at last. Meanwhile, a new [Emperor] has emerged in Chandrar, the Emperor of Sands who already controls a good sixth of the continent. Either one could threaten the world.”

“You seem to be listing a lot of problems. But is this hypothetical army of yours a solution?”

“Not a hypothetical army, Zel Shivertail. A very real one that could become reality. Nations and species fight, but we do not have to. If we could resolve the Antinium issue in Izril, make some kind of peace between Drakes and Humans, we could turn our attention to the real issues in this world! But it is the Antinium and the Necromancer I think of now. The Drakes are disunited and we Humans fight each other. We need a powerful force—beyond what one [Lord] or Walled City can raise. A truly powerful force, one made up of every alliance that can be forged. You and I have seen it before.”

“General Sserys’ army.”

Another piece fell into place. Zel walked backwards in time, saw a massive army of Drakes, the hope of the continent. Humans, riding south to fight against a common enemy. Death and silence. A destroyed army and Sserys’ last words.

The past met the present. Magnolia nodded. She had been there too.

“I believe that if we Humans had marched with you, if we had all committed as one or given General Sserys more time, worn down the Antinium by parts rather than risk a final confrontation…perhaps we might be living in a different world. But yes, that is what I refer to. Another army, only this one led by you, Zel Shivertail. One that would either destroy or push the Antinium off this continent for good.”

The idea rocked Zel back in his chair. Not because it was daring, not because it was impossible—but because it was what he had been saying for years. Hadn’t he told those idiots in the Walled Cities and councils the exact same thing? Zel’s words came back to him. Drakes should be uniting against a common foe, forging alliances, focusing on the real threat. He looked at Magnolia and saw her looking at him.

“I have ears throughout the world Zel Shivertail. And what I dreamed of, you shouted. You have been ignored by your people, but I agreed with every word you said. Except that I think the Antinium are only the start.”

“You want to create a force powerful enough to destroy both the Necromancer and the Antinium? And what then, end the war between our species? End that idiocy at the Blood Fields that happens every year?”

Magnolia nodded. Zel shook his head.

“Impossible. Every Drake city would—you’d have to shove peace down their throats while you held a blade in the other hand. And I bet the Humans would be the same.”

“If that is what is necessary, I would do it. We must have peace, General Shivertail. Peace! This war is senseless and it wastes lives. I would end that.”

“How?”

Magnolia’s gaze was steady as she met Zel’s.

“I would open the High Passes and encourage Humans and Drakes to settle in each other’s lands. Peace might not arrive in a year or a decade, but exposure to one another and peace—by whatever means—would bridge old wounds, or so I feel. At the very least, I think the Gnolls would welcome the opportunity to travel the north as well as the south.”

The thought of that—Zel’s mind spun as he imagined the High Passes opened. That would let armies though—but also trade. It would mean war if the Humans and Drakes weren’t already at peace, but if they were…

“And what then? You’ll disband the army?”

Magnolia snorted.

“Hardly. There is far more to do. Far more pressing issues that may well lead to a world war, a conflict between continents. If I could stabilize one continent, I see no reason why I shouldn’t turn my attention to another one.”

“So say you do. What would you fix?”

Slowly, Magnolia Reinhart began to count on her fingers, her voice echoing in the sitting room.

“The Demons of Rhir. The Emperor of Sands in Chandrar. The King of Destruction. Those idiots in Terandria, and the state of war in Baleros. Oh, and those disgusting slavers in Roshal too. Those are the major issues I see in the world.”

It was like she was making wishes on a shooting star. Zel shook his head. Any one of those issues was unsolvable in his eyes. Oh, he could see parts of how to fix the issues—smashing the King of Destruction’s armies and beheading that idiot would solve a lot, but the scope of what Magnolia was proposing was…

A [Strategist] like Niers Astoragon could probably see what she was proposing, though. The Titan? Zel had met two Fraerlings in his life. He wondered what the Titan would say. If they met, would they even be able to work together? A good [General] and [Strategist] were like a married couple. If they didn’t agree—

Ridiculous. It would never happen. But part of Zel wondered. Magnolia was rich. Niers Astoragon was a mercenary, for all he was a commander. And he was renowned for being able to travel vast distances at the drop of a hat, appearing on a battlefield hundreds of miles away from where he had been spotted in a day’s time. He was also open to communication. If she sent him a letter, or if Zel did—

Impossible. But the [General] kept listening.

“An army solves many issues. I have no doubt you and Niers Astoragon could push back the Demon King and rout his armies if you were joined with armies from the other continents. As for Chandrar—the King of Destruction and the Emperor of Sands are already at war. One could destroy the other, but neither can be allowed to overtake the continent. The other issues can be solved with diplomacy, but one must be a world power to make other such powers agree to talk.”

Magnolia was speaking as if it were all set in stone, as if it were all possible. Zel shook his head.

“You’re overestimating me, Reinhart. I may be a high-level [General], but I wouldn’t bet on a battle between me and the King of Destruction, even with the Titan commanding my army. You need more than one army.”

“So I shall have more. Many more. That is why Izril is the start, General Shivertail. Bring peace to Izril, and I can send five, six, eight armies to do battle with the King of Destruction if need be. And other nations will do the same. You see, what I want is peace. And for that, I need an army. Not just one army, but a collective of every nation that wants peace in the world.”

A coalition. Zel shivered. Magnolia went on, her eyes shining with a distant future.

“Imagine it. A centralized peacekeeping force made up of forces from all nations. A governing body that exists beyond [Kings] and has the authority and strength to deal with threats to our world. It could be possible. The Goblin Lord and the Antinium are the first step. Eradicate them, and consolidate a base of power, and more will follow. That is why I need you, Zel Shivertail. You can lead an army. You and I represent a force far greater than our individual strengths.”

And like that, she lost him. Zel looked at Magnolia, suddenly broken out of the trance her words had caused. She was still looking ahead, still staring at that vision—and he remembered what Sserys had said.

Peace.

And Zel understood a bit of what had scared his mentor and friend. He shifted, and Magnolia broke off speaking sharply. The moment of—inspiration—flickered out.

The Drake carefully reached out and snagged one of the pigs in the blanket. He bit into it and chewed. It was cold, but the food was still good. And it was grounding. He took a sip and spoke softly.

“It sounds like an amazing dream, Lady Reinhart. But I’m afraid I don’t quite buy into all of it. I don’t think it will work.”

Magnolia looked at him and the light in her eyes faded a bit.

“Why not?”

“It’s an abstract idea. It’s a plan with a thousand moving parts. It assumes you will get the Titan’s attention, he will come here, that we won’t all be defeated in a battle, that you can make peace…and that I stay after dealing with the Goblin Lord and Az’kerash.”

Zel sipped at his drink, keeping his tail still. Magnolia stared at him.

“I see. But you agree the Antinium are a threat, don’t you? Why would you—”

“I don’t know if I’ll stay. Because I don’t trust you.”

Zel stood up abruptly. He saw Ressa tense, but Magnolia held up a hand. The [General] ignored Ressa and stared down at Magnolia. She looked up at him, fearless, but wary.

“I don’t like you, Human. I don’t mind most Humans, but you I judge from what I’ve heard and seen over the years. I don’t trust you, Magnolia Reinhart. You speak of peace, but you would see it through war.”

“How else?”

Magnolia blinked calmly at Zel, and he lost his momentum.

“How else? What do you mean?”

“How else would you do it, General Shivertail? You must know there are foes that will not be dissuaded by any amount of talking. There are tyrants and monsters who wear flesh like costumes and parade around pretending to civility in this world. They must be ended. How else would you do it besides war?”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s the fact that you’re the one taking charge that I object to.”

Zel shook his head. He felt frustrated—because he partially agreed with what Magnolia had said. And yet—

“No one person can be above others. Drakes have no [Kings] for that reason. If you went about ‘solving’ issues and removing whomever you liked, what would make you better than they are? What would allow people to trust you?”

“Nothing at all. I understand that. I have a reputation for trickery and underhandedness. I understand that General Shivertail. Which is why I need you and Niers Astoragon. I need people who are what I am not. Honorable, trustworthy. And that is why I propose a council, an alliance of people to manage this attempt, this army. I invited you to my estate as an equal, and I propose that you and I find other equals who can balance our opinions and make the right choices.”

The words made sense, but the mouth they came from—Zel shook his head again.

“No. I can’t trust that. I will not. Not alone, at any rate.”

Magnolia rose too, slowly. She was eying him with concern, and he felt like—

A Drake [General] stared at a young Human girl as she held out her hand. Peace. He looked into her eyes and saw war.

“I won’t agree to your plans. It sounds…unreal. And I don’t trust you. I’m sorry, but I came here for aid against Az’kerash. I will help you with the Goblin Lord, and in exchange you’ll help me with the Necromancer. That is why I came here. More than that I won’t promise.”

Magnolia took Zel’s words silently. For a few moments she stared at Zel, face impassive, and then she slowly nodded.

“I see.”

“Don’t mistake me. I think our peoples should work together. But you—I won’t ally myself with you blindly. If I did commit to an alliance, if I even thought about raising an army and tying my name to yours for a greater cause—it would have to be after I talked to the Titan himself. Him and this ‘magic user’ you’re hinting about.”

Magnolia’s eyes widened. Zel turned to her and bared his teeth.

“You have too many secrets, Reinhart. I don’t trust you at all. But I will admit—you make sense. And you have money, which funds armies and wins wars. Given that—if you can introduce me to people I can trust, I might, might come back with them and agree to your insane plan.”

Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s face was completely blank for a second, and then she burst out laughing. It surprised Zel so much he took a step back and nearly tripped onto the couch. Magnolia sat, chuckling, and Zel saw her wipe tears out of her eyes.

“Oh dear. That is the most—Ressa, I hoped for fortune and I received something like it. You want to meet my magic user and the Titan? Well, I can’t promise either, but I will ask! And oh my, if I arranged such a meeting…time to use every carrot and stick I think, Ressa.”

“Indeed, milady.”

Zel glared suspiciously at the two Human women.

“What’s so funny? Who is this magic user?”

Magnolia shook her head and brushed away a tear with a finger.

“Secrets, my dear General Shivertail. I cannot reveal who he is…yet. And I have a few more matters I’d gladly discuss with you and him—perhaps that’s the very key to getting him to agree, Ressa. Bring up the children—I’m sure I could get one of them to give him one of their devices if he’d agree—”

“One of those ‘tablets’, perhaps?”

“Indeed. Why, we could arrange it within the week if we put everything together. After the Goblin Lord of course, but if we sent Reynold to collect one and I sent a [Message]—”

The two were suddenly chatting with each other, talking about the magic user. Zel couldn’t make heads or tails of the conversation though, and cleared his throat. Magnolia broke off and smiled apologetically.

“Do forgive me General Shivertail. But I think I can convince you after all. As for the Titan—I will indeed try to talk to him.”

“I…see. Well, I’m willing to meet with either one.”

Zel wasn’t sure what he was talking himself into, but curiosity had taken hold and…he was already in trouble for coming this far. He might as well have something to show for it. Magnolia nodded briskly, suddenly all business. She looked at Zel—far more concretely now, and with none of the idealism she’d shown when talking about the future.

“For now it seems like we are allies of convenience, General Shivertail. I’ll give you an army—ragtag and disorganized though it may be—and you’ll help me deal with the Goblin Lord. After that, we can discuss Az’kerash.”

She hesitated and raised a finger.

“I may also need you to squish an annoying pest that’s popped up close to my lands. I seem to have a problem with [Emperors], or at least one…”

Zel folded his arms in disgust. One second she was talking about peace, the next…an [Emperor]? How? Wait, hadn’t he heard Erin saying something about an [Emperor] to Ryoka one time? It had been a passing conversation…Zel brushed that aside for the moment.

“I’m not your sword to be pointed at anyone you please, Reinhart. Besides, you’re the scion of a famous house. Why can’t you assassinate them in the middle of the night or crush them yourself?”

Magnolia smiled in embarrassment.

“I ah, seem to have a problem with loyalty and hired killers at the moment. Which is another problem I’d like to discuss—as for dealing with him myself, I was aware of the issue, you know. I had hoped he’d be content with a village or two, but it seems this damnable Goblin situation had sent people rallying to his banners. And while I’m sure our cultures are different, you must agree that attacking a local hero is not generally helpful to one’s reputation.”

“True. So why deal with him at all? You’re afraid he’ll take your lands? Can’t you…talk to him?”

Zel grunted. Magnolia hesitated.

“I don’t like [Emperors]. Every one I’ve met has had a few tricks up their sleeves. Nasty ones. And as a [Lady], I am regrettably disadvantaged when opposing them. Hierarchies and social classes, you know. I prefer not to get near this one if I can. I had a particularly bad experience with the Emperor of Sands in Chandrar. You know, the new one? He was quite objectionable and I had trouble dealing with him. Of course, she was worse now that I think of it…”

That was another odd statement that didn’t make sense unless you knew more about the Emperor of Sands. Zel shook his head.

“[Emperors] are none of my business. Goblin Lord, Necromancer—that’s all I’ll help you with. You want to deal with him, do it yourself.”

“Cheapskate.”

Zel grew exasperated.

“Don’t you have a Skill that controls other people? Use that on him. I’ve heard about you and your charmed words.”

“Believe me, I would if I could, but my Skill is not powerful enough to sway anyone with a powerful class—or strong will. I’ve learned that the hard way recently.”

Magnolia made a face, which surprised Zel.

“I would have thought a high-level [Lady] would have more persuasion Skills than that.”

“Oh, Skills. I have lots of those, but charming others isn’t a vital Skill for me by any means. I have Skills in far more useful areas I’m pleased to say.”

“Such as?”

She clicked her tongue dismissively.

“Skills that boost the welfare and safety of my lands, Skills that help me train servants, protect myself, manage my estates…”

“And your highest-level Skill?”

Magnolia Reinhart hesitated and eyed Zel for a second.

“Why do you want to know?”

He shrugged.

“We are allies. It’s helpful to know what your best Skill is. I’m sure you know mine.”

“Hmm…I suppose so. Very well. My highest-level Skill is [Aegis of Grace].”

“I’m unfamiliar with it.”

“Not surprising. It’s a powerful Skill that extends across my lands. To simplify, it wards off any settlement affiliated with me from attack. Thus, my mansion, Invrisil, and other holdings deter casual [Bandits], monsters and other unsavory groups from attacking them. Attacks do occur of course, but that is one of the reasons why Invrisil had grown so prosperous of late. Adventurers do their bit, but my Skill—and the reputation I have worked so hard to dismay you with—also protects my people.”

Was that a joke? Zel blinked and nodded. Magnolia smiled at him.

“It may not seem like much considering your Skills can literally turn the tide of battle, but I suspect one of the reasons why all these Goblins have been raiding other settlements and cities is due to that Skill. After all, peace brings prosperity and with enough money I can do a great deal.”

“I can appreciate that. Thank you for telling me.”

Zel nodded to Magnolia. She dipped her head graciously, and then put down her empty cup and stood up.

“Well, I do believe that was a profitable little talk. However, I think that you and I have gone over…most of the points we wished to discuss. You aren’t beholden to me, and I am your ally of circumstance. For now.”

Her eyes twinkled and Zel suspected she planned to turn him into an ally for good. But he made no comment, simply rising to his feet.

“I’m fine with that. If you’ll show me the way, I’ll finish assessing my army and sending out instructions—”

“Oh psht. That can wait. Reynold and Sacra are very good at their jobs and I have something for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but I suppose that since we’re tentative allies, now is the best time. You do need to know what you’re working with after all. Follow me.”

Magnolia was either a night owl or she’d had far too much sugar, because she strode towards the doors and down the hallway at a brisk pace. Zel followed, his legs and tail almost asleep. Magnolia led him down a flight of stairs, through a hallway full of [Maids] and [Servants] who stared at Zel, past a Gnoll [Maid]—

“A Gnoll [Maid]?”

Zel had to take a step back to look at that. Magnolia walked back to him as he saw a Gnoll [Maid] serving a plate of food to a man dressed all in black in a small sitting room. Both Gnoll and Human glanced up and froze as they saw Zel peeking in. He turned away and saw Magnolia and Ressa peeking as well.

“Oh, don’t mind her. Bekia’s been in my service for years. As for the rather young and nervous [Assassin] there—that’s Theofore.”

“Theofore?”

Zel looked blankly at the [Assassin], who’d gone pale at the sight of a famous Drake [General]. Zel tried to remember what the open bounty on his head was and forgot. He’d gutted more than one [Assassin] after his life, which was probably why the young man was so afraid. Magnolia nodded sympathetically.

“A young fool. I have some…trouble with the Assassin’s Guild, and he was blindingly unaware of the entire affair. Suffice it to say he’s marked for death by his own guild, which is why I’m letting him stay here. Rather charitable of me I know, but I suppose I’ll need at least one [Assassin] once I’m done cleaning up.”

Both Zel and Theofore eyed Magnolia as she turned away. The [General] followed Magnolia into the main hallway, and then, to his surprise, out of the doors and into the garden.

“Why are we going out here?”

“Oh, don’t worry—I keep my estate’s weather controlled by magic.”

Magnolia reassured Zel without answering the question as she strolled out into a pleasant, cool night that was at odds with the dour wet cold of the fleeing winter outside of her mansion. Zel followed her into a veritable labyrinth of hedges, flowers, and trees staring at a giant cloud floating very low overhead.

“You have a lot of magic in your mansion.”

“Yes, don’t I? I collect it. Mind the ground—looks like the cloud’s just been through. Oh, and Ressa, do make sure it doesn’t shoot lightning by accident, will you? I’d hate for anything to strike our [General], especially as he is wearing armor.”

Zel eyed the passing raincloud warily and walked a few steps away from it. Magnolia was preoccupied however. She walked through a hedge maze, calling out loudly.

“Nalthal! Nalthaliarstrelous! Please don’t make me call your full name again! Where are you?”

There was a rustle and Zel turned and saw a dour-looking old man in dirty robes appear out of the hedges like a dirty, scruffy ghost. Unlike every other servant in Magnolia’s employ, he was not professional, did not bow to her when he appeared, and instead leaned on the hoe he was carrying and glared at Magnolia, Ressa, and Zel all at once.

He made the Drake’s scales prickle. Magnolia smiled as she greeted Nalthal, her [Gardener]. The old man grunted as she approached.

“Nalthal, I do apologize for the late hour, but I was hoping you had my two you-know-what’s around here? In the maze perhaps? And I’ll need the rest of the artifacts my grandfather gave me.”

The old [Gardener] grunted and eyed Zel. The [General] felt his scales prickle again and took two steps backwards. Magnolia frowned.

“Oh please, General. Nalthal doesn’t smell that bad. Although I do agree he is rather…pungent.”

“It’s not that. I’m just getting out of his range.”

Zel folded his arms and stared hard at the ‘gardener’. He noticed Ressa was also standing away from the old man. Nalthal muttered something incomprehensible and scratched at one armpit. Magnolia looked at him and then at Zel and her eyes widened.

“Oh! Warrior’s instincts, is it? Ressa hates standing near Nalthal too. Although that may be the smell again…Nalthal, I do appreciate your display of animosity, but my grandfather’s things?”

He grunted irritably at her. Unperturbed, she poked him and he shuffled off through the hedge maze. Ressa brought up the rear and Zel kept narrowing his eyes at the [Gardener]’s back. There was definitely a field around him that Zel didn’t want to enter. He looked at Ressa as the [Maid] frowned at Nalthal’s back.

“Excuse me. Miss Ressa. That [Gardener] is a warrior, isn’t he?”

Ressa nodded shortly.

“He is. Although he’s no warrior, but rather a mage.”

“Really? What kind?”

“[Druid].”

Zel paused. He looked around at the garden, and realized it was not so much a beautifully tended delight of flowers, but an infestation of greenery just barely curtailed from overgrowing the mansion.

“And she lets him tend her gardens?”

Ressa’s face said it all. Nalthal, the dangerously irritable [Druid] led them through the maze and several twists and turns. It didn’t seem that protected, but Magnolia explained to Zel as he walked.

“You see, I had a break in last month…terrible business and I have some rather powerful artifacts here, so I decided to place them with Nalthal. I do have a treasury, but some of the items are ah, rather large and Nalthal is quite good at his job. I believe his shrubbery ate two [Assassins] when they attacked. Oh, here we are!”

Ancestors!

Zel roared and nearly dove out of the way as he rounded a bend in the maze and came face-to-face with a giant metal monster. A Golem, a monster with knives for hands and a huge metal body inscribed with runes and armored like a Dullahan stared down at him. A glowing white light shone from its mouth—it had no head, just a giant opening which was his mouth and eyes and face all at once.

It was huge. And it was one of a pair. The second battle Golem loomed over Zel, a mass of metal and magic that shone with inactivated spells and deadly intent. The [General] backed up fast from the two Golems, staring at Magnolia.

“Dead gods, are those War Golems? Where did you get these things from?”

“Oh, the Reinhart family vaults of course. I have a grandfather—whom I would very much like to kill if you and Niers do agree to join me—who has a few lying about. I thought they would be a fine addition to the army. They certainly are good at killing things.”

Magnolia twinkled at Zel. She walked over to the hulking War Golems without fear. That was more than Zel could do—his heart was beating out of his chest as he recalled stories of how War Golems would wade through armies leaving a trail of death in their wakes.

Ressa clearly had heard the same stories, because she was eying the huge metal monsters with the same trepidation. Both War Golems were over twelve feet tall and were more than a match for any monster they encountered. Only Nalthal’s overgrown hedge maze could have hidden them. The [Druid] seemed unimpressed with the War Golems as well. He kicked one and walked around it, muttering as Magnolia explained.

“I requisitioned some soldiers from my estate as well. They’re already at the meeting place—oh dear, I hope they have food—well, I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’re [Knights], and [Mages]. A small force and they don’t see combat much, but they are well equipped.”

“And the two War Golems? They’re for me?

Zel stared upwards, scarcely able to believe a relic from the past would be put under his command so easily. If he’d had both of them before, Ilvriss would have thought twice about attacking him. Any army would. A War Golem was worth at least a thousand soldiers used correctly. Ancestors, no wonder Magnolia Reinhart could speak about creating a perfect army! Give him a hundred of the War Golems and he’d take down a Walled City!

Well, maybe not a Walled City, but anything up to that point—Zel’s mind spun with the possibilities of how he’d use them in battle. He wondered what a [Strategist] would make of them.

Magnolia smiled, and then turned as she saw Nalthal dragging something across the ground. She cried out in dismay.

“Oh come now Nalthal! That’s not the way to treat General Shivertail’s armor!”

“My what?”

Zel looked over and saw Magnolia fussing over a huge and clearly magical breastplate. She couldn’t lift it herself, so Ressa and Nalthal had to pick it up. It was dirty, but the dirt couldn’t hide the impressive nature of the armor. The golden-red metal shone in the dark night, and seemed to blaze as if a flickering fire was right in front of the armor. Nalthal sneered at it and nearly dropped his end until Ressa kicked him.

“This is a set of armor from the Reinhart vaults, General Shivertail. I selected it myself. It’s a powerful artifact and—”

“It’s stolen.”

Zel folded his arms. Magnolia blinked and broke off.

“Excuse me?”

The Drake [General] glared at Magnolia and Ressa alike. He pointed to the armor with a trembling claw.

“I recognize that armor! That is the Heartflame Breastplate, one of my people’s national treasures! We thought it was lost after General Ironscales was slaughtered and her corpse disappeared two centuries ago—you Humans had it this entire time?”

“Oh dear. Did we Ressa?”

“Probably.”

The [Maid] shrugged and glared at Nalthal as he dropped his end of the armor and stomped away. She offered it to Zel unapologetically.

“The Reinharts steal everything. Regis Reinhart acquired it and we had no idea it was in his possession until we asked. It’s yours now.”

“Mine?”

Zel stared at Magnolia in disbelief. He lifted the breastplate gingerly in his claws. It was indeed heavy, but if legends were true, it could stop an enchanted lance thrust to the heart without a problem. Magnolia smiled at him as the Drake looked at her in disbelief.

“Of course! The Golems are here to protect you and the breastplate should help you in battle if it’s that famous an artifact. I’m hardly one to be stingy with my wealth General Shivertail, and you deserve to have as many artifacts as one of the Lords of the Wall in your Walled Cities.”

“And wear a hundred rings and amulets at all times? Hardly. But I will take this armor. I don’t need enchanted gear, but this—”

It was like he was a small child again and being given an actual magic sword. Zel’s claws trembled as he unbuckled his breastplate. Once upon a time Sserys had ordered a set of magical armor made for Zel and he had refused. He didn’t need armor thanks to his Skills. But this?

When Zel stood, his armor burned on his chest and he felt warm, stronger. Magnolia clapped her hands in delight and Ressa carefully wiped some dirt off of the gleaming enchanted metal. Zel looked at her and felt conflicted.

“You have a thousand magical artifacts, Reinhart. Countless secrets, powerful servants, and more wealth than I can dream of. How is it that you haven’t taken over this continent already?”

The Deadly Flower of the North smiled at Zel and he thought she looked rueful. Just for a second.

“Honestly? Because money cannot buy everything, Zel Shivertail. I have artifacts, yes. Money, yes. Servants? Oh, they are strong, but they are not champions. The Goblin King swept through these lands because he was mighty. I am a [Lady], not a warrior, General Shivertail. To back up my charming words and wealth, I need a sword, an army. Do you see why I approached you?”

“I do. But I’m sorry to say—”

“Yes, yes. You’re not my sword. Not yet.”

Magnolia waved a hand, looking put out. Zel grinned. He opened a claw and looked up at the War Golems.

“I was going to say that you don’t have a sword. I’m a defensive [General]. If you want offense, get the Titan or bring back Sserys. I hold the line. Occasionally I charge into the enemy and redefine the line, but I’m best suited defending. You have a shield, Reinhart.”

She looked at him, her lips pursed, hands on hips.

“I know that I should appreciate that statement as it is, but a shield hardly sounds useful for dealing with a Goblin Lord.”

“No? You can give me one and I’ll beat him to death with it.”

Zel grinned and flexed his claws. He felt ready for a battle. The Goblin Lord might have an army, but Zel did too. Probably. And he had two Battle Golems, magic armor, and…well, that was about it. He just needed his claws and he’d tear a hole in that Goblin Lord’s chest.

At least, he hoped he would. In the worst case he might have to avoid a battle. It depended on the Goblin Lord’s army and how strong they’d be when Zel’s forces met him. Forty thousand soldiers was good, but the [General] hadn’t lived as long as he had by taking stupid risks. You took stupid risks only when you had no other choice.

“Well, I think I’ve got a few more things to think of. Lady Reinhart, shall we return to your mansion? I have a battle to plan.”

Magnolia smiled at him.

“Call me Magnolia, will you? And I will call you Zel. After all, we are allies and I hope, friends.”

Zel stared at her. Magnolia smiled. He coughed.

“No. We’re not friends.”

“What?”

Her smile vanished. Zel shuffled his feet. Ressa snorted.

“We’re not friends, Reinhart. I still don’t trust you.”

“Oh come now!”

She tried to grab his arm and he walked away. Magnolia sighed loudly.

“We are allies! Comrades-in-arms! I gave you that armor!”

“You can’t even lift my armor.”

“I am trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t have to be. We’re allies, not bedfellows.”

“This is really distressing me, Zel. I felt we had reached an understanding, a connection.”

“Don’t call me that, please.”

“Zel—”

“I’m going back to the mansion.”

“Fine! Unbelievable. Stubborn Drakes. Ressa, let’s go.”

“Okay.”

“Right. We’re off. General Shivertail? Which way are—”

“I don’t know. Which way’s the way out?”

“Of course it’s that—no, I suppose not. Or this way? Hm. Nalthal! Which way is…Nalthal?”

The two Humans and Zel looked around. The [Druid] turned [Gardener] did not reply as Magnolia called his name. They looked around and realized they were lost in the hedge maze, between towering thick walls of greenery that were at least sixteen feet high. Now that Zel really thought about it, you could probably die in a maze. He looked at Magnolia. Ressa looked at Magnolia. Magnolia looked around and sighed.

“I hate my [Gardener].”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.45

The hour was late. Across the continent of Izril, it was nighttime. Of course, in Baleros it was morning and Kenjiro was awake and negotiating the cost of paper with Xalandrass the Naga. In Chandrar, it was just past midday and Trey was ‘sparring’ with Gazi, which mainly meant her kicking him about until he couldn’t move.

But things were happening everywhere. Meetings of note were occurring. In Magnolia Reinhart’s personal estate, the famous [Lady] was ordering her two War Golems to blast a hole in a walled hedge maze. And while the ensuing battle between Ressa, Zel, and an enraged [Druid] gardener might have been amusing to witness (if not experience), other important conversations were happening. Cakes were being thrown.

And that was the thing. Despite its subpar nature as a weapon of war, cakes had the unparalleled value of both comedic effect and surprise on their side. They could start a fight or in this case, halt one. Fragments of the large cake Erin had made dripped off of Ylawes’ armor and onto the ground, a capital waste of sugar. But it had stopped him from charging at the Redfang Goblins.

This was the scene. Ylawes stood in the open doorway of Erin’s inn, sword drawn and shield raised. He’d been struck by a flying cake—mainly because it hadn’t registered as a threat until too late. Even though he was frosted, he was still eying the Redfang Warriors warily. And they had recognized him.

All five of the Redfang Warriors were on their feet, holding their weapons. Badarrow was aiming an arrow at Ylawes’ chest, but they weren’t attacking. Rather, they were frozen.

Around the room, the other adventurers were also on their feet. The Halfseekers were eying the Goblins and the Horns of Hammerad were eying the new adventurers. Yvlon’s face was pale. Ceria was blinking as she stared at the other half-Elf standing behind Ylawes. Pisces was fighting with Mrsha and Ksmvr over a slice of cake. Everyone else was waiting for everyone else to make the first move.

Lyonette stared as Erin sat back down at her table. The [Innkeeper] looked around, seemingly satisfied with her handiwork.

“See, this is why you always bake three cakes. Ishkr, go get me another.”

That broke the silence. Ishkr blinked as half the eyes shifted to him, and then one of the new adventurers began to laugh. The Dwarf, standing by Ylawes’ side, started chuckling and then guffawing loudly.

He did it well. Erin had never heard a proper guffaw, but the Dwarf was so boisterous, so unashamedly loud and amused that it broke the tension. By his side, the half-Elf lowered her staff with a sigh and Ilvriss sat up. The Wall Lord eyed the new adventurers and looked at Erin.

“Is your inn always like this, Human?”

She began to laugh as well. The room relaxed. Jelaqua began to laugh, Moore covered his mouth with one hand, and Seborn sat down. Only Ylawes, the Goblins, and Yvlon remained tense. The [Knight] in caked armor stared suspiciously at the Goblins and then at Yvlon. He called out sharply.

“Yvlon! What are Goblins doing here? Get behind me—”

“Ylawes—”

It was clear that Yvlon and Ylawes were related, and not just from their names. Ylawes’ hair was a darker blonde, but they both had fair features and a certain angular and European cast to their faces. Mainly though, it was the way they dressed. Both wore silvery armor—although Yvlon’s was more mismatched due to it being a collection of enchanted armor—and their eyes were both light blue.

Yvlon looked at her older brother helplessly, stunned by his sudden appearance. Ylawes was more focused on the Goblins, though. He held his sword and shield grimly, ready for a fight.

“Why are Goblins—”

“They’re guests, Ylawes. Can’t you tell?”

The half-Elf standing behind him interrupted Ylawes by tapping him on the shoulder with her staff. He turned his head, disbelieving.

“Impossible. Goblins in an inn? That has to be—”

“Why else would they be here? Besides, there’s a sign.”

Erin stopped laughing and sat up as the half-Elf informed Ylawes coolly. The [Knight] hesitated.

“A sign?”

The half-Elf woman sighed loudly. She nodded to the open door, which was letting in cold night air. Erin was tempted to ask them to shut the door, but she didn’t want to interrupt.

“It says ‘No Killing Goblins’ on the sign outside, Ylawes. Didn’t you read it? You were warned.”

“It does?”

The [Knight] turned in astonishment. The Dwarf by his side snorted and Ylawes looked down.

“Just like a Human not to notice what’s at his feet! Well, what now, lad? Are you going to break some skulls and break the rules or sheathe that sword before it gets rusty?”

Ylawes hesitated, looking around the room. It was tense—the Redfang Goblins were all clearly ready for a fight, and the other adventurers were tense. Maybe they weren’t on the Goblins’ side, but the sight of Moore peering at you with his massive staff held in one hand…he was such a considerate, gentle soul, but he could also push a thumb through your face if he chose.

After a second, Ylawes sheathed his sword. Erin smiled broadly and stood up.

“You read the sign! No one reads the sign! For that you get a free drink! On the house!”

The new adventures looked at her. The Dwarf tugged at his thick beard and spoke with a deep, booming voice.

“Free drinks? Hah! Maybe coming all this way was worth it after all! I’ll have five mugs to start with and whatever you’re eating. That thing you hit Ylawes with will do to start with.”

He stumped across the inn and took a seat at the nearest table. Erin blinked at him.

“Wait, I said free drink. You have to pay for the others…”

“This inn serves Goblins?”

The [Knight] addressed Erin, still peering at the Goblins. They’d sat themselves back down the instant he sheathed his sword. Badarrow and Rabbiteater made expressive gestures at the armed warrior from their seats. Erin only smiled.

“That’s right. Welcome to the Wandering Inn! You get a free drink on the house for reading the sign—one free drink.

“I heard you!”

The Dwarf shouted back. He was waving at Ishkr. Ylawes opened his mouth, probably to ask the obvious questions Erin normally got, but he broke off as he looked at his feet. Something white and furry was circling his armored boots. Mrsha had snuck forwards and was greedily stuffing the remains of the cake into her mouth. Lyonette cried out.

“Mrsha, no! That’s disgusting! Stop that!”

The Gnoll looked up completely unashamed, frosting covering her face. She bolted as Lyonette came towards her with a mop and the [Princess] chased after the Gnoll. Ylawes followed them for a few seconds, blinking, and then looked at Erin again.

“Your inn serves Goblins?”

“Yup! And you are…?”

She stared at him expectantly. Ylawes worked his jaw for a few seconds, and then recovered and bowed slightly.

“Pardon me, Miss. Ylawes Byres at your service. I lead the Silver Swords, an adventuring group dedicated to fighting monsters. I am a [Knight], and as such, offer you my sword and shield if you should ever be in need.”

His eyes flicked to the Redfang Goblins as he spoke. Erin smiled at him.

“Hi. I’m Erin. I don’t think I’ll need your sword and shield, but I guess I’ll ask if I’m in trouble. I’m an [Innkeeper]. Sorry about throwing the cake at you.”

Again, Ylawes found himself at a loss for words, so Erin relented a bit and dropped a bit of her oblivious act. She briskly nodded to the Redfang Warriors.

“I serve Goblins at my inn, Mister Ylawes. They don’t cause trouble and I don’t let people stab them with swords. If you don’t like that you can leave—although it seems like you know Yvlon. Are you two related?”

“I’m her brother. I’ve been searching for her for weeks—you truly let Goblins come in and out all the time?”

He really seemed to be having a hard time getting over the entire idea of Goblins, or at least, Goblins as guests. Erin frowned at Ylawes, but the half-Elf by his side came forwards next.

“Please excuse my companion, Miss Erin. We will abide by your rules so long as we remain at the inn. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Falene Skystrall. At your service.”

“Oh!”

Erin blinked at the half-Elf and took her in for the first time. She had light red hair, unearthly features like Ceria, but where the two half-Elves differed was age and bearing. Ceria was down-to-earth when you got to know her. Whereas this half-Elf was clearly older and conducted herself with the grace and dignity that Erin ascribed to typical stories about Elves. As Falene introduced herself she bowed elegantly and made a complicated gesture with her left hand. Erin bowed back awkwardly, feeling clumsy compared to the other half-Elf.

“Uh—uh, hi! Welcome to my inn.”

“Thank you. Allow me to apologize for Ylawes’ actions. We do not often meet Goblins that aren’t openly hostile…although it seems like this month is the exception to that rule. I am also surprised to meet another of my kin. Greetings, sister.”

She looked towards Ceria as she said that. The other half-Elf was staring at her. Falene made another gesture with her hands and bowed again to Ceria.

Ceria nodded and didn’t bow or make any gestures with her hands.

“Uh, I’m Ceria Springwalker. Pleased to meet you…sister.”

Falene’s eyebrows rose slightly. She looked at Ylawes and nudged the [Knight] again with her staff.

“I believe that concludes our introductions. Ylawes, you might want to ask for a towel and some water to wipe yourself off…then you can speak with your sister. As for myself, I believe I’ll enjoy my drink.”

“It’ll take more than that to clean all that cake off.”

Erin felt a bit bad for Ylawes, splattered as he was with drying frosting. Falene eyed Ylawes and nodded.

“True. Well, this should get most of it off.”

She raised her staff and tapped Ylawes on the breastplate. There was a loud knocking sound and then the frosting and cake stuck to his armor, face and hair immediately dried and fell to the ground. Erin whistled, and Falene nodded in satisfaction. She followed the Dwarf to the table as Ishkr hurried back with a few drinks.

Ylawes looked around, at a loss for a few seconds. Then he grimaced.

“This is not how I envisioned finding my sister.”

He stomped after his two teammates and sat at the table. Erin looked around. Mrsha was running about wildly on a sugar high, Ksmvr was eying the remains of the cake on the ground, Pisces was licking his fingers, and Ceria was staring at Falene with a frown. The Halfseekers were pointing at the Silver Swords and clearly about to wander over and introduce themselves, Ishkr and Drassi were busy getting more food from the kitchens, and Ilvriss was looking around, discontented that no one was paying attention to him.

Erin sighed. Another day at the inn. She smiled, and grabbed Mrsha as the Gnoll ran past. She handed the wriggling Gnoll to Lyonette and shooed Apista away from the faerie flowers. She took three flower bulbs and squeezed them lightly, flicking the nectar into a mug. And then she got to work.

Getting to know people.

 

—-

 

Ylawes Byres had come here to meet Yvlon Byres. He sat with his sister, talking quietly in a corner once he’d been served a deflated soufflé. Erin had to apologize for that.

“I guess my food preservation skill doesn’t save them from gravity. And I just made them today! Oh well. I’ve got pizza and lots of other food if you want it.”

“I’m grateful for the food, Miss Erin. We’ve been travelling for days now, and our last proper meal was as we were passing through Remendia. There was scarce food to be had in Esthelm as it was.”

Ylawes assured Erin as he poked at the sad soufflé with a fork. At another table, the Dwarf spoke up loudly.

“Not to mention you had to give half our dinner away! If we hadn’t arrived at Liscor tonight, I’d have eaten you, lad.”

Erin grinned, and Ylawes twisted in his seat to glare at the Dwarf.

“You’re barely a decade older than me, Dawil.”

“So? I’m a Dwarf. You’re a Human brat. I can call you lad if I want.”

The half-Elf sitting at the table raised her elegant brows and looked reprovingly at both of her companions.

“Which you only do when you’re trying to be aggravating. Let Ylawes talk with his sister, Dwarf. Or have you forgotten I’m older than both of you combined?”

“I hadn’t forgotten, grandmother.”

The Dwarf grinned to himself for all of five seconds until Falene tapped him on the head with her staff. He roared in outrage as the dark brown hair on his head began to smolder and doused the flames with his free drink. Falene stood up to walk over to Ceria as Dawil hurled his mug at her back. It flew towards her head then froze and gently floated onto another table. The Dwarf returned to his table, muttering about half-Elves who couldn’t take jokes.

The Silver Swords, the new adventuring group were spread around the room now and Erin dearly wanted to listen to the conversations all three adventures started. She was extremely interested in them all, not least because they were an almost stereotypical group of adventurers. A half-Elf, a Dwarf, and a Human? If a Hobbit walked through the door, Erin would have to get some autographs.

And it was the Dwarf that Erin was most interested in. He was focused more on food than conversation, and loudly calling for more drinks to go with the shepherd’s pie he’d been served. Erin was working out just how to approach him when Ksmvr did the job for her.

The Antinium had been instructed on some of the niceties of social conversation by the Horns of Hammerad. He demonstrated his learning in the subject now by grabbing his tankard and a half-eaten Ashfire Bee, standing up, walking over to where the Dwarf was seated, and sitting down across from him. The Dwarf looked up at the Antinium and stopped chewing.

“What?”

Ksmvr stared at the Dwarf intently. He raised one of his hands and waved it.

“Hello. I am Ksmvr.”

The Dwarf stared back at him. After a second he grunted and nodded.

“I’m Dawil. Of the Ironbreaker family.”

He took a long drink from his mug and eyed Ksmvr. After a second, Dawil spoke again.

“You’re one of them Ants, aren’t you? I thought you lot were all murderous killing machines without a thought between ye.”

“I am not. Although I appreciate the comparison.”

Ksmvr nodded happily. Dawil snorted and choked on his drink. He cast one eye around the room, taking in the half-Giant, Selphid, Drowned Man, Gnoll cub…when he returned to Ksmvr he shrugged, apparently resigned to the fact that an Antinium was talking to him.

“What’s that you’re eating? Some kind of bug?”

“It is an Ashfire Bee. Very tasty, especially with honey and butter. Would you like to try a bite?”

The Antinium nodded and lifted his plate so Dawil could see the bee. The Dwarf paused again, but the sight of the half-eaten bee didn’t seem to put him off his food either.

“I don’t eat bugs. Anyways. Isn’t eating one of them bugs like eating your own kind?”

“Is it?”

Ksmvr paused as he broke off a bee leg. He thought about this as he crunched it down.

“No. Is eating a cow or a rat cannibalism for Humans or Dwarves?”

“It’s disgusting is what it is. I don’t eat rats.”

“No bugs, no rats…this is very sad. I see you are a Dwarf. Do all Dwarves not eat good food?”

Dawil snorted.

“Not unless we’re starving to death we don’t! I’d rather eat my beard than chew on insects like some half-Elf living in the forest.”

He shot that at Falene. The half-Elf raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t eat bugs, Dawil. That’s a stereotype about half-Elves. Hardly any of us resort to that.”

All of the Horns of Hammerad immediately looked at Ceria. The half-Elf [Cryomancer] coughed and looked the other way. Dawil laughed loudly and then broke off as something buzzed his way. He swatted at it and Apista flew away from his mug. The Dwarf stared at the insect with a mixture of horror and incredulity and then stared at Ksmvr. He pointed at Apista.

“Isn’t that a bee as well? Why is that thing flying around?”

“It is a pet of Lyonette. She works here. It is called Apista and I think, very tasty. But she is off limits for consumption.”

Ksmvr stared as Apista flew away from their table with his mandibles slightly parted in longing. Apista was noticeably larger than the Ashfire Bee that Ksmvr was eating. Dawil stared at Ksmvr.

“A pet? By my beard…and you’re eating one of its kind right in front of it?”

Ksmvr stared at Apista. He slowly raised the bee to his mouth and crunched off another part.

“Yes. That is what I am doing.”

Over her time with Apista in the inn, Erin had noticed that while the Ashfire Bee would hover around sweet drinks and food when they weren’t being attended, it would never go within arm’s length of Ksmvr or any of the Antinium. Now the bee flew after Mrsha. The Gnoll was being carried upstairs by Lyonette, visibly upset and cranky after eating so much cake. Dawil watched the bee go with some relief and turned back to Ksmvr.

“This is one hell of an inn. I’ve been to magical taverns in First Landing and Invrisil and they’re boring compared to this inn. This [Innkeeper] girl—she just lets Goblins and Ants eat here and doesn’t worry about being killed in her sleep?”

“Oh no. Miss Erin is very good at killing things. And she employs one of my kind. His name is Bird and he lives on the roof. By the way, I have never met a Dwarf. Are you happy, being a Dwarf? Is there a special racial advantage to being a Dwarf or are you relatively useless like Humans?”

“Hey!”

Erin had to come over at that. She took a seat at the table and smiled at Dawil. He eyed her, probably wondering about Ksmvr’s endorsement of her killing prowess. Erin smiled at Dawil, hesitated, and blurted out the first thing on her mind.

“You’re tall.”

The Dwarf blinked. Ksmvr tilted his head. Erin blushed.

“I mean—sorry, but I’ve never met a Dwarf either! And I didn’t expect you to be so, so…”

Tall. For a Dwarf, that was. Dawil grunted and sat up straight. He was a few inches over five feet in height, which was short for a Human, but far taller than Erin would have expected of a Dwarf. And he seemed amused by Erin’s interest.

“Hah! Not met many Dwarves, have you, girl? Oh wait. You said. Well, I’m a pure Dwarf, don’t you worry on that account! Pure as any Dwarf living, which I’ll grant isn’t what it used to be.”

He rumbled to himself as he took a huge spoonful of ground beef and potatoes and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then went on.

“Y’see, I’ve got a bit of Human blood in me. My great, great, great grandma, she was Human, and so was my great, great, great, great, great, great…uh, grampa. ‘Course, my Dwarf side’s too strong to let a bit of Human dilute my true ancestry, but over the years it mixes with our blood. Almost every Dwarf is a bit taller because of that. Not like how we used to be—short and yay-high!”

He gestured, indicating a height around four feet high. Erin nodded.

“That’s cool. Mixed heritage, I get that. I’m one hundred percent Human. My name’s Erin, by the way.”

“Right I heard. Got ears, don’t I? And I already told the Antinium bugger my name. I’m not wearing it out.”

The Dwarf took another huge bite. He wasn’t rude—well, he was—but Erin wasn’t offended by it. He had a rather likable, straightforward personality in fact. Erin grinned at him.

“So you’re an adventurer in the Silver Swords?”

Dawil eyed her as he reached for his mug.

“Do you state the obvious all the time, lass? ‘Course I am! Hey, you don’t have anything stronger here, do you? I feel like I’m drinking water!”

“I have actual water if you want it—”

Hah!

“Okay then, how does Firebreath Whiskey sound? It’s the only strong stuff I have in stock right now. But it tastes like someone poured habaneros into a sock and mixed it with mouthwash.”

“Ah! A proper drink!”

Dawil brightened. He drained his mug in one go which impressed both Ksmvr and Erin and waved a hand at Ishkr.

“Firebreath Whiskey over here! Give me a full mug and another plate of the potatoes and meat!”

“One for me as well.”

Erin turned as Ksmvr tried to imitate Dawil and nearly drowned from his own mug. Ilvriss was sitting upright, looking annoyed at the lack of company and morose again. Erin intercepted Ishkr before he could deliver the Drake a drink.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Ilvriss growled at Erin. She put her hands on her hips.

“No Firebreath Whiskey for you, Mister. You came here drunk and you had an entire mug of the stuff earlier. I’m cutting you off.”

The Lord of the Wall narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t cut me off. I am a Lord of the Wall!

“Too bad. You can have this drink instead if you want. It’s a specialty of the inn. Faerie Flower ale. Here, try it. It makes you feel better. Or worse.”

Erin presented Ilvriss with the special mug she’d made. The Drake took one look at the drink and turned his head away.

“Ridiculous. I won’t settle for an inferior Human drink. If you refuse to serve me, I’m leaving. I have better places to be anyways—”

He moved to rise unsteadily. Erin barred his way and shoved the drink into his face.

“Try it. Come on. You tried the cake.”

“That was different. Wait, is this like the cake?”

Ilvriss eyed the mug again. The Faerie Flower ale was indistinguishable from regular ale…pretty much because it was. The only addition was three drops of the special faerie flower nectar Erin had added. She smiled encouragingly.

“You won’t know unless you try it.”

The Drake hesitated. He took the mug, grumbled about substandard alcohol, and took a gulp. His expression soured, and he was about to shove it back at Erin when his eyes widened. Erin took a few steps back as Ilvriss slowly sat back down.

“And now we wait.”

She muttered to herself as she walked back to Dawil’s table. Erin hadn’t forgotten Ilvriss’ grief when talking about Periss. She only hoped the drink could do for him what it had for Halrac the first time the [Scout] had tried it.

“Oh, Halrac.”

Erin had to pause and close her eyes for a second. The [Scout] hadn’t shown his face in the inn since the night Ulrien had been cremated. But she could only take a moment of her time to think of him. At the table, Dawil was arguing with Ksmvr.

“What? Battle tactics? Strategic maneuvers? What do you think our group is? We’re adventurers! We charge in and sort things out afterwards. I hit things with my hammer, Ylawes hits things with his sword, and Falene twiddles her fingers and shoots sparks at monsters while she hides behinds our backs. It’s a sound strategy!”

“It sounds like the exact opposite of strategy.”

“Which is why it works! Now, what are you—Silver-rank? Dead gods, I didn’t think there were Antinium adventurers. Well, never mind. What you do is, when you see a monster you run at it. Screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“Yeah. A good old war cry. Then you hit it. Use a Skill if it’s big, and if it’s really big go for the kneecaps. That always works.”

“What if it is a giant slime? Giant slimes do not have kneecaps. I point this out not as an attempt to be confrontational, but merely to question—”

“Slimes? What are you doing fighting slimes? That’s when you get a [Mage] to handle the job!”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said! Remind me!”

“Kneecaps—”

“Well, if they had them, it would be a viable strategy!”

It was like watching a comedy duo in action, even better than when Pisces and Ksmvr did it. Erin hated to break up the fun, but she had to. She cleared her throat as she slid back into her seat. Dawil and Ksmvr looked at her expectantly.

“Sorry, but I had a thought. You’re the first Dwarf I’ve ever met, Dawil. I mean, I’ve seen half-Dwarves, but you’re the only full Dwarf I’ve ever seen.”

“Not surprising. My kind live mainly on Terandria and we don’t like travel. Too much water and boats get us seasick.”

The Dwarf shuddered as he reached for a second plate of steaming shepherd’s pie. He had an incredible appetite, but then, he was very muscular and stocky. Erin smiled.

“Well, yeah. But I was thinking…I have this coin you see. It’s well, sort of a mystery and no one can tell me what metal it’s made of. I was wondering…”

The Dwarf paused as she fished out the special coin she’d received. He eyed it, and then glared at Erin.

“What, do you think I know about metals just because I’m a Dwarf?

He looked mildly outraged. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Oh, no! No, it’s just—well, yes, actually. Sorry. I just thought that since you’re a Dwarf and uh…if you don’t know, that’s fine. But no one else I’ve talked to has a clue, so…”

The Dwarf grumbled into his beard, but then stuck out a hand.

“Alright, give it here then. Not like I’m a [Forgemaster], but I reckon I know a bit more than any Human or Drake [Blacksmith]…”

“Ooh. I probably should have asked one of them to look at it. Right. Oops.”

Dawil snorted as Erin handed him the coin. It flashed in the firelight as he held it up, not quite silver but pale, reflective. Ksmvr stared at it and the Dwarf grunted, his expression of annoyance growing more intrigued.

“Hold on, that’s not an alloy of silver…it’s got no silver in it in fact. And it’s no alloy. Wait a second…hey, innkeeper! Where’d you get this?”

Erin shrugged self-consciously as Dawil stared at her.

“Um…one of my guests gave it to me as payment. I mean, it was sort of a gift, not proper payment. Why? Is it worth a lot?”

The Dwarf grunted.

“Depends on how you look at it. It’s either priceless or worthless. You see, this metal’s not silver, gold, or any of your common metals like that. It’s pure mithril, or close enough.”

Mithril?

Erin’s raised voice made every head in the room shoot up. Quick as a flash, Jelaqua was at their table.

“Hey, did someone say mithril and Dwarf in the same sentence? I could really use a new flail and armor—”

“Back off, Selphid! No one’s forging you lot anything! I just said this thing’s mithril—no need to get worked up about it! Yes, this is mithril. So what?”

Dawil cleared his throat, realizing he had an audience. Seborn, Jelaqua, and an interested Ishkr were hovering around the table. He handed the coin back to Erin and she held it as if it were magic. Which it might be. The Dwarf was less impressed, though.

“What are you waiting for? The coin to start floating in midair? It’s mithril, I told you! It’s just a metal.”

“But it’s—I mean, its mithril!

Images of mithril chainmail and magical artifacts were spinning around Erin’s head. Dawil shook his own head sadly.

“Pah. It’s just a bit. You couldn’t make anything out of it—not that I’d want to try. That’s why I said it’s worthless or priceless. Sure, it’s rare to find a coin made purely out of the stuff—I can’t think of how old it must be—but who’s going to want something like that? It’s got no real value except as a collector’s item.”

He was too casual about the coin. Erin held it, trying to feel something out of the metal. All she felt was a bit of stickiness from where some drink had landed on it.

“Still, I mean—shouldn’t it glow or something?”

“It might. Buff it up a bit and it could look better. The coin’s covered in dust and the outer layer’s bonded with enough crap over the centuries. Scrape at it and it might look better.”

Dawil conceded grudgingly. He looked at Jelaqua.

“What’re you looking at, Selphid?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be a [Blacksmith] as well as a warrior, by any chance?”

She looked at him hopefully. Dawil guffawed in her face.

“Me? Do I look like I enjoy sweating in front of a forge fire? Count me out!”

“It’s just that I really would like better gear. I have this flail you see—by the way, I’m Jelaqua Ivirith, leader of the Halfseekers—”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you. Dawil of the Ironbreaker Clan.”

“—right, pleased, and I’d really love some better gear. Seborn’s got enchanted daggers, but no one makes enchanted flails. And I’ve heard that you can get Dwarf-made weapons for cheap. I was told mithril might be a good buy…”

The Dwarf shook his head as Erin sat at the table, polishing her coin with a tankard of water. It didn’t seem to work. She scrubbed hard but concluded she might actually need to scrape at it with a knife or something. That wouldn’t hurt the mithril, right? Or the faint engravings? It was supposed to be hard stuff. Erin went to look for a butter knife. Meanwhile, Dawil was beginning to argue with Jelaqua about weapons.

“Mithril? It’s things like this that make me regret ever leaving home! Every two-bit adventurer comes up to me asking for a magical blade—do I look like I carry a forge around on my back? And aren’t you lot an experienced Gold-rank team? What are you asking me about weapons for? We’re a new Gold-rank team.”

“Sorry. But it’s just that we don’t meet many Dwarves, and you hear rumors. So mithril weapons…?”

“Eh. Steel’s just as good.”

What? Aw, come on!”

The other adventurers looked at Erin. She was heartbroken, as if Dawil had just punched her in the stomach. She looked so downcast that the Dwarf had to explain.

“It’s just like you beardless lot to think one metal’s best! Mithril? Hah! If you want lightweight armor, sure, use a mithril alloy. But making plate armor out of the stuff? Do you know what that would cost? Plus, mithril’s not all it’s worked up to be. Sure, it’s stronger than steel, but it’s too malleable—you need to cut it with a stronger alloy. Then of course it’s better than regular steel, but for the cost—and forget about putting it in a weapon!”

“Well, if it’s the cost—”

Jelaqua began but Dawil talked over her.

“Not just cost! Unless you’ve got the sharpest blade in existence, you’ll have no weight behind your blows! Mithril’s not worth its weight in gold! Now, a composite metal made by a master is more preferable.”

“Okay, but what kind—”

“Oh, you’ll hear the words ‘adamantium’ and ‘orichalcum’ and ‘star metal’ and so on thrown around a lot, but that’s all rock crap. Real [Blacksmiths] who aren’t trying to take your money will tell you that pure metals are useless on their own. What you want to be asking is what level of refinement they’ve achieved and then asking what kind of alloys they’ll be making with said rare metals. Eh…how much they have on hand is also a good idea. It’s rare stuff and you don’t want to be waiting months for a shipment to arrive.”

Erin saw Jelaqua open her mouth, but the Selphid couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. The Dwarf kept going, as unstoppable as an avalanche. She realized that she might have opened a door she couldn’t close and resigned herself to listening as Dawil went on.

“If they tell you they can work in an adamantium alloy into your armor, well, they’re either lying or Level 50, because let me tell you, I can count the number of times I’ve seen anything with adamantium in it, and I grew up seeing the Old Elders about, and they can forge anything in the world. Not that you’d know it to look at them. Hah, real Dwarven smithing today is all about quality and efficiency. Take Dwarven steel for example. Good stuff will do you just as well as a fancy artifact, and let me tell you, if you want to order well, all you need to do is—”

Sitting and listening to Dawil, Ksmvr nodded repeatedly as the Dwarf kept talking. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Erin, Jelaqua, Seborn and Ishkr edging away from the Dwarf. Neither did Dawil. The Dwarf kept talking as he drank and ate, loudly proclaiming the virtues of metal for all to hear and managing to slip in several insults about Human and Drake craftsmanship while he was at it.

 

—-

 

“It looks like Dawil’s started one of his rants about blacksmithing. It will be hours before he stops. For a Dwarf that hates blacksmithing, he enjoys lecturing others about it too much.”

At another table Falene Skystrall lightly observed her companion as she sipped from a cup of wine and cut into one of Erin’s pre-cooked steaks. She had been pleasantly surprised to find out how many different dishes were on the menu, and more surprised at how fast it had appeared. Now she ate with excellent manners, sitting in her chair across from Ceria. And Pisces.

The [Necromancer] had invited himself to the table after washing his hands of cake and neither half-Elf had chased him away. Ceria didn’t have the heart for it and Falene didn’t seem to mind. In truth, Ceria was slightly grateful for Pisces’ presence. She felt awkward in the company of another half-Elf after so long.

Especially since Falene had given her a very traditional, very old-fashioned greeting. She was clearly a traditionalist and she had to be at least eighty years old! True, she looked barely older than her late twenties, but Ceria knew there was a big shift in perspectives depending on the age of a half-Elf. They were half-Human after all, and like Humans, they changed far more rapidly than their distant ancestors had.

“I hope Dawil doesn’t talk your companion’s ears off.”

“He doesn’t have ears, so he’ll be fine. I think Ksmvr’s the only person who’d actually enjoy a lecture like that.”

Ceria grimaced. Falene raised two eyebrows at her, the model of composure. Ceria bit the inside of her lip. Yup, definitely a traditionalist. Falene was the kind of half-Elf who tried to act like she thought true Elves had. That was to say, almost graceful, always elegant, and the voice of logic and reason within any group. You’d never catch her squatting in the bushes after eating something that didn’t agree with her system.

And she was also a [Mage]. A good one—Ceria could tell that just from sitting next to her. Falene had an air of control and power about her that Ceria hadn’t sensed in anyone since Wistram. Well, Typhenous and Moore were powerful too, but there was something about her magical presence that was familiar…

“I am surprised to meet a fellow half-Elf so far from Terandria, sister. Especially in the company of one of the Antinium. That is unheard of. It must have been quite a set of coincidences that landed you in each other’s company.”

Ceria blinked as Falene addressed her. She waited for a beat, and then shrugged.

“Yeah?”

What was she supposed to say to that? Half-Elves went places. So did Humans. Falene smiled.

“I don’t mean to judge. But it is strange—my party has travelled very, very far in search of Ylawes’ sister. We came all the way to Celum to look for her, then took a detour in Esthelm before heading north again…who would have thought all we had to do was go further south to find her?”

Ceria grunted.

“You could have spared yourself the trip. There’s a magical door that leads straight from Celum to Liscor. You can walk between the cities whenever you want now.”

The other half-Elf’s eyebrows shot up and she cast a glance at the door.

“So that’s what I was sensing from that door. Incredible. I had no idea a magical artifact that powerful had been found. And it’s sitting in an inn? Is this [Innkeeper] that high-level? I didn’t get the impression…”

She was being chatty with Ceria, as if they were friends. Just because they were of the same species. That bothered Ceria…mainly because it was a very typical half-Elven thing to do. Forget Drakes—half-Elves were notoriously insular. And if you were of the same species, you naturally stuck up for one another.

But then—they had to. Ceria sighed. She was just being irritable on purpose. After the news about Calruz and—well, it was hard to meet someone who was like you in many respects but more accomplished. She cleared her throat, trying to adopt a more civil tone.

“No, Erin’s not that high-level, although she’s pretty high. Uh…the door’s there because we gave it to her. My team found it in the Ruins of Albez.”

“Albez—you’re the famous Horns of Hammerad we’ve heard about?”

Ceria and Pisces both coughed and looked away as Falene exclaimed. Pisces looked pleased and Ceria felt pleased and embarrassed.

“That’s us. We got lucky, honestly. We’re a Silver-rank team—hoping to be Gold-rank soon. That door was one of the treasures we obtained you see, and we owe Erin a lot, so it was her take of the treasure…”

Falene listened with interest to Ceria’s account of the events that had led them in salvaging the door from Albez. Adventurers swapped stories as a matter of course, and Ceria was humble enough not to embellish. Especially because she had heard of the Silver Swords in passing, and they were an actually famous group. Most Gold-rank groups made a name for themselves, although Ceria usually only knew the names. Now she tried to recall any of the Silver Swords’ exploits and failed.

“I am quite impressed! And from what I can see, your group is rather unusual. Two out of four of your group are [Mages]…it’s usually the case where there’s only a lone [Mage] unless the adventuring team is quite large. I sometimes wish I had another magic user to help guard my companions.”

The half-Elf sighed and glanced at Ylawes, who was deep in conversation with Yvlon, and Dawil. Ceria glanced at Yvlon—the young woman seemed tense and not quite at ease. Falene noticed her glance.

“Don’t worry. Ylawes is merely concerned about his sister. When he heard her adventuring group had been destroyed in Liscor’s dungeon he insisted we head south right away. It’s taken us weeks to journey from Invrisil.”

“That’s some commitment. I guess that’s family for you. But Yvlon seemed determined not to meet him. Do you know why that is?”

Falene sighed.

“I think Ylawes is intent on escorting Yvlon back to their home.”

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Pisces looked up from his cup and glanced at Ylawes before raising his eyebrows at Ceria. She made a face at him—yes, she didn’t want that, but they were family! Falene looked between the two.

“I’m sure he won’t force her. Or if he does, Dawil and I can talk him out of it. Ylawes is stubborn as a boar, but he can be persuaded. Given time.”

Ceria nodded at Falene in appreciation.

“Seems like you’re a good team. That’s surprising. I’d never expect one of us to be travelling with a Dwarf. Given how much they don’t like us—”

“Bad blood. It’s not as if our animosity is recent. I was more surprised that a Human wanted to journey with me after Terandria. But Ylawes is an excellent leader, and not prejudiced against us in the least. A delightful change from home, wouldn’t you say?”

Falene glanced at Ceria and the half-Elf nodded reluctantly.

“Speaking of home…Pisces is from Terandria as well.”

“Oh, I apologize. I didn’t meant to assume. It’s just that it’s rare to meet Humans who don’t have at least a bit of mistrust of half-Elves. Especially if they’ve grown up in some of the kingdoms…allow me to introduce myself again. I’m a generalist [Mage], although I’ve recently achieved the [Battlemage] specialization in my class.”

Both of Pisces’ brows shot up and Ceria sat up a bit in her chair.

“This is impressive. You have quite the magical flair about you, Miss Falene. May I inquire as to where you studied?”

The half-Elf laughed.

“Why, Wistram of course! I graduated from the academy three decades ago. A lifetime by Human standards. But I remember it fondly, and I count myself privileged to have studied there. So many [Mages] are powerful, but lack the discipline Wistram provides. That half-Giant for instance. Moore? Such a lovely person, but his aura is unrefined. You two on the other hand…”

Falene broke off, glancing from Ceria and Pisces.

“Yes, you two have more focus to your mana flow. Are you students of Wistram, perhaps? Taking a sabbatical? That was all the fashion when I was learning.”

She couldn’t have known how her words would make Pisces and Ceria tense up. The two [Mages] exchanged a glance, and Ceria saw Pisces’ knuckles grow white on his mug. What should she say? There were so many things she could say that were lies and untruths—but would they hurt less than the truth?

She didn’t get a chance to decide. Pisces was the one who spoke. The [Necromancer] smiled, a slight glint in his eyes as he nodded at Falene.

“We are both from Wistram, indeed, Miss Falene. However, you mistake our natures. We are graduates, the two of us.”

Ceria held her breath as Falene blinked. She looked at Pisces and then at Ceria, and then she smiled.

“Hm. Are you? In that case, it seems like the standards have lowered quite a bit since when I last attended.”

Calmly, and quite oblivious to the reaction her words had caused, Falene gently levitated her cup of wine up to her lips and took a sip.

 

—-

 

“You should have sent word to me immediately when you were injured. I would have come sooner, but there was a situation with a city—Esthelm. And we stopped to help villages along the way…you should have told me. I would have sent gold, hired a carriage to take you north—”

Ylawes and Yvlon sat at a table in the corner of the inn, removed from the discussions happening elsewhere. The Goblins sat forgotten at their table, watching Ceria and Pisces bristle with interest, their ears perking up as Dawil’s voice droned on. Ylawes ignored them. His only concern was for his little sister.

As for his little sister, she was not happy. Yvlon stared hard at her brother, trying not to envy the shining silver armor that had given his group their name, the family crest etched proudly on his armor and shield that identified him as a [Knight].

He was everything she aspired to be. Everything she dreamed of. But he was not who she wanted, not now. And yet here he was. He’d ridden here hundreds of miles to save his younger sister, to champion the weak and innocent. Like he always did. But she was neither weak nor innocent and Yvlon tried to tell her brother that in no uncertain terms.

“I didn’t tell you because it was my mistake, my weakness that got my team killed, Ylawes. And afterwards, I was adventuring with another team. We had our successes. We found treasure in Albez—

“And you were injured for it. Your arms, Yvlon! Silver and steel, I’m glad mother didn’t hear of it! All the family knew was that you’d taken some injury that couldn’t be healed by a potion.”

Yvlon closed her eyes, remembering the burning heat that had raced up her arms, the pain, the melting and then—

“Yeah. But I got this injury protecting my team. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“And I’m proud of you for that. But see reason Yv! We have to get you north. There’s bound to be a [Healer] who can help mend your arms.”

“There isn’t. The metal’s in my bones, Ylawes.”

“Even so. A [Mage], perhaps? Money’s no expense. I have a small fortune and I’m sure father and mother know many people we could reach out to. We’ll have to wait a while for the Goblin Lord’s army to pass by, but we can send word at once and begin asking—”

“I’m not going, Ylawes.”

Ylawes broke off, staring at his sister in disbelief. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m not going back home. Not yet. I have too much to do here. I’m in a team!”

It took her brother a second to find his voice, and when he did, it was angrily.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yvlon! You can’t fight with those injuries! With your arms the way they are, any prolonged battle will risk you breaking them again. Or worse! One good blow will—”

“I know that! But so what? I’m not going to be flailing around trading blows with my enemies, Ylawes! I have a sword with the weight enchantment applied to it—a better sword than the one you have! I can fight, even if my arms are weaker than they were. If they break, I’ll heal them—Pisces can repair the bones!”

Yvlon pointed towards Pisces, neglecting to mention the [Necromancer]’s class. It didn’t matter. Ylawes had changed tactics. His voice was soothing now as he stroked at the stubble on his chin.

“Of course you’re right to be proud. A magical sword at your age? Father will be so happy when he hears. But be reasonable Yvlon! You should at least have a rest, or visit our estate. A month of rest and we can go adventuring together. I’m sure your companions won’t mind—why not ask them to come with you? There’s sure to be enough requests around our home to—”

“I said no.

Yvlon snapped the word loudly, making heads turn in the mostly empty inn. She tried to calm herself.

“Ylawes, I appreciate that you were concerned. But—couldn’t you have asked if I was well before coming all this way to help me? I’m a grown woman, and you don’t need to worry about me. Honestly, I’m as fine as anyone is in this profession.”

The [Knight] looked troubled as he looked at his younger sister.

“Are you, Yvlon? I had to plot a huge course around the Goblin Lord’s army on the way south, Yvlon. And before that—I clashed with one of his raiding armies. They’d already sacked a city and they were coming back to slaughter all of its inhabitants and turn them into undead. This Goblin Lord’s a true threat, Yvlon. I’d heard the Goblins were dangerous, but using the undead? There was one skeleton I met in Esthelm that—”

He broke off, shaking his head. Ylawes turned back to Yvlon.

“I can only hope the army being assembled to the north will be enough to destroy the Goblin Lord and his army completely. I would have ridden myself in answer to Lord Tyrion’s call, but father sent enough forces from our household that will do. I hope. But that just proves my point. You’re in more danger around Liscor—there are Antinium here! Have you any idea what—”

He hadn’t realized Ksmvr was in her party. Yvlon closed her eyes, and then part of what Ylawes had said struck her like lightning. She sat up, cutting her brother off.

“Wait a second, we sent aid to Lord Tyrion? But Lady Magnolia was levying all the city-states around Invrisil!”

Ylawes frowned.

“You hadn’t heard? Lady Reinhart sent out a levy, true, but Lord Tyrion did the same. We sent reinforcements to him—as many [Soldiers] and [Guards] as father thought we could afford.”

Yvlon stared at her brother in horror.

“What? Not to Lady Magnolia? Ylawes, House Byres has always supported the Reinharts! Aunt Magnolia is a close friend of mother’s!”

“I know.”

“So why—”

It wasn’t so much what Ylawes said as the way he said it. His gaze shifted and he didn’t exactly meet Yvlon’s eyes as he spoke. She sat, heart pounding as he replied softly.

“Recent events have called her authority into question. There were several assassinations—of [Ladies] tied to Magnolia no less! Father was worried that…well, it doesn’t matter. Lord Tyrion’s levy on the city-states came at the same time as Lady Magnolia’s. So we answered his call while a smaller group was sent to Lady Reinhart. She will have an army, but it will be Lord Tyrion’s that sweeps the Goblins away. Or so father thinks.”

“What? But that would mean you’re supporting Lord Tyrion. While Aunt Magnolia…”

“It’s just strategy, Yvlon. Lady Magnolia did not request for any [Lord] or any [Generals] to lead the army she’s assembling, and she’s no leader herself. Without a high-level commander, her army doesn’t stand a chance. She could hold Invrisil I suppose, but Lord Tyrion is one of our best war leaders. Moreover, he has his own personal army and is creating a vastly superior force to Lady Reinharts’.”

That was true. Lord Tyrion was a famous [Lord]. And yet, he was at odds with Magnolia Reinhart, and she was one of the most powerful figures on Izril! If she wanted an army, she could raise one. Yvlon stared at Ylawes.

“But Magnolia is clearly trying to challenge the Goblin Lord. Otherwise, why would she assemble an army?”

“I don’t know. For defense, perhaps. All of the forces she requested are assembling just west of Invrisil by all accounts. I suspect that the officers of each unit will withdraw around Invrisil to protect it if the Goblin Lord tries to take the city. They’ll protect the citizens.”

“And if Aunt Magnolia orders them to attack the Goblin Lord?”

Ylawes still didn’t meet Yvlon’s eyes. He traced on the table with a gauntleted finger.

“I…suspect they will politely refuse her request.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. Ylawes looked away.

“It’s not a lack of faith in her, Yvlon. It’s just…strategy. Magnolia Reinhart will have to be reasonable and see sense. She can’t ask the impossible. No one can.”

He said that, but Yvlon knew otherwise. The Reinharts—Magnolia in particular—were not known for being ‘reasonable’ about anything. They got their way. And if they didn’t, what did that say about the political situation in Izril? About the influence of the Reinharts, of Lady Magnolia?

It was all too big. Too far. Yvlon shook her head, putting distant conflicts with other nobles and the Goblin Lord out of her head. She looked at Ylawes.

“Be that as it may, I’m still not going north, brother. I’m staying here. I have a friend that might be in trouble and I won’t abandon my party.”

She folded her arms. Ylawes glared at her and blew out his cheeks slowly.

“I could drag you back—”

“No you couldn’t.”

“By all rights I should write to father and have him order you—”

“He can’t order me. This is a matter of honor, Ylawes. I belong with my group. I swore to fight with them. And besides—there’s a teammate of ours who might be alive. From the dungeon.”

“Truly?”

That threw Ylawes. Honor was important to him. It was to all of the Byres family. Yvlon explained about Calruz and saw his stubborn expression change. Ylawes wavered, rubbed at his eyes, and then came to a decision.

“You really won’t come back, will you? I was so sure…”

“No. I won’t.”

Yvlon felt triumphant as she looked at her brother. He was wavering, but he seemed to accept her decision at last. He looked at her with a rueful expression—and then dropped a house on her.

“In that case you won’t be alone. I’m staying too.”

He smiled at Yvlon, a [Knight] in shining armor. She stared at her brother, a famous Gold-rank adventurer, a hero, in horror.

“No. You really don’t have to.”

Ylawes faltered.

“Yvlon, I can’t just leave you—if mother heard, I’d be disowned within the hour. I have to stay and protect you!”

“I’d actually prefer it if you go.”

“Yv—”

“Stop calling me that. And I swear, if you think your team is going to babysit mine—”

Ah, family love. Across the inn, Erin polished her super-special and probably magical mithril coin with a cloth, watching Yvlon and Ylawes talk. They were clearly engaged in a serious debate. It was so nice to have a brother. Or so she assumed. She wondered what it was like.

And what the heck they were talking about.

 

—-

 

Around midnight, Yvlon and Ylawes stopped arguing and rejoined the table. By this point, everyone who was awake was sitting around a table. Ceria and Pisces, Falene and Dawil, Jelaqua—Ishkr, Drassi and Lyonette had all been relieved and Erin was filling a few cups, but all was quiet.

Moore and Seborn had already gone to sleep, and Ksmvr had gone up to speak with Bird. About what was anyone’s guess, but the air in the inn was generally convivial.

Generally. Sort of. Ceria and Pisces sat across the table from Falene, and Yvlon and Ylawes glared at each other like true siblings. Erin happily looked around and noticed Ilvriss slumped at his table, his mug cradled in one hand.

Decisions were being made. Ylawes didn’t beat about the bush as he walked over to his two companions.

“We’re staying, at least for now. We’re challenging the dungeon in Liscor. Apparently there might be an adventurer stuck down there and Yvlon won’t leave until he’s found.”

“I won’t leave anyways.”

Yvlon growled under her breath. Falene looked interested and Dawil pulled himself upright. The Dwarf’s breath was practically toxic with alcohol fumes, but then, Jelaqua usually drank that much as well.

“What’s this about an adventurer? Someone got themselves lost in the dungeon?”

“No.”

Ylawes related the possibility of Calruz being alive as Ceria shot Yvlon a silent glance over the table. The armored woman gave Ceria a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

The silence that followed Ylawes’ explanation was long. Erin looked around and recalled a similar scene the time Pisces had broken the news.

Okay, so there was a possibility, however faint, that Calruz could be alive. However, and this was a huge however, if he was alive he could be anywhere in a huge dungeon the size of a city. The odds were that he was dead, and the dungeon had killed everyone but the two Gold-rank teams who’d gone into it. And they had to be very cautious as well. Erin remembered days when Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers would come back looking beat on, talking about monster ambushes and traps.

“So this Silver-rank team that might be Gold-rank is planning on finding their missing buddy all on their own, are they? You’re right Ylawes; that sounds exactly like the idiocy you’d get us tangled up in!”

Dawil groaned aloud and slapped his forehead. Ylawes glared at him and Ceria cleared her throat for everyone’s attention.

“You don’t have to help. We can’t pay—not anything worth the risk—and there’s no reward in it. This is our companion. We’ll find him. If he’s alive, he’ll stay that way after so long. If not…we’re working on it.”

They’d been taking requests to earn money for potions and so on, gathering experience. Pisces nodded as he played with his mug and Yvlon’s face was set. The Silver Swords looked at each other as Jelaqua glanced at the ground. Erin knew the Selphid hadn’t volunteered her team.

She couldn’t fault Jelaqua on that. That was the sane decision. Which made the Silver Swords’ one all the stranger. Ylawes looked at Falene, who raised her hand palm up, and then at Dawil, who muttered but nodded. He turned back to Ceria.

“We don’t need payment or a reward, Miss Ceria. The cause itself is enough. Any friend of Yvlon’s is a friend of ours. And if there is truly an adventurer in danger in Liscor’s dungeon, we will do everything we can to help. We, the Silver Swords, champion causes wherever they may be found, regardless of reward or risk!”

He said the words simply, as if they were a fact. He stood proudly as he said them, and his armor glinted in the faint firelight. Everyone else stared at him with open mouths. Slowly, Ceria leaned over and whispered to Pisces very softly.

“Is he…real? Or just completely insane?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Addled from one too many hits to the head is more likely. Or perhaps he suffers from some kind of martyrdom complex. No doubt a sad affliction of the [Knight] class.”

He didn’t bother to lower his voice. Ylawes glared at Pisces.

“Helping others in need is simply common sense, sir. If you saw a traveler on the road who was in trouble, would you help them?”

Pisces frowned.

“Would this be a man or a woman? Human? Drake? How rich are their clothes? Is there any danger nearby? How far am I from civilization? What kind of road is it?”

Ylawes stared at Pisces. The [Necromancer] smirked at him and Ylawes looked away, disgusted. Erin clapped her hands, breaking the silence.

“Good! You’re staying. And you’re helping Yvlon! Yay. Now, are you staying here? I have rooms.”

The Silver Swords looked at each other. Ylawes looked uncomfortable as he bowed slightly to Erin.

“My apologies, Miss Erin. But I don’t feel at ease sleeping under the same roof as…Goblins. I would like to use your door to find lodgings in Celum.”

“Or you could go all the way back home.”

“Yv…”

“That’s okay. I think the Goblins don’t like you anyways. Sorry, but that’s how it is.”

“Ah—yes. I’m…glad that we can all feel comfortable.”

Ylawes stumbled over his words and turned back to the others as a whole.

“I must apologize for my conduct earlier. I was not aware of the…peculiarities of this inn. However, as Yvlon’s older brother I thank you most sincerely for aiding her. She is of House Byres, and a credit to her family. I hope that you will all continue to aid her in the future.”

Yvlon covered her face with her hands, blushing. Ceria and Pisces exchanged a glance. Jelaqua raised a mug.

“I’ll drink to whatever that was! House Byres, huh? I knew Yvlon came from a rich family, but I didn’t know she was nobility! Fancy that.”

“We’re not a famous House, actually, Jelaqua. Far from it. We’re minor and we don’t get political. Until now.

Yvlon glared at Ylawes as she spoke. He nodded.

“House Byres has always supported itself with a healthy business in silver. We have a mine…and several of our family are [Merchants]. Some, like Yvlon and myself follow the family tradition of taking up arms to defend the common people.”

“Wow! You’re like a real [Knight] family, huh?”

Erin looked approvingly at Yvlon. She scowled.

“In decline. Ylawes and my other siblings help provide for the family, but we’re not rich, Erin.”

“True.”

Ylawes frowned.

“In the past our family used to be richer. Alas, there’s less call for quality silver now, which is one of our main exports. In the past of course, we were a household name, but the disappearance of the Vampires has reduced our estates too—”

“Did you say Vampires?

Erin was at Ylawes’ side so fast she could have teleported. The [Knight] blinked at her.

“Um, yes. Vampires. Indeed. They used to be a scourge on Izril and had several large infestations that were wiped out over the centuries. Our family, House Byres, was famous for rooting them out. And our silver was a key component of their destruction. It used to be said that if you wanted to survive a Vampire attack, you would wear a necklace of Byres silver.”

“Or garlic.”

Pisces muttered under his breath. Ylawes scowled at him. For once, Yvlon seemed to appreciate the [Mage]’s remarks. She shook her head as Erin looked disappointed.

“Vampires are gone, Erin. Or if they’re around, there’s not thousands of them like there were. My family’s well-enough off, even if some of us are more protective than they should be.”

She glared at Ylawes, and Falene smiled. She looked at Erin, one hand resting on her staff.

“That is House Byres for you, Miss Erin. They are rather infamous locally. Honorable, prolific, and stubborn as mules. I believe that’s what’s said behind their back.”

Erin laughed as both Yvlon and Ylawes turned to glare at Falene. She smiled and looked around.

“Well, I guess I have more regulars in the inn, even if you’re not staying here. That’s cool. I’ll show you guys how to get through Celum and back—it’s really easy, but I have to make sure you don’t trip over any of Octavia’s stuff when you go through the first time. She’s an [Alchemist].”

She showed the Silver Swords how to get to Celum as the others went to their beds. It was late—so late that Octavia was asleep, which was lucky. A midnight sales pitch was the last thing Erin wanted. She went to sleep happy, but exhausted, in a silent inn.

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 33!]

 

And then Erin sat up and remembered Ilvriss was still there.

“Darn it, I forgot I spiked his drink!”

She looked around her dark kitchen, wondering if she should wake the Drake up from whatever memory he was seeing. But then she decided it wasn’t worth the effort and went back to sleep.

“A brother coming to rescue her, huh? That’s nice. But I wonder what’s up with Lady Magnolia? And the Goblins? It sounds…not good.”

Erin’s eyes slowly closed. She went to sleep, dreaming of Goblins and silver and flying spaghetti monsters. Because it was a dream after all.

And in the inn, slumped over at his table, Ilvriss spoke one word.

“Periss?”

 

—-

 

“Periss?”

He knew he was dreaming. Ilvriss could tell by the little clues. The windowless room, the way there was no real smell, no sense of beginning or end to this place, and the tiny Corusdeer leaping about the table in front of him. He stared at them for a few seconds before looking up.

There she was. Even if it was a dream, it was the only one he’d ever want to have. Periss, his second-in-command, his secret lover, stood across from him. She was standing over the table, which was in fact, a map.

It was the most realistic map in the world. A little world, the map of Izril surrounded by the ocean, had been replicated in minute detail down to the very trees on the table. Animals too. Ilvriss could see herds of tiny Corusdeer bounding across the melting snowy landscape, and a miniature Hollowstone Deceiver, a Rock Crab, snagged one and tore it apart in a bloody mess as he watched.

The map was in fact a replica of one of the magical map rooms in the Walled City of Salazsar. It was depicting the Goblin Lord’s forces as he moved steadily northwards towards Invrisil. It seemed remarkably accurate for a dream map.

Ilvriss didn’t care. He only had eyes for Periss. But she was studying the map intently, not looking up at him. She brushed a claw over the light blue scales near the spines on her head, a gesture so familiar that Ilvriss could have wept.

Periss!

“I heard you Wall Lord, there’s no need to shout.”

Periss looked up with a slight frown. Ilvriss would have run over to her, but he couldn’t move. He was fixed in place on the other side of the map. He stared at her. She was so real! In this place, she was the only thing aside from the map that had any presence. And the dream had copied her down to the last detail. The faint odor of her body, the smell of her armor and the polish applied to it, the sounds her claws made as they faintly rasped against the map.

So real. It was pain, seeing her. Ilvriss would have strained to move, but in this dream, he couldn’t. He couldn’t try. It was a dream rule, and he was powerless. So he spread his arms.

“Periss. Come to me.”

“Not now.”

The Drake woman didn’t look up from the map. She was tracing the path of the Goblin Lord, frowning. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“Periss! Come away from the map! I want to touch you. I want to hold you. It’s been so long—”

“It will have to be longer, Wall Lord. We have business here, or have you forgotten the Goblin Lord?”

“Damn the Goblin Lord. I don’t care about him or the Humans.”

Ilvriss spoke urgently. Periss looked up for a moment and smiled—his heart leapt in his chest.

“Neither do I. But they are potential threats. Just look here.”

She traced a claw along the Goblin Lord’s route. Ilvriss saw black smoke rising from a collection of burnt houses, fresh.

“He’s been destroying villages, one small town…but avoiding all of the cities, even the ones he could take. He’s conserving his forces, trying to move fast. Why? To avoid a Drake army coming from the rear? Or something else?”

“Periss…”

“And here. He’s going to hit Invrisil unless he turns. The Humans are assembling a force to stop him, but will it be enough? Magnolia Reinhart’s not known for her prowess in battle. Whereas Tyrion is assembling a force here, but it won’t be in time to save Invrisil. If the Goblin Lord attacks.”

It was agony seeing Periss standing over the map. Ilvriss tried to move again and failed. She went on, focused, gnawing at a lip as she did when she was thinking hard.

“It could all be open-and-shut if the Goblin Lord is defeated. But what if he’s not? I know there’s a small force coming to defend Liscor and another army coming north. If they’re needed, if the Goblin Lord isn’t stopped by the Humans, we’ll want to be ready.”

“Who cares? Let it all burn. Just come to me and I’ll leave it behind.”

Ilvriss would have damned his home to ash and fire just to reach out for her in that moment. Periss looked up and glared at him.

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Look, it’s all predictable, unless the Reinhart woman has a trick up her sleeve. Her army might be able to fend off the Goblin Lord, but never destroy his army. Not without a leader. The key is what General Shivertail knows. Why did he disappear? Unless…no, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?”

It didn’t matter. None of it did. Periss was here, but she was ignoring him. Ilvriss collapsed onto the floor. He begged out loud, he who had never begged before.

“Please, Periss! Touch me. Come here. Speak to me!

He shouted the last words, cursing the dream he was in, this nightmare, this cruel torture. There was only silence in reply. He wept, clutching the map table, feeling the ocean and land crumbling under his claws. And then he heard a voice.

“Oh Ilvriss.”

Periss walked around the table. Disbelieving, Ilvriss looked up. She knelt, and then slapped him.

He gaped. Periss was no weakling. She was a trained warrior and her blow made his head ring. She hit him on the other cheek and Ilvriss reeled.

“Get ahold of yourself!”

She shouted at him. Ilvriss raised his hands to the real, stinging pain in his cheeks. Periss glared at him.

“I’m dead for less than a month and this is what you’re reduced to? You’re not the Drake I chose to follow, the leader I fell in love with! You drink and abandon your duties? Because of me?”

“Periss—”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

She glared at him and Ilvriss recalled that she didn’t like him saying her name, even in private. It was always [Lieutenant], then [Captain], and so on as she rose in rank. She disapproved of flirting before the battle was over, too. It was business while they were in the middle of a battle.

Suddenly, Ilvriss was conscious of how drunk he was, of how dirty his clothes were—clothes, not armor. He’d stopped putting it on. While Periss was in her armor, in the prime of her life, ready for action. He felt ashamed and looked away.

“Ancestors, look at me. Look at how I’ve fallen apart. No wonder you look at me like that. I am worthless.”

He sunk downwards in misery. Of course she hated him. This was what he’d become. Instead of avenging her he’d chased Ryoka this far, failed to stop Az’kerash’s minions from taking two lives, and then given up. The Necromancer. The grief had hit him too hard.

Now he had lost it all. Ilvriss couldn’t look at Periss. He heard her sigh in exasperation, and then felt a touch. He froze as she clumsily drew him towards her. Periss had never been one to hug, and so her embrace was crude, and uncomfortable as he pressed against her armor.

But it was real. Oh, so real.

“I know it was hard after I died. But you can’t keep doing this.”

“I tried.”

“I know. I know you did.”

“I fought Periss. I tried, but—you are gone! Gone and I am alone.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry.”

She was here. In that moment, Ilvriss forgot decorum. He forgot his station and his appearance and began crying as if he were a hatchling. And Periss held him as she had never done, but as she would have if he had cried. Ilvriss clung to her, feeling her heartbeat. And he begged the world for this moment to continue, even in his grief. Another second. Another moment.

Please.

“You can’t waste away. You have a future and more importantly, a duty.”

The Lord of the Wall wept into her arms, clutching at her, feeling the realness of her body.

“I know! I know, but I can’t let you go. I can’t continue—”

“Of course you can. And you will.”

Periss gripped him on the arms, hard, looking into his eyes. Ilvriss grasped at her.

“I can’t just forget you and move on. I cannot, Periss. I—”

He couldn’t finish. The weight of moving without her, of waking from this dream and knowing she was gone was too heavy. Periss looked at Ilvriss and sighed, as if he was an idiot. He’d heard that sigh before, too. He’d used to hate it.

“You don’t have to forget me. I’d be insulted if you did. But you have to stand up. Your people need you. I need you.”

I need you. What choice did he have? Ilvriss stood, though the effort cost him more than words could say. He looked into Periss’ eyes, holding her. And in his heart he knew the dream was ending.

But not yet. Please, a moment longer. He had something he had to say. Ilvriss drew Periss closer and kissed her. She wasn’t good at that either. Neither was he, but it was genuine, real. And then he confessed his sins, the weight of his heart.

“I wanted to say sorry. To ask for forgiveness.”

She looked at him and laughed in his face.

“What forgiveness? For sending me after a lone Human girl? That was a sound decision. Although sending all those elites after me wasn’t. You should have kept the rest back so you could defeat Shivertail.”

Ilvriss blinked at her, surprised. But then he laughed too.

“You know what I mean!”

“Maybe I do, but the strategy was sound. And that’s what matters. You couldn’t have known. Now you need to move forwards. You know what the enemy looks like, where he is roughly. You know, and you can protect your people.”

Periss held Ilvriss, pointing towards the map. He looked and saw the undead rising around the Goblin Lord’s army. For the first time, hot fury flickered in his heart, drowning out the sorrow.

Then it faded. Ilvriss looked at Periss and held her tightly. She wasn’t fading or disappearing, but he sensed his time with her was ending.

“Don’t go. I have so much I want to do. So much I want to say.”

She raised one brow at him.

“As fun as it might be, I don’t think this is the right place for a tumble together. Maybe some other time.”

He laughed against his will.

“Will I ever see you again?”

She looked at him tenderly, and one of her claws intertwined with his.

“Maybe. If you have more of that strange drink Erin Solstice gave you, perhaps. But I’ll always be here.”

She pointed to the war map, the living continent of Izril, their home.

“Because that’s what you need to focus on. Not just the southern half. All of it, Ilvriss. And this inn in particular. There’s more for you to see, more to do. I can’t do anything anymore. But you can.”

Ilvriss closed his eyes. The weight of his duties fell upon his shoulders, but this time he could bear it. He had to. He spoke to her, feeling her claws in his.

“I swear I will. I will protect our home. I will find the Necromancer and make him pay. And if the Goblin Lord threatens, I will protect our people. I won’t slip back again Periss. I swear it.”

“Good.”

He felt a kiss. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. But the memory remained. And as Ilvriss turned he opened his eyes—

And woke up. Ilvriss jerked upright at his table, and the nearly-empty mug of Faerie Flower ale tipped over. He grabbed for it and looked around.

It was pitch black in the inn. The fire was ash, and everyone had gone to sleep. Ilvriss stared at the mug, and then clenched his hand. He could still feel her, still hear her voice.

Had it been just a dream? The Human girl, Erin had said—was it magic? A drug? Something more?

It didn’t matter. Ilvriss looked around the room. He was so tired. And then he looked into the mug. There were just dregs left.

Oh well. It would have to do. Ilvriss closed his eyes, and then sat up. He raised his mug and spoke into the silence. His voice echoed in the empty inn, coming back to him.

“To war. War, ever changing, always taking…to war. It’s the Drake way. And I—”

He drank and let the mug fall onto the table. The dream didn’t come back, but he hadn’t really expected it to. Ilvriss looked around, blinked, and then toppled off his seat. He slept on the floor, tears trickling from his eyes. His heart was bitter, sore, and broken. But it was there, and it beat on, reminding him he was alive. Ilvriss slept and whispered her name as the map and colors and the promise of battle whirled in his dreams.

“Periss.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.46

When she slept she forgot where she was and what had happened. It was only when she was awake that she remembered. Sleep was her one reprieve. But it was a coward’s way out, so she woke up this morning as the sun hit her face. There was no running from the truth.

A young woman sat up in a tent, her body aching. She was alone. Far from home. For a few seconds, she looked around in the darkness. Then she inspected the restraints on her hands.

No good. They were as secure as they had been yesterday. The young woman thought about gnawing at the raw leather bindings, but gave up the idea. Her captors inspected the cords regularly.

There were no restraints on her legs, though. So the young woman stood up and walked around the tent. She could go to the bathroom so long as she didn’t mind being watched. She could wander around the camp, and run about if she so chose. So long as she didn’t cause trouble she was free.

That freedom would disappear if she tried to escape, though. And while the young woman knew she could run quite fast…no, it was still impossible. She was surrounded by the enemy. If she ran she’d be caught.

The same went for grabbing a weapon. She’d be overwhelmed in a second, and while the idea of going out in a blaze of violence was tempting, it was also wrong. She had to live. The young woman knew that. She had to live. It was her duty.

Still. In the confines of her dark tent, the young woman could tell it was just before dawn. She stretched as best she could with her bound hands, plotting another escape attempt. The guards around the camp were numerous, but if she could get beyond the limits of the camp undetected, and have half an hour’s, no ten minutes’ head start, she might outrun any pursuit.

“To hell with running. If I could fly—”

Osthia Blackwing grunted as she reached to touch her scaly feet with her arms. She twisted and tried to eye the black metal restraints that had been placed over the two leathery wings on her back. It was rather difficult; the young Drake woman couldn’t see that far behind her. Normally she’d use a mirror to inspect her wings for injuries or flaking scales. However, she didn’t have to look to feel the cold metal constricting the movement of her wings. She could move them, but she couldn’t unfurl her wings.

It was agonizing. The Goblins who’d put the bindings on her probably hadn’t any idea of how torturous that binding could be. In fact, they’d been extremely generous to her by the standards of prisoners; she could move about and eat whenever she wanted, she was left by herself unless the Goblin Lord wanted her, and she had her own tent. It was far better than how Drakes treated their captives, and Osthia might have been grateful were it not for her wings.

She longed to move them. It was like having her legs bound or—or having her eyelids forced open. All she wanted to do was flap her wings once. But of course, if she had that opportunity she’d be flying away in an instant.

And the Goblins weren’t fools. If they afforded Osthia small freedoms, well, that was a peculiarity unique to her and only her. There were no other prisoners in the Goblin Lord’s camp. None. They could treat one prisoner well. That she wasn’t being raped or tortured didn’t fool Osthia. She’d seen what the Goblins did to every other enemy soldier they’d captured.

 

—-

 

After an hour of stretching and pacing around her tent restlessly, Osthia had to go out. It was that or go insane in the dark tent. She pushed through the dirty flaps of her tent, glancing around in disgust as she did.

The Goblin Lord’s camp was already bustling as the first rays of daylight shone down on the continent of Izril. Osthia looked down rows of orderly tents, which slowly devolved into sleeping bags, and then just small campfires and cleared patches of dirt which Goblins slept around.

Despite the magnitude of the camp—meant to hold tens of thousands of Goblins each night—it was still organized. Central pathways lead into the center of the camp and outwards, giving the streams of thousands of Goblins access to food, places to relieve themselves, social areas where they could squat, poke each other and grunt in their foul language—

Osthia looked around, her face twisted into a scowl of disgust. She would rather be dead than a captive here. But she had no choice. As tempting as it might be to ambush a passing Goblin armed with a knife or sword, Osthia knew she couldn’t die here. She had to survive.

Someone had to live to warn everyone. To tell them that the Goblin Lord was a pawn of Az’kerash, the Necromancer. At least one soldier had to return—few had seen the truth, or realized what it meant. Osthia had witnessed two entire Drake armies eradicated to the last soldier, only the stragglers on the outside escaping to tell of the Goblin Lord’s incredible comeback. But she had been at her uncle’s side. She had stood next to Thrissiam Blackwing and realized the truth.

The Necromancer had created the Goblin Lord. And he was sending his minion to wreak havoc across Invrisil. He had made the Goblin Lord, taught him necromancy, given him orders. It was because of him that two Drake armies had died. Osthia’s stomach tightened at the thought.

Thrissiam Blackwing. Garusa Weatherfur. Two heroes of the Drakes had perished in battle. How long had it been? Weeks? A month?

It felt like yesterday. Osthia could still remember her uncle, Thrissiam, ordering her off the field. She could still see him cutting down the other general, the Gnoll he had loved for a short few days, Garusa, and then falling to the horde of undead. She wondered if he had been torn apart. Sometimes she hoped that was the case.

The undead stood silently at a good distance away from the Goblin Lords’ camp every night. They were always there, no matter where the Goblins travelled. A silent group of tens of thousands of undead, motionless, swaying occasionally in the breeze. Their foul rot was usually too far away to smell, but occasionally a strong breeze would waft the scent of death towards Osthia.

She stood at the edge of camp, ignoring the Goblins passing by who stared at her and pointed, staring at the undead. It was one of her habits. She would stare at the undead, picking out each Drake zombie or ghoul that she could see. Each one she’d search for some clue as to their rank, their identity in life. She’d recognized comrades, officers…but never her uncle. She prayed she never would. Still, if she saw him—it was so tempting to bring him a final peace, even if it meant becoming one of those horrors herself.

No. Osthia looked away fighting down the dark urges again. Duty. As a prisoner she had to cling to her duty. If not, what was the point? So many Drakes had died—she owed them her life. Even if it meant living in this camp another day.

Against her will, her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the requirements for survival. Osthia turned, smelling the Goblin cooking pots hard at work. And realized she had an audience.

A group of tiny Goblins had gathered around the Drake. They were Goblin children. Osthia had never seen a Goblin child before, but she’d learned that was because Goblins were only functionally children for about six months to a year. After that, they could fend for themselves.

Well, Goblin babies learned to walk after about two weeks. After that they shot up in height rapidly. The children who’d gathered around behind Osthia stared at her with keen interest. They were short, unevenly dressed—some were naked—and picked at their noses, leaned on each other, or scratched themselves as they watched her.

“Get lost you little monsters!”

Osthia snapped at them angrily and the Goblin children scattered. A few passing Goblins looked at her warily, but the Drake knew better than to back up her words with any kind of action. And unfortunately, the Goblin children knew it too. As she stomped towards one of the cooking stations they followed her in a mass.

It was a game. They’d gather up behind her, trying to sneak up on Osthia and edging closer and closer. If she didn’t look at them they’d poke her in the leg and then flee. Osthia hated it. She scattered the Goblin children with sharp words as she stomped towards the cooking pots.

Of course, the children weren’t as bad as the adults. The Goblins that were eating breakfast stopped to stare at Osthia. They had no compunctions about staring openly, and several of them nudged each other and pointed at Osthia. The Goblins never got tired of her. Osthia ignored them all and strode up to the front of the line.

“Food.”

She growled at the female Goblin ladling hot soup into bowls. The Goblin woman glared at Osthia and pointed. Back of the line. Osthia knew what she meant without having to interpret the Goblin’s crackling language. She stomped into line and waited, grinding her teeth until she was handed a bowl. When the Goblin filled it, Osthia raised the bowl to her lips and sniffed suspiciously at the broth.

She knew the Goblins ate their own. And worse, that they ate Drakes and other species. If it hadn’t been for the presence of the undead, Osthia would have refused to eat at all for fear of eating Drakes or Gnolls. However, she’d checked and the Goblins had yet to use the meat of people in their broths. Fortunately or unfortunately, their stores were fat from raiding villages and towns, and they had more than enough meat from cows, horses, sheep, and sometimes, Corusdeer.

Not that they generally kept that. Meat was a luxury and day-by-day the Goblins lived on thick, filling soups made of whatever vegetables, grains, and what they had on hand. They seasoned their soups with a tiny bit of whatever meat they had.

At least it was palatable. Osthia grunted as she sipped at her bowl. The Goblin children who’d followed her were now pestering the Goblin server for a second breakfast. Osthia smiled grimly as the Goblin woman chased off the youngsters by smacking them with her serving ladle. Then she finished her soup, gulping down the hot mix and tossing her bowl in a pile with the other empty bowls.

Immediately three children jumped at Osthia’s bowl and fought over it. Because the Drake hadn’t licked it clean like all the other Goblins. She refused to, but the other Goblins left their bowls so clean you could eat your dinner out of them, which usually resulted in them being reused at least twenty times before needing to be washed.

“Disgusting.”

The Drake sneered at the children. It annoyed her she couldn’t apply that word to the soup. The Goblins might be savage monsters, but they had their own [Cooks] and [Stirrers] who could make the soup halfway tasty. The Drake would have died rather than acknowledge that, though. She walked away from the mob of children now fighting for her bowl, ignoring her stomach that protested it wasn’t entirely full yet.

Time to observe. Osthia had no real restrictions in the camp, and so she could wander about. She took advantage of that freedom every day to scout out the Goblin Lord’s army as it moved from place to place. It was probably futile, but Osthia comforted herself in thinking that it might be useful if she managed to escape before the Goblin Lord’s army was destroyed.

Firstly. Organization. The Drake paced through the camp, staring at the lines of tents that had been used to house supplies and bodies. They were all looted from her army’s camps! The Goblins wasted nothing. Indeed, most of the Goblins warriors she passed by were carrying arms made out of Drake steel. Every time she saw a Drake insignia on a scavenged breastplate or helm, Osthia ground her teeth.

It would be so easy to call the Goblins simple thieves and dismiss everything they did, but Osthia was actually bothered by the efficiency of the Goblin Lord’s camp. While his army moved at a snail’s pace, the camp still had to be disassembled and rebuilt every night. And it was, with what was worryingly close to military organization.

The Goblin Lord’s forces were a far cry from an undisciplined Goblin tribe. He had sentries, regular patrols, and latrines! He’d stolen all of these ideas from other races. But that was the Goblin Lord. Osthia knew him better now. He was a thief. He stole everything. And he was terrifying because of that.

A Goblin found her as Osthia was watching a Goblin quartermaster handing out weapons to waiting soldiers. They’d even set up a temporary smithy, where a team of Goblins was crudely repairing holes and damaged armor! Others were coating new armor with a black resin, a sticky substance that gave the Goblin Lords’ forces their distinct black armor.

“Color coordination. Who gave the Goblin Lord the idea to mark his troops with colors? The Necromancer? Ancestors, he’s managed to figure out how to organize them into battalions with officers! Did the Necromancer teach him that too?”

“No. Goblin Lord took idea from Drakes.”

Osthia whirled as a guttural voice spoke behind her. A Hobgoblin grinned at the Drake, a female Goblin wearing steel armor. She had no weapons at her sides, but Osthia recognized her at once. The Hobgoblin was short for a Hob, but her head was unnaturally large. And as she grinned at Osthia, the Drake saw two rows of metal teeth glinting at her.

Snapjaw. She was one of the Goblin Lord’s top lieutenants. Her teeth were a product of her class—some kind of fusion of enamel and steel. She grinned at Osthia and pointed to the Goblin smithy proudly.

“Goblin Lord see. Drakes hammer metal. Bang bang. Goblin Lord watch. He copy. Now we have armor.”

Her voice was rough, and her words heavily accented. But she could speak the common tongue. Osthia narrowed her eyes and her tail lashed the ground as she looked at Snapjaw.

“Stolen armor, you mean. You can’t forge it yourself. All you can do is repair the armor you loot.”

The Hobgoblin woman looked at Osthia blankly.

“True. Take armor off dead. Fastest. Not enough time to make armor out of rocks. You stop staring now.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll bother the Goblins?”

“No. Goblin Lord wants. You come.”

Snapjaw pointed vaguely behind her. Osthia held her ground. She resented being ordered.

“And if I’m busy?”

“You don’t come and I bite.”

The Hob grinned at Osthia, her teeth glinting in the daylight. The Drake stared into her crimson eyes for a moment and then nodded grudgingly. Snapjaw looked vaguely disappointed, but lead Osthia through the camp at a quick walk.

As they moved, Osthia looked around. The smithy was already packing up; the Goblins were preparing to disassemble the camp. It was another day of marching. She wished she knew where they were going; she had no landmarks to guide her in the Human lands, but she knew they were heading north. The Goblin Lord had marched past Liscor, past Esthelm, and away from every major city. North. Why?

She might get an answer today. Osthia squared her shoulders and her wings tensed against their metal bindings as Snapjaw walked towards the heart of the camp. It had been nearly a week since the Goblin Lord had summoned her last. She had to memorize everything. Every clue, everything he said—

It was all she could do.

 

—-

 

The Goblin Lord’s tent mocked her every time she saw it. It was the former command tent of Thrissiam Blackwing, and it served the same purpose it had when the Drake [General] had been alive. Only now Goblins stood around it, black-armored Hobgoblins who looked at Osthia with unfriendly glances. She returned the looks.

“Open up. Got Drake.”

Snapjaw swaggered up to the front, grinning her unsettling grin at one of the Hobs. He shifted and replied again, in the common tongue.

“Goblin Lord talking. Meeting.”

Osthia saw Snapjaw glance at her, and the Hob nodded. She walked into the tent and the Hob barred Osthia from following her. She stared at the Hob and the fat Goblin stared down at her. He had a halberd in his hands, clearly looted, but he looked like he could use it.

It bothered her how many Goblins had learned to speak in common. No, it bothered her how much they’d copied an actual army. They didn’t salute and their military structure was haphazard, but Osthia could see Goblin soldiers training in ranks from where she stood. Goblins. Training. It chilled her to see.

Osthia was a [Captain], and she’d graduated from the Pallass military academy with high marks. She understood the threats each species represented, and Goblins were ranked low as a general threat. However, that came with a huge condition that their numbers were regularly kept low by destroying tribes. If they were allowed to grow in numbers, Goblins quickly became a threat on par with the Antinium or Humans. In the worst case of a Goblin King, they were ranked as a threat that could pose a danger to multiple continents.

One of the reasons Goblins weren’t a threat when there wasn’t a Goblin King was that they were disorganized. Only when Goblin Lords brought them together in numbers would they actually be a danger to cities. If they actually became a proper army on top of that—

The voices coming from the Goblin Lord’s tent grew louder. Osthia stepped back as the tent flaps opened and a huge, gigantic Hob emerged. He was seven feet tall and instead of fat, his body looked like a solid wall of muscle. This Goblin was another of the Goblin Lord’s foremost commanders. As far as Osthia could tell, his name was Eater Of Spears. She eyed his massive jaws. Eater of Spears looked down at Osthia but said nothing. He walked past her without a second glance, striding into the camp.

She’d never heard him speak. Osthia stared after his back, her eyes narrowed into slits. She could…probably take him. Not with a sword or spear obviously, but if she spat acid—

At the thought, Osthia felt a trickle of the corrosive bile spilling into her mouth from the glands in her throat, ready to be sprayed out. That was the one thing the Goblins couldn’t restrain, and the reason why the Hobs were looking at her so warily.

Actually, they could put a muzzle on her, but the Goblin Lord had forbidden it. He’d offered Osthia a trade. She could walk around mostly free save for her wings and bindings on her wings. If she did melt anyone with her acid breath attack, he’d cut out her tongue and all of her claws.

It was still tempting. Osthia looked over her shoulder and saw more of the Goblin Lords’ lieutenants filing out. Snapjaw, two Goblin [Necromancers], the Goblin known as Blacktide who rode a huge Shield Spider and commanded a horde of spiders himself, a Goblin with no face…

They were all former Chieftains, all Goblins who lead thousands of their kin into battle. Osthia stared at each one, memorizing their faces. When the Goblin Lord’s army was slain she would hunt them down herself. They couldn’t be allowed to live.

The Goblin lieutenants stared at Osthia as they passed. Some laughed at her, others watched her warily. However, none were afraid of her. They did not fear what she represented, the might of a Walled City, or the promise of vengeance. They drew strength from their ruler.

Yes, when Goblins were mere tribes they were easy to handle. But when a Goblin Lord emerged they became an army. And each Goblin Lord was dangerous. They were all the equivalents of high-level [Generals]. And this one…Osthia saw the Hob guards holding open the tent flap and gesturing at her. She took a deep breath and stepped into the tent.

The Goblin Lord was waiting for her. He stood over a table with a map on it, looking downwards and not at her. For a second, Osthia thought he was staring at someone else. Her uncle. Then the Goblin Lord looked up and she realized his armor was black and his eyes were midnight, with white pupils. She clenched her jaw and her tail thrashed as she walked into the tent.

“Blackwing.”

The Goblin Lord greeted Osthia with interest, staring at her with his unnatural pupils, appraising her with a glance. He was looking at a map of northern Izril. Osthia recognized it. It had belonged to her uncle. She nearly lunged at the Goblin Lord right then, but held herself back.

“What do you want with me?”

“Everything.”

He grinned at her. The Goblin Lord was neither heavy nor tall. He was the size of the average Human, not built like a warrior. And he wasn’t. He was a [Mage] and wore robes rather than steel. Osthia shifted, thinking she could break his neck if only she had a moment—

But he was a Hob. And his control over magic was immense. She had seen him resurrect hundreds of bodies at the same time, and create black bolts of magic that consumed the life of everything they touched. The Goblin Lord watched Osthia as she circled the table around him.

“Cannot kill. Cannot run. Is good you are not causing trouble. But if you are frustrated, attack me and not my people.”

She jumped as he stared at her. How had he—? She saw his eyes appraising her from head to tail and turned her head away, scowling.

It was a peculiarity of the Goblin Lord. He didn’t seem to need truth spells to tell when she was lying. And he was uncannily good at guessing her thoughts from her posture. Yes, that was his nature. He was a thief. The Goblin Lord has stolen all the ideas that made up his army, from the way he organized the camp and drilled his soldiers to the secrets of smithing. And if it was just that he wouldn’t be terrifying. But the Goblin Lord was a master among thieves in his own way. He stole just by looking.

“What do you want?”

Osthia repeated the question, staring around the tent. The Goblin Lord kept his personal tent mostly empty. He had no personal effects, none of the gristly trophies or magical tools she would have expected of a [Necromancer]. There was only a cot to sleep in, a trunk that might have held his belongings, scrolls, books on a table, the map, and, strangely, a vase with a flower sticking out of it. Osthia blinked.

It was just a wildflower, yellow with delicate petals. The Goblin Lord saw her looking and smiled.

“A gift.”

“Whose?”

“A child. He offered it to me when I healed his wounds with a potion. Gift for gift.”

The Goblin Lord smiled at the flower. Osthia stared at him blankly. The Goblin Lord shifted his black gaze to her and then his smile was a memory. He pointed at the map.

“We are approaching a city. A large one.”

“Does it have a name?”

“The Origin of Seeking Death.”

The Goblin Lord saw Osthia’s blank look and shook his head.

“That is Goblin name for it. It is called…Invrisil to others.”

He pointed at the map. Osthia blinked as she realized where they must be. Invrisil? They had travelled much further than she’d thought if they were approaching that city! But why would he attack there? It was one of the biggest Human cities, and sure to be defended. Unless he had a plan? The Goblin Lord watched her reaction carefully.

“The City of Adventurers. We know it. Many strong warriors live there. But adventurers. Not an army. Not a Drake city. Can it be taken?”

Osthia didn’t know. Invrisil was a city famous for its population of high-level adventurers, but it wasn’t fortified like Drake cities. It had an army and wealth, but if the Goblin Lord’s army swept in, could the adventurers make up for a lack of numbers? She didn’t want to answer either way.

Unfortunately, the Goblin Lord needed no answers. He grinned at her.

“You don’t know.”

“There are countless Gold-rank adventurers in the city. Sometimes Named Adventurers. If you want to try it while Human armies sweep in and attack you from every side—”

“You don’t know. But you fear I could do it. Which means there is a chance.”

Osthia bit her tongue and shut up. She tried to keep her tail still as possible. It was always like this. The Goblin Lord spoke and she spoke—sometimes shouted—but he always seemed to come away with far more than she did. Now he turned back to the map and frowned at it.

“Strong city. Rich city. But not well-protected. Could take. But what if I said Humans were gathering an army?”

He glanced up and again Osthia went still.

“An army? How many soldiers are in the army? Who’s leading it?”

“Tens of thousands of soldiers. Forty? Sixty? Goblin scouts say many. Big army. Big as mine, without undead.”

Osthia looked away as the gears churned in her head. An army of that size should be superior to the Goblin Lord’s, especially if it fought defensively. Add in Gold-rank adventurers conscripted to defend the city…but without a [General], their army would be at a disadvantage—

She could refuse to speak, but she couldn’t turn off her mind. The Goblin Lord nodded as if Osthia had said it all out loud.

“Not good to attack. But army is too small to do anything but defend. Good appraisal. What my officers thought, too.”

He traced a curve around the city. Osthia glared daggers at him. The Goblin Lord stared at her, and then turned his head. He stared across his tent, towards the cot on his bed. There was a small scroll there. It was some kind of specialized [Message] spell. Osthia had only seen him use it once. To contact Az’kerash. A shadow fell across the Goblin Lord’s face and he looked at Osthia.

“Tell me more about him. The one who calls himself my master.”

So it had come to this. Osthia sighed. Every time the Goblin Lord summoned her he eventually asked the same question. And the problem was that Osthia had very little she could tell him. Granted, Az’kerash was the only topic she’d willingly advise the Goblin Lord on. But her knowledge on the Necromancer was…spotty at best.

“I’ve told you all I can remember. The Necromancer is famous. He lived on Terandria and was expelled from Wistram hundreds of years ago—”

“Yes. And is famous. But you know little of him. Famous is not important?”

The Goblin Lord interrupted, frowning at Osthia. She lashed her tail on the ground as she replied.

“Famous isn’t important if you’re dead. And we thought he was! I studied his actions of the Second Antinium Wars from a military perspective, not to understand how he thought!”

“So you know nothing more? Not why he attacked the Humans, not how he gained his powers? Not why he was expelled from this Wistram?”

When he put it like that, Osthia felt embarrassed. She tried to fold her arms, remembered she was manacled, and glared.

“No. He was—is—was—a Human. We don’t memorize their histories. If you want to learn more, read a book. If you can read, that is.”

“A book?”

The Goblin Lord looked sharply at Osthia and she bit her tongue. But the Creler was out of the bag and it probably couldn’t hurt. She nodded reluctantly.

“There is a book about him. Well, about the Antinium Wars, actually. It was written about both wars. The Necromancer is mentioned in the second war. If you want to read about him…go find a book.”

“Hm. A book. What is it called?”

Osthia shrugged.

The History of the Antinium Wars, I think. Sometimes it’s in two parts, but most copies have both parts in them. If you want to learn about Az’kerash outside of finding some kind of Terandrian history book, that’s your only option.”

The Goblin Lord eyed Osthia for a few seconds and then nodded.

“Book. Good. I will see if it is found. I have several already.”

He turned and pointed to the table in his tent. Osthia saw six books, all worn, sitting together. Her heart jumped painfully as she recognized one of the books. The Triumph of Scales. It was a classic military book. This particular copy had been Thrissiam’s. She turned hostile eyes towards the Goblin Lord and then realized what he was implying.

“You can read?”

The Goblin standing over the tables shrugged as if it was natural. Which it wasn’t. Not all Drakes knew how to read more than basic words and numbers—of course, literacy was universal in the largest Drake cities, but in villages and towns? How had he learned it?

“I knew how to read before the Necromancer found me. It is why he took interest in me.”

“How? And why did he want you?”

It was a question the Goblin Lord refused to answer every time Osthia asked it. Again, he dodged it, peering at the map and smoothing a corner on the table.

“I taught myself. Before and after he trained me. He gave me spellbooks. Scrolls. I read more and more and learned from what I read. Now I read all I find. I would have more, but when my army loots cities, they forget books. Food is more important. And swords.”

He looked up at Osthia and tilted his head.

“What other books do you know of? Books on strategy? War?”

Osthia changed the subject quickly. She pointed at the map.

“Is the Necromancer ordering you to attack Invrisil? Is that why you summoned me here?”

He tilted his head at her and seemed to ponder the question. At last, he shook his head.

“No orders. Death, destruction, chaos. Not names. Not attacking Invrisil anyways. Going around. To this mountain.”

He pointed to the map. Osthia walked closer and saw he was pointing to a lone mountain northeast of Invrisil. It was a ways away, but clearly he’d have to pass by Invrisil to get there or take a long detour. Still…why that mountain? She stared at him.

“Is there something important in that mountain?”

“Yes. Goblins.”

He smiled at her surprise. The Goblin Lord walked around the table and Osthia backed up. He wasn’t afraid of her—he had a ring that could combat her acid breath and he might be as strong as she was physically. Still, the proximity to him made her want to try and—she walked back as he spoke.

“I need more Goblins. More tribes. And there are more past Invrisil. One is in mountains. The other…close by. I will have them join my army.”

“How do you know?”

The Goblin shrugged.

“I can sense them. Other Chieftains. Other Goblin Lords, too. Bright. In the distance like…lights.”

The Goblin Lord reached out, his claws touching for something invisible. Osthia shivered. Other Goblin Lords? Impossible! Unless they were hiding? Maybe in the deep jungles of Baleros—or Chandrar? It was possible they could be anywhere, in the mountains, in caves…Goblins lived in almost every climate. But Goblin Lords?

“Where are these other Goblin Lords?”

The Drake tried to keep her voice casual. The Goblin Lord stared into the distance and shook his head.

“Cannot tell. Too far. Only know two…three Chieftains close here. More distant. And many, many more further away. Across oceans…no Goblin Lords on this continent. Just I. And I am brightest.”

“Brightest? What, do you mean strongest?”

That would have reassured Osthia, but the Goblin Lord shook his head.

“No. Others are…dimmer. Do not call other Goblins loudly. May be strong, may not. But they do not say ‘come here’. Other Goblins cannot sense. But I? I shout. And all hear, although all do not obey.”

That made no sense to Osthia. Shining? Dimmer? It was probably a Goblin thing. But if he could sense the others, that confirmed at least one theory about their kind. She filed the information as well as the knowledge of other Goblin Lords away in her mind and stared at the Goblin Lord.

“If you think the Humans will just let you march around the city, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

The Goblin Lord looked at Osthia, tilting his head from side to side. She bit her tongue and he laughed.

“You don’t know. A Drake [Soldier] and you don’t know so much. That knowledge tells me much. What you know and don’t know. So. Come. We are moving. Around Invrisil. You come as we march.”

Around the tent, Osthia could hear Goblins shouting at each other and the sounds of activity. They were striking the camp. And today the Goblin Lord wanted Osthia following him around? As a trophy? Or unwilling advisor?

“What if I don’t want to go with you? Will you drag me around?”

The Goblin Lord was busy folding up the map, taking great care not to damage it. He looked up at Osthia, amused. He shook his head slowly, mocking her.

“You will come. To see. You watch me. You want to know what I do. You would not turn down this chance. You watch and I watch.”

He tapped one eye, grinning at Osthia with his white pupils. She shivered and opened her mouth to deny it. But she couldn’t. Instead she walked out of the tent. But not far. He was the enemy and Drakes did not run from the enemy. She would watch.

That was all she could do.

 

—-

 

Within the hour, the Goblins had struck their camp. A huge, winding mass of Goblins marched north, flooding across forests, around lakes, over hills and grasslands, the youngest Goblins and those not suited to combat flanked by the Goblin Lord’s main army. Other raiding groups of thousands of Goblins were already further afield, scouting or pillaging and sending riders back to the main host.

Goblins rarely rode, and apparently only a few tribes had learned to ride, much less domesticate animals. And when they did…Osthia saw the Goblin Lord riding on top of a massive Shield Spider, larger than a warhorse, slowly crawling at the head of the army. They were a peculiarity of his tribe, and many normal Goblins rode large Shield Spiders of their own.

They couldn’t be used to pull wagons though, so the Goblin Lord’s army had taken every horse, pony, mule, and donkey they could grab. The excess wagons and carts were pulled by groups of Hobs who churned across the ground with little effort in teams of six.

It wasn’t a quiet march of course. Armies marching never were. Even the most disciplined of Drake armies seldom marched in silence; Osthia was used to hearing Drake war song and loud jokes. Instead, she heard the Goblin equivalent. They chattered loudly at each other, screaming insults, laughing—sounds that were so normal, so Drakeish that they disturbed her.

In the background, she could hear war drums booming, sounding the Goblin Lord’s advance across the landscape. They were meant to frighten and terrify, but the Goblins who heard the sounds appeared reassured. This was their army, an army of their people, and it had brought them out of hiding. Where the Goblin Lord’s drums sounded, there was safety.

And apparently, word of the Goblin Lord or his ‘presence’ was enough to attract more Goblins. As Osthia marched behind the Goblin Lord she saw small groups of Goblins appearing in the distance, streaming towards the army. Individual roamers, small gangs, and tribes would appear as the Goblin Lord marched, swelling his numbers. The Goblins were quickly assimilated into his army and usually without a hitch.

The one irregularity in the day’s march came around midday as the Goblin Lord’s army had paused for a meal. Osthia bit into some beans and porridge, watching the Goblin Lord feeding his Shield Spider parts of a horse that had died on the march. The huge spider snapped greedily at the meat and Osthia shuddered to see the Goblin Lord patting it on the head. Then she turned as she heard a commotion.

A Goblin had wandered up to the Goblin Lord’s personal fire and was being roughly turned away by the Hobs who guarded him at all times. The Goblin Lord looked up and raised a hand and Osthia saw the intruder stumble forwards.

It was a Hob, but—one with a beard? Osthia stared as a Hob with a long and ragged grey beard stumbled forwards. She had never seen, never heard of a Goblin with facial hair. And this Hobgoblin looked old, for all he was still physically in shape. The Goblin Lord seemed equally surprised.

“Old.”

He walked towards the grey-beard Goblin and the old Hob fell to his knees, gabbling in the Goblin tongue. The Goblin Lord answered him, gesturing around the camp, and then tilted his head and asked a question. The Hob, looking relieved, replied, and then the two spoke in common to Osthia’s surprise.

“How did you come here, old one? And how are you so old? How old? I have never seen Goblin with…”

Goblin Lord stroked at his chin and turned to Osthia. He pointed.

“What is the word?”

“Beard.”

Osthia replied after a moment’s hesitation. The Goblin Lord looked bemused. He repeated the word, tasting it.

“Beard. Beard. You are…Greybeard?”

“Yes, Goblin Lord! I am humble traveler. Once had tribe, but lost it! Too old, but too tough to die! Heard Goblin Lord’s call and came. Old Greybeard is so tired. Didn’t mean to intrude! Will go if unwanted. But asks Goblin Lord’s mercy!”

Greybeard practically flung himself at the Goblin Lord’s feet. The Goblin Lord looked amused as Osthia stared at the old pathetic Goblin in disgust. To her surprise, the Goblin Lord helped Greybeard up and invited him to sit and eat with him.

“Old one. You are welcome to my tribe. If you can fight, I will make you a soldier in my army. Otherwise, you will stay and help others. In camps, cooking, making arrows. You will have food and a place to sleep regardless.”

“Too kind! So kind! Is true, Goblin Lord protects. He calls and protects! With army! With swords and black armor! And undead!”

The Hob known as Greybeard eagerly grabbed the bowl of beans and began shoving them into his beard and mouth as if he were starved. Osthia edged back from him. The Goblin Lord had gone silent meanwhile. He stared over to the army of undead that had marched silently alongside his own. Greybeard didn’t appear to notice.

“So mighty! Crusher of Drakes! Has one prisoner! Mighty lord of undead! And slayer of Drakes! Take this one for torture? Ransom? Pleasure?”

He grinned lewdly at Osthia and she debated kicking him. The Goblin Lord frowned at Greybeard and shook his head.

“No, old one. That is not permitted. This one is for information. And undead are to protect. Will turn Humans, Drakes into undead.”

“And other Goblins?”

Greybeard looked up, a glint in his eyes as he stared at the Goblin Lord. Around him Osthia saw the eating Hobs look up and shift. The Goblin Lord glanced around and then looked at Greybeard and nodded.

“Yes. If must. Other Goblins. But only warriors. Only those who give permission.”

“Permission! To be undead after dead? Good joke!”

The old Goblin crackled with laughter, spraying bits of beans. The Goblin Lord frowned, looking vexed.

“Not joke. Undead are…tool. Sword. If they die instead of Goblins, good.”

“Hmm. Yes. Maybe. Goblins not like undead. But if make for Goblins to live, good? Better? Good question! Since Goblin Lords says, is right!”

It felt like Greybeard’s obsequiousness wasn’t earning him points among the other Goblins. Osthia looked around at scowling Hobs, but the Goblin Lord was patient.

“Old one. Anything is good to survive.”

“True. True! But how much? Bad question. Goblin Lord is Goblin Lord and that is good! But I hear things. As I come. Relieved that Goblin Lord protects!”

“Oh? What things?”

Osthia saw the Goblin Lord straighten. Greybeard glanced at him and again, she saw a glint in his eyes that belied his senility.

“Many things. Goblin Lord uses undead. Goblin Lord is not-Goblin. Foolish things by angry Goblins I think. But then I hear something else. I hear you are a slave.”

He grinned, crunching down on an uncooked bean. And then there was silence. Every Hob warrior sitting around the Goblin Lord looked up. The Goblin Lord froze, and Greybeard looked around, as if belatedly realizing he had said something wrong.

“Not slave? Goblins lie?”

Osthia held her breath as the old Goblin cocked his head, seemingly ignorant of the effect his words were having. The Goblin Lord stared at Greybeard. When he spoke, it was without a smile.

“Who said that?”

“Goblin only say—”

Who said that?

Greybeard flinched and dropped his bowl. He cowered as the Goblin Lord appeared bigger for a second and raised two hands protectively.

“Just hear! Just hear! Goblins say. Bad Goblins! Rumors of Necromancer, that all!”

Osthia stared at Greybeard as he hunched over. That was a good question. How had Greybeard heard that the Goblin Lord had a master, the Necromancer? Did other Goblins know? She would have pressed him further, but the old Goblin was close to—no, he was wetting himself with terror. The Goblin Lord relented as he edged backwards.

“Old one, calm. Not angry. If Goblins said slave, well—it is true. I have a master. One who teaches me magic.”

“Teaches? Teach Goblin? A master?”

Greybeard was open-mouthed. He suddenly brightened.

“Good, then! Master protects Goblins! Goblins are twice as safe with powerful master!”

The Goblin Lord laughed hollowly.

“Not, old Goblin. Master is death. Master of death. Casual death. Death of giants. You understand? He uses undead as tool, as sword. He uses me and Goblins as another sword.”

He pointed around the camp and Osthia saw the other Goblins looking down. Greybeard stared at the Goblin Lord.

“Not good master then. Slaves. If Goblin Lord is slave, are we all slaves? Are we all dying casual death, death of meaninglessness?”

“No.”

The Goblin Lord’s voice brought up the heads of the Goblins around him. He looked around and stood. The Goblins, Osthia, and Greybeard looked at him. The Goblin Lord nodded and tapped one of his eyes, so unlike the crimson eyes of regular Goblins.

“Am slave, old one. Am pupil with master. Am tool and sword. But not to die. A slave learns. A slave grows and lives. Necromancer gave me strength. I created army.”

“But army is just tool. You said. Is being slave and sword good?”

Greybeard looked up slyly, and the Goblin Lord laughed. His laughter startled Greybeard and Osthia. He reached down and grinned at Greybeard.

“Better than being dead, old one. Slave will live. Slave may be sword, but sword will not break. And one day, Goblin Lord will not be slave. And until then, Goblin will do everything to survive. That is Goblin. Understand? Tell other Goblins that.”

He reached down and picked up the bowl of beans that had been overturned. The Goblin Lord offered it to the old Goblin. Greybeard picked at the beans, popping some into his mouth and ignoring the dirt. He smiled.

“Not tell other Goblins. They bad Goblins. Not like Goblin Lord. Slave is good, yes! Goblin Lord is wise.”

The Goblin Lord turned his head and glanced at Osthia. He smiled and she shivered.

“Not wise, old one. Learning. Learning is better than wise. Now come. Old one is wise and old. Will march with us and eat and sleep. Safety I promise.”

And that was that. To Osthia’s discontent she found herself marching alongside Greybeard. He smelled like fresh urine and dirt and he chattered constantly at her. She ignored him and marched after the Goblin Lord. She disliked to admit it, but the Goblins set a hard pace that a Drake army would have been impressed by. Even the children could keep up, though; it was actually the beasts of burden that tired before the Goblins.

They were passing along a large plains when a group of Goblins came riding hard towards the Goblin Lord’s army. They blew horns and waved their arms, and the Goblin Lord rode out to meet them. Osthia couldn’t understand what they said until she caught up, but she recognized a patrol when she saw it.

“Army! Army!”

The patrol was ponies, a mule, and one horse ridden by regular Goblins. Only their leader was different. The Hobgoblin patrol leader was mounted on a horse, and his command of language was limited to say the least. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“Where?”

The patrol leader pointed over his shoulder and gabbled in Goblin. Then, apparently remembering, he switched back to the common language.

“Human city. Got army.”

“How many?”

The Goblins in the patrol conferred and the leader came back.

“Five thousand. Some horses. Many Humans on…feet.”

“Foot. Infantry.”

The Goblin Lord corrected his subordinates and grinned. He turned to the Goblins who’d all stopped to watch them and raised one hand. He pointed in the direction of the Human city, waved a hand, and raised two fingers, pointing at his lieutenants of Snapjaw and Eater of Spears.

It was incomprehensible to Osthia, but somehow the Goblins understood at once. The main army began marching again, but a group of eight thousand Goblins broke off smoothly from the main mass. Osthia eyed the Goblins as the Goblin Lord himself rode forth.

“You don’t think you can take a Human army with similar numbers, do you?”

“Can. Must.”

He grinned at her as he pointed and the Goblins in his army roared and cheered. Osthia saw Snapjaw and Eater of Spears marching their units towards the Goblin Lord. She stared in disbelief.

Eight thousand Goblins versus five thousand Humans? It sounded like one of those trick questions back at the military academy. Unless all five thousand Goblins were Hobs, she would expect eight thousand Goblins to be routed by any professional army. Even a Human one.

But the Goblin Lord thought he could win, and so his small detachment broke away from the main army. Osthia expected to be left behind, but to her surprise, she was marched in the Goblin Lord’s own private escort towards the Human city. More surprising was that Greybeard came with them.

“Can fight Goblin Lord! Have sword.”

He did indeed have a greatsword strapped to his back, rusted and battered though it was. Osthia personally doubted he could lift it, but the Goblin Lord seemed to have taken a liking to the old Goblin so they both marched in between a double wall of armored Hobs.

They were the Goblin Lord’s elite. He had thousands of Hobs, all of whom wore the best armor looted from other soldiers. They were strong, disciplined, and formed the core of his army. Added to his regular Goblins in their black armor and the Goblin Lord has a decent army. But Osthia would have still given the battle to any regular Drake army with a competent [General] if it wasn’t for the factor of undead.

They doubled the Goblin Lord’s army and could pull off maneuvers like digging themselves into the ground and ambushing the enemy, or sending out special exploding Goblin corpses to tear holes in an enemy’s line. With them, the Goblin Lord could overwhelm many armies with sheer bodies.

And yet, not one of the undead came with the Goblin Lord! It was a battle of eight thousand versus five thousand after all! Osthia didn’t understand it. But the Goblin Lord was clearly bent on winning this battle without an advantage.

She hoped the Humans speared him through his arrogant face.

 

—-

 

The Human army and their city came into view within twenty minutes. It was a rather large city that had grown up around a river. Their walls were short though, and the city had grown around the original keep. It was clear that the Humans wouldn’t be able to withdraw behind the walls, so the army had come out to buy time for the people to evacuate.

They hadn’t expected such a small force to attack them, though. Osthia’s keen eyes spotted a sizeable section of horsemen, but there were mainly infantry in the army. They didn’t look like veterans, but to her surprise she saw a [Commander] leading the army. A Human on horseback wearing plate armor. He was rallying the army, marching them towards the Goblin Lord’s forces.

“Commander. Lots of [Riders].”

Snapjaw commented to the Goblin Lord, licking her lips as she eyed the horses. The Goblin Lord nodded. He seemed eager for battle; he’d spread his Goblins out and was marching them in a large box-formation that Osthia was laughing at inside. It was a valid tactic, but it clearly showed the Goblin Lord’s lack of experience. If Thrissiam or Garusa had been in command, they would be employing a far more dynamic formation designed to draw the Human cavalry in and annihilate them.

All the better, then. Osthia was on the Human’s side here. She hoped the Human [Commander] was high-level. The Goblin Lord might not be experienced, but his Skills could turn the tide if the Human was only Level 15 or something.

She got her answer as both armies closed with each other. The Goblins were cheering, ready for battle and clearly confident. Whereas the Humans had to know there was a massive force at least ten times their size marching past them. The Human [Commander] had halted them across the plains from the Goblins and was shouting at his men. Osthia could barely hear his voice, and then she heard him shout.

The Humans cheered, waving their weapons overhead, their voices reaching the Goblins as a faint roar. Osthia heard chuckles from the Hobs around the Goblin Lord. And then the Human [Commander] raised his voice and shouted.

“[Battle Roar]!”

There was sound, and then, as if someone had turned the volume up suddenly, the distant shouting became a roar that blasted over the Goblin Lord’s army. Goblins cried out in surprise and alarm as the voices of the Humans became a crescendo of sound.

The howling that came from the Human army was far louder than it should have been. It was bestial, as if it came from a group ten times as large. It made the Goblins around Osthia hesitate and she found her heart beating rapidly as her mouth dried.

Fear swept through the Goblin ranks, making them hesitate. Osthia saw several Goblins and a few Hobs looking over their shoulders as if suddenly wishing they’d brought more of their friends. Strangely, Greybeard wasn’t one of their number. He just poked a finger into his ear and scraped out some earwax.

The Human cheering was demoralizing the Goblins, sapping their energy to fight. But the Goblin Lord didn’t waver. He stared at the other army as they screamed at his and then raised his arm. The Goblins around him looked up, and the Goblin Lord thrust his arm up and roared a word.

Goblin!

It was almost lost amid the tumultuous noise, but every soldier saw him shout it. They stared at their leader, the Goblin Lord, and Osthia saw their backs straighten, and the hesitation leave the Goblins around her. The Goblin Lord paused, looked around, and then thrust his arm up again. He shouted one word and this time every Goblin in his army joined in.

Goblin!

The word deafened Osthia and pushed back the howling chorus from the other army. She heard the voices of the Humans waver. The Goblin Lord thrust his arm up again and the Goblins around him howled.

He was trying to outdo the other army without a Skill! Osthia heard the Goblins around her howling and stamping the ground. The other army was shouting too—she could see the Human [Commander] raising his sword, shouting at them. But all she could hear was the Goblin Lord’s army. They howled again.

Goblin!

The ground was shaking. Osthia saw the Human army waver, and then the Human [Commander] was shouting orders, riding forwards with a group of mounted warriors armed with lances. They were heading into battle. The Goblin Lord pointed and his army moved to meet them.

From her position in the center of the army, Osthia could see the battle unfold smoothly. She had given up looking for an opportunity to run; that would only come if the Goblin Lord’s forces began to rout, and if that was the case she’d go for the Goblin Lord himself in that moment. Instead, she watched as an observer, free of the tension of fighting in the battle.

The cavalry charge of the Humans was one of their defining features that kept them on equal footing with the Drakes. Osthia had seen how their heavily-armored riders could smash into groups of infantry and rout them—their maneuverability was best on open fields like this. She had hopes they could charge through the Goblin’s ranks despite the presence of Hobs. Until she saw the Goblin Lord’s foremost ranks fall into line, Hob and Goblins alike forming a row of spears.

A spear wall! Osthia gasped aloud. That was a Drake formation, a standard of their armies! It was a proper formation too—the Goblins held position shoulder-to-shoulder, bracing themselves for the enemy charge. Behind them, more Goblins were readying themselves. The Humans would charge into the spear wall and as their momentum slowed, be hacked apart by Goblins in the next ranks.

It was a good plan. It might have worked too. The Human [Commander] lead his men in a charge straight towards the Goblin lines, ignoring the arrows coming his way. Then at the last moment he raised his arm and jerked his mount sideways. The Goblins braced for impact stared as he and the thousand or so [Riders] turned.

The cavalry galloped left, narrowly avoiding the Goblin’s front lines. And behind them, no longer concealed by the waves of horsemen, a line of archers and infantry appeared like magic. The archers began to loose volley after volley, catching the Goblins by surprise. The Goblin Lord blinked and Osthia exulted as a rain of deadly arrows streaked into the ranks of the surprised Goblins, cutting them down as the horsemen circled and crashed into the left side of the Goblin Lord’s forces.

“Hit them and away! Move!”

She could hear the Human [Commander] ordering his men, taking advantage of the chaos to strike the Goblins and then gallop away before they could be surrounded. It was a classic Human tactic. And meanwhile the Humans were outdistancing the Goblins with longer bows while their infantry advanced in a knot, clashing with the Goblins on the right side.

They were trying to crush the Goblins from two angles while they bombarded the Goblin’s stationary lines from afar! Osthia saw a lone mage shooting a fireball into the Goblin ranks and for a second she dared hope. Then she saw the Goblin Lord raise his hand.

The [Mage] who’d cast the fireball spell was hidden behind a knot of infantry. The Goblin Lord aimed at the Human man and a streak of black energy formed around his fingers and shot towards the Humans. They tried to block it, but the black bolt went through their shields. The mage and eight soldiers in front of him fell forwards, dead in an instant. The Goblin Lord nodded, and then he pointed.

“Pull back! Goblins move here! Spears go here. And here! Move!”

He raised his voice as the Human cavalry charged again. The goblins shifted according to his orders and a line of spears raced to block the Humans. Rather than charge, they went around again, hitting another weak spot. The Goblin Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Snapjaw charges the right. Eater of Spears forward. Pull back those. Move archers behind Hobs there.”

The Goblin Lord pointed and spoke, and the Goblins around him shot into the army, shouting. Somehow each unit of Goblins heard the orders and moved with incredible speed. Osthia gaped. She would never have expected any non-Drake army to react so fast, let alone a Goblin one! But they had an almost telepathic ability to read each other. The Goblins reformed, changing out of their box formation and into…Osthia saw the Human [Commander] waver and stare in disbelief.

The Goblins had changed their formations entirely. Battalions of archers stood behind lines of infantry, while a wedge of Hobgoblins and elites had broken off from the main army. It was a mirror of the Human army. For a second Osthia saw the Human leader waver, and then his face twisted in disgust under his helm. He pointed and his cavalry charged in as the Humans threw their infantry at the Goblin line.

Only this time the Goblin Lord was ready. He stared at the Human and nodded.

“Charging left. Move Hobs.”

Instantly, the line of Goblins shifted. The Human cavalry turned from their intended target and did indeed swerve left. Only this time rather than hitting an unprotected side they ran up against a wall of Hobs who were already ready with halberds, pikes, and spears. Worse, a group of Goblin archers was already loosing, aiming for the gaps in their horses’ armor.

The surprised cavalry pulled back as Goblins began peppering them with arrows. The Goblin Lord grinned and pointed.

“You charge! There and there!”

This time a group of Hobs took the offensive. Around eight hundred Goblins lead by a core of Hobs charged straight towards a group of Humans [Pikemen], only to swerve and hit the Humans in the side. Behind them, a second wave of Goblins charged forwards. A group of eight Goblin [Mages] began blasting the Humans with magic of their own.

“Impossible.”

Osthia stared at the Goblin Lord. He’d just copied the Human [Commander]! And as she watched, the Goblin Lord pulled back a group of infantry right as the Human formation charged into them. The Goblins melted backwards and fifteen Hobs stood up. They’d been hidden behind their smaller friends and now smashed into the surprised Humans from the front.

The Human [Commander] was at a loss. He charged again, this time hitting the Goblins hard, but they were ready, pulling back and letting him run into groups of Hobs and archers protected behind ranks of soldiers. And when the rest of his army tried to come to his aid, the wedge of Hobs circled around and hit them from the sides. They had to fall back and protect their exposed archers, while Goblins advanced from all sides, pulling off the same feinting maneuvers.

The enemy army was drawn into an unfolding trap of shifting Goblins as battalions would change positions, concealing each other’s movements and surrounding the Humans in waves of oncoming Goblins. Osthia saw Humans fighting desperately, pressed in from all sides. She hoped their training would prove superior, but for all that the Humans were taller and stronger than the average Goblin, they were equally matched with the Goblin warriors.

And the Goblin Lord had brought his lieutenants and Hobs. He might have taken only a small force, but he had intended to crush his enemy all along. Now, hemmed in at all sides, the Humans came face-to-face with his officers.

Snapjaw raced into the ranks of Humans, her mouth gaping wide. She took a huge bite out of a Human, swallowing half of his head, helmet and all. She gulped, turned, and a Human stuck a sword tip into her mouth. Osthia expected the Goblin to fall, but Snapjaw just bit and then the Human stumbled back, missing an arm. The Hobgoblin woman leapt on him as her soldiers pushed the rest of the Humans back.

In the center of the army, the Human cavalry had run into a wall of Hobs. They charged forwards fearlessly, intent on trampling the Hobs. The collisions between rider and Hob were terrible and left crippled horses and Hobs as one or the other broke from the impact. But the Humans had lances and if they could dodge the spears aiming at them or their mounts, they could take down a Hob in a single strike.

One [Rider] with a lance was charging Eater of Spears from the side. The Hob was finishing off a [Knight] on the ground. He turned too late and the rider charged the lance into his chest. Eater of Spears stumbled backwards and Osthia heard a snap.

The lance broke. The rider was thrown off his horse from the impact. Eater of Spears tore the lance out of his body with a roar and stomped on the [Rider]. Then he grabbed a potion, smashed the bottle into his side, and kept fighting.

Overwhelming. Overpowering. Without a superior strategy the humans lagged behind the Goblins at every turn. The Goblin Lord calmly blasted every [Mage] and high-level [Archer] he could find with his magic. Within ten minutes, the Humans were falling back, their army a fraction of what it was.

“Good strategy. Goblin Lord isn’t bad.”

From his position in the Goblin Lord’s escort, Greybeard looked approvingly across the battlefield. The Goblins had lost far fewer than the Humans. Osthia ground her teeth together, tail lashing the ground.

“It’s not over yet.”

And it wasn’t. The Human [Commander] was pulling back, pointing at the Goblin Lord with a bloody sword. His cavalry had formed into a wedge, and the rest of his soldiers were massing up.

“They’re trying to cut a path straight towards the Goblin Lord!”

It was their only choice if they wanted to strike any kind of blow. Osthia admired the Human [Commander] for his bravery. There was no way he’d survive, but taking that chance to strike a blow was a very Drakeish thing to do.

Of course, the Goblins could see what the Humans were doing. Eater of Spears and Snapjaw were both waiting in the middle of the ranks of the Goblins facing the Humans, ready to defend their leader with their lives. The Human raised a hand, ready to charge, when the Goblin Lord spoke.

“Clear a path.”

Every head turned as the Goblin Lord pointed. The Goblins hesitated, but he repeated the order and his army slowly parted like the sea. The Humans stared in disbelief as the Goblin Lord ordered his Shield Spider mount forwards. He was looking straight at the Human [Commander].

“Ancestors, is he serious?”

Osthia breathed the words. The Goblin Lord couldn’t really be taking the Human’s gamble seriously, was he? But yes, the Goblin Lord had unsheathed his sword and was gesturing towards the Human in armor.

It was a duel. For a few seconds Osthia thought the [Commander] wouldn’t take it, but then the Human spurred his mount and charged. His army roared as he charged towards the Goblin Lord. Around Osthia, the Goblins were shouting and screaming as the Goblin Lord ordered his Shield Spider forwards.

“He’s insane!”

Osthia shouted the words out loud as the Goblin Lord charged towards the Human [Commander]. Was he an idiot? He was taking on a warrior—him, a [Mage]! Whatever the Human [Commander]’s level, he was clearly a warrior and what was more, he was armed for mounted combat.

He was charging towards the Goblin Lord, lance raised, surging behind his shield. Whereas the Goblin Lord only had a sword, a poor weapon for any kind of mounted combat. Osthia watched with baited breath. A [Lancer] could take down a far larger foe, even a Wyvern with a precise strike. The Goblin Lord was no [Warrior]—there was a chance!

“He could kill the Goblin Lord.”

“Hah! Hardly likely.”

Osthia turned. Greybeard was watching the duel. He looked amused as he looked at her.

“Think a Goblin Lord can be beaten so easily? Watch.”

The Drake turned back to the battle. And then she saw the Goblin Lord act. As his Shield Spider charged across the grass, the Goblin Lord raised his sword and spoke a word.

“[Arc of Midnight].”

His sword extended. The plain steel blade turned pitch-black and grew until it was a massive sword made out of darkness, as long as the Human [Commander]’s spear and three times as wide. It was a massive magical blade and Osthia saw the Human hesitate. But they came on.

Now the battle was up in the air. Osthia held her breath. The Human could still do it—he was rising in his saddle, trying to strike first! The Goblin Lord and the Human were fifty feet apart when the Goblin Lord raised his other empty hand and pointed casually towards the horse the Human was riding on.

“[Deathbolt].”

Black magic swirled around his finger and blasted out in the form of a long spear of darkness that sucked the light into it. The Human cried out and tried to swerve, but they were too close. The magic struck his horse.

The stallion stumbled and fell as the black bolt carved through its body, turning the horse’s body grey and lifeless. The Human fell, cursing, and drew his sword. The Goblin Lord leaned down as the [Commander] stood. He swung the shimmering blade of magic as the Human charged at him.

There was silence as the Goblin Lord’s Shield Spider raced past the downed horse. Osthia saw the Human [Commander] falling—in two halves. The Goblin Lord raised his midnight blade, the arc of black magic shimmering in the air and sucking in light. He shouted and the Goblins around him howled in victory.

“That bastard. That cheating—”

Osthia stared at the Goblin Lord through tears as the Human army shouted their despair and fury. Some charged at the Goblin Lord and others loosed arrows, but the rest were retreating as the Goblin Lord’s army surged forwards. Without a leader, it was a massacre as Goblins cut down the fleeing Humans one by one.

“Cheating? He offered a duel and the Human took it. Not his fault if he thought a [Mage] would joust. More idiot, he.”

Greybeard leaned on his sword, watching the Goblin Lord leading his soldiers forwards. He was being shot at, but the arrows swerved before they could reach him. His ring of protection might have saved him from the lance thrust if he’d taken it. Osthia stared at Greybeard with pure hatred.

“You think he’s a hero, don’t you? That monster—you called him a slave, but you Goblins follow him even if he turns all of you into undead.”

“Not all. Only soldiers. Only those who ask. It makes a difference. And if he uses undead, so what? Velan hated undead. But our King is dead and a Goblin Lord is a Goblin Lord. He protects. The undead don’t matter.”

Greybreard turned his head to look at Osthia. She blinked.

“Why are you speaking—Velan? Velan the Kind? How do you know what he hated?”

The old Goblin grinned at her. They were alone now, the Hobs having left to guard their leader. Greybeard nodded towards the battle as the Goblins began looting the dead.

“Slave. A Goblin Lord who is slave to a Necromancer. That is new. I have known weaker Goblin Lords, but I have never met one who was a slave. But he is a Goblin Lord, however small.”

Something was off about Greybeard. He wasn’t acting like before. And his eyes—Osthia eyed the old Goblin. He was musing aloud, watching the Goblin Lord with narrowed eyes and stroking his beard.

“A coward, a child, and a slave. Interesting. And each one claims to be true Goblin?”

He laughed at that. Osthia stared at him.

“What are you talking about? A coward and a child? Do you mean other Goblin Lords? Or…other Goblin Chieftains?”

“Mm. Yes. All would be Goblin Lords of a kind. But which one would be best? A question for you, captive Drake.”

He grinned at her. Osthia glared.

“It sounds like any one of them would be a disgrace. If that’s the standard for a Goblin Lord, I pity your race.”

Greybeard raised his eyebrows, not drawn in by her insult.

“You don’t understand. That’s not the problem. A child? So what? A coward? So what? A slave?”

He paused.

“They are Goblin. Any of them might be worthy. One stands out more, though. Redfang. But he is not a true Goblin.”

Garen Redfang? Osthia had heard of him, seen his name on bounty posters. His tribe was dangerous, more than a match for one or two Gold-rank teams. His was the kind of tribe that would take an army to root out. Why had Greybeard mentioned him? Was he mixed up in all of this?

“What does Garen Redfang have to do with the Goblin Lord? Is he working with him?”

The old Goblin laughed at Osthia.

“Garen? Work with a Goblin Lord? He might become a Goblin Lord. And then there would be two. Or one if they clash. But that won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

Greybeard’s eyes glittered.

“He slaughtered his tribe. Adventurers. Other species. It matters not. He called them tribe and cut them down for a relic of our King. For hope. But he still cut them down. And so long as that is true, no matter how many false tribes he builds, no matter how strong his sword, he will never be a true Chieftain, much less a Lord. But if he changes…yes. Time to see him. This Goblin Lord will do anyways, if the others fail.”

He nodded at the Goblin Lord, and Osthia stared at Greybeard. He was like no other Goblin she’d met. Not even the Goblin Lord. He wore a mask, and it had come off. A Goblin with a beard. A Goblin who hid his identity.

“Who are you?”

Greybeard grinned at her.

“Just old! Don’t you mind. Tell Goblin Lord I liked his beans. Going now. Keep secret or I cut off tail. Drakes hate that.”

He turned. Osthia spat acid. Greybeard’s form blurred and he vanished. She saw him dash away from the spray of acid she’d shot at him and race across the plains. Only his laughter remained. She thought about running after him. But the Goblins were headed back her way and now the Goblin Lord was riding towards her as his Shield Spider chewed on a bloody body.

The Goblin Lord dismounted, still on a battle-high after his victory. Osthia stared blankly at his soldier and their blood splattered armor and fresh acquisitions. Behind them, she could see hundreds, thousands of zombies and a few ghouls rising. More warriors. The Goblin Lord’s army grew.

“Where is the old one?”

The Goblin Lord stared at Osthia and looked around with a frown. She replied numbly.

“He left.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. He wasn’t who he seemed to be.”

“I know.”

The young Drake woman stared at the Goblin Lord. He shrugged.

“Old Goblin with beard? Very suspicious. Knew too much. Wonder if I’ll see again. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“He is Goblin and I am Goblin. We are all Goblin.”

The Goblin Lord was calm as he explained. They were of the same species, so they were on the same side. Osthia stared at him, uncomprehending. That wasn’t how Drakes looked at each other.

Instead of replying, she looked around. The Goblin Lord’s army had destroyed another Human army. Another one. And they were sending soldiers to pillage the city for supplies. At least the rest of the Humans had escaped. And that all begged the question: why?

“What is your goal? Why are you going north? Just for a few Goblin tribes? Or do you want something else?”

Osthia stared challengingly up at the Goblin Lord, ignoring Snapjaw’s glare and the way Eater of Spears looked at her. The Goblin Lord shifted on his throne of chitin, patting his Shield Spider on the head. He smiled at her.

“To survive of course. It is easy. I win three battles and my people live.”

“What? Three battles?”

He nodded calmly and cast his eyes north. The Goblin Lord sat straight as he spoke, the other Goblins hearing his words and passing them on to the others.

“Goblins need a home. Goblins cannot be separate. We are too weak. We are hunted. So I will build one. I will win three battles. One against the Goblins who rebel. Another against the Humans. And a third, defending our home. I will build it in the mountains. And when all three battles are won, Goblins will know peace.”

“Impossible. The Drake high command would never—”

“Drakes? Drakes don’t go north! Drakes don’t trust Humans and Humans don’t like Drakes. If I find a place for my people, one side will send armies and the other one will squabble and do nothing. We will be a thorn for one and good for the other. You know that.”

The Goblin Lord pointed at her. Osthia opened her mouth and stopped. If he settled and made a Goblin city? She could imagine the Walled Cities sending an army north, but surely the Humans wouldn’t think of that as a declaration of war, right? But the last time a Drake army had gone north…

The Goblin Lord raised his voice, addressing his army.

“Three victories. One against Goblins. Then my army is strong. The second against Humans to show them we cannot be defeated. The last to defend a home, to show them that we are here to stay. It is possible! I have an army. I have a people. I have everything you Drakes have, what Humans have. If I am strong, my people will live. And I am strong!”

He raised his arms and his soldiers cheered. Osthia looked around. The Goblins in black armor shouted and cheered in their own language, shouting for the Goblin Lord. For a home.

She was alone among them. And as the Goblin Lord dismounted, as he pointed and his Goblins began to march back to their army, he looked at her. His white pupils surrounded by blackness were too knowing, too intelligent.

“This was good training.”

“Training?”

Osthia Blackwing looked back at the bloody battlefield, at the dead Humans and the undead shambling after the Goblin Lord’s army. She stared at the Goblin Lord, all her fury replaced by…

“Is that what you call it? What you call this? Training?”

“Hmm. Wrong word? Learning, then. I learn. How to hide troops, how to send them here and here. Your Drake [General] and Gnoll [General] taught me how to lead an army. Now I learn how to fight best with one. Learning, always learning. That is what makes me strong.”

He grinned at her. Osthia swallowed hard.

“The Necromancer made you strong. Without him you’re just…”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed and she fell silent. He shook his head slowly.

“Necromancer made me stronger. But I was always strong. Goblins are weak. But we grow. We learn. And we take. From you. From Drakes, from Humans, from everyone. We take and take. And someday we won’t need to take any more. Someday we will be like you. And we will have a home.”

He stared at her and Osthia felt it. Creeping into her heart, like poison. She could deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, but it was. The Goblin Lord was more than a threat. More than a menace. She was afraid of him. And that promise in his eyes. The word he kept repeating.

“Home.”

Goblins had no homes. They were monsters. Savages. Tribal nuisances that had to be put down. Or they had been. Now, the ones in this army were something else. Osthia Blackwing looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes and he smiled.

“Soon.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.47

[Lieutenant] Gershal of Vaunt was an unhappy man. He was not an important man, which factored into his present unhappiness. He was a low-level officer from a small city north of Invrisil. He commanded a group of disciplined but fairly low-level [Archers] and [Swordsmen], and he liked to think of himself as a decent soldier, albeit one who hadn’t fought in any wars.

He and his men fought monsters, patrolled, kept the peace, and occasionally went to aid other cities, usually in suppressing a Goblin tribe or dealing with a monster infestation. They had never been levied for one of the annual battles against the Drakes, and Gershal hoped they never would be. When he’d heard about the Goblin Lord he’d been concerned for the other cities of course, but he’d assumed the Goblin threat would be taken care of long before they got close to his city.

What he’d never expected was to be part of the solution. When the levy request had come from Lady Magnolia Reinhart to Vaunt, the city [Mayor] had panicked. When another request came hours later from Lord Tyrion Veltras, Gershal had known there would be trouble. When two important nobles wanted the same thing, appeasing one and not the other could have terrible consequences, and yet, both requests had demanded a large force be sent, making appeasing both an impossibility.

Vaunt had made the logical choice. They’d sent four hundred [Soldiers] to Lord Tyrion Veltras, who, after all, was known as a battle-ready [Lord] and who would probably return most of the soldiers in one piece. They’d sent Gershal with two hundred of his men to Lady Magnolia.

The sacrificial lamb. Gershal strode about the camp he’d been assigned to, nervously tightening his sword belt and eyeing the other soldiers and officers milling about. Lines of orderly tents ran in every direction, each one inhabited by an officer from a different Human city.

“Dead gods, what a hodgepodge collection of units this is. Lady Reinhart wants to stop the Goblin Lord with this?

Gershal groused to himself as he walked past a group of officers dicing and drinking wine together. His throat cried out for a taste, but the [Lieutenant] moved past them. Drinking on duty? That wasn’t a custom in his army.

And that was the thing. Magnolia’s requests had drawn in so many disparate groups of soldiers from across the continent. Gershal was amazed their arrival to the camp just outside of Invrisil hadn’t been a disaster with them all arriving at once. Somehow he’d found there was a space ready for his soldiers to camp and a personal tent. That was something at least. But now he was waiting for orders and impatient with it. So Gershal walked through the camp, looking for anyone he might recognize.

As luck had it, he was recognized first.

“Gershal!”

A woman’s voice made Gershal turn. He saw a woman in armor striding up to him. She raised a fist and Gershal, knowing what was coming, winced as he put up his own.

The sound of two gauntleted fists colliding made several officers look up. Gershal shook out his stinging knuckles and looked at the other officer who’d given him her city’s unique greeting.

“Lieutenant Salvia. I should have known you’d be assigned here. Who did you offend to get this duty?”

“It’s [Captain] Salvia, you dour oaf! I specifically requested to come here—might as well be first to fight the Goblin Lord, eh? How’s Vaunt? Still making cheeses all year? How many soldiers did you send? Two hundred? Three?”

“Two. Half [Archers] and half [Swordsmen].”

“What, you mean those Level 5 [Farmers] who’ve barely trained with a bow more than a month? Poor show!”

“Better than a bunch of [Riders] who spend all their time looking after a bunch of flea-ridden nags all day.”

Gershal and Salvia stared at each other for a second, and then she laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You don’t change, do you? Come on, let’s have a drink!”

“I shouldn’t. We are on duty…”

“Don’t be like that! There’s no commander about and unless Magnolia Reinhart graces us with her presence in person, we’ve nothing to do but talk. I have a bottle of wine in my tent. Let’s take it out and drink something. Pshaw! This weather’s not warming fast enough for my taste!”

In short order, Gershal found himself sitting with Salvia at a table, drinking cheap wine from equally cheap tin cups. It wasn’t what Gershal would have preferred, but he was too polite to say otherwise.

Besides, he knew Salvia. Her city, Nonelmar, was close to his and they’d gotten to know each other over the years. Nonelmar was more prosperous owing to its richer soil which provided it with grazing pastures and bountiful fields alike, but Vaunt could pride itself on producing some of the best cheeses on the continent. In fact, Gershal had some of his city’s famous cheese with him and soon he and Salvia were sharing slices of the spicy cheese known as Peppermort, exceptionally fragrant and long-lasting. It also went well with wine, even cheap wine.

“Good stuff! I can’t tell you how much I miss your city’s cheeses. I tried to buy some in Invrisil as soon as my soldiers settled in, but you wouldn’t believe the prices!”

“They are high right before spring. You’re lucky you met me—I hear some of our cheeses are going for eight silver pieces per pound at the moment.”

Salvia swore and Gershal smiled, although he was slightly jealous. He hadn’t even contemplated a trip into Invrisil, for all it was a few miles away from the officer’s camp. Vaunt couldn’t afford to pay its [Lieutenants] that much, and a [Captain]’s salary allowed for far more luxuries.

Rather than ask how Salvia had gotten her promotion, which would be polite, Gershal looked around the camp.

“You say your soldiers got here yesterday? We only arrived this morning. Do you think we’ll be waiting long to see what Lady Reinhart does with us?”

Salvia bit into a slice of cheese and sipped some wine, shrugging.

“Can’t say. Your group is one of the last to arrive or so it seems. We’re nearly full in the camps, and the soldiers are restless. Could be we’ll just sit here until the Goblin Lord arrives and if he attacks, we’ll do our bits. Otherwise…”

Gershal frowned, worried. He leaned forwards over the low wooden table towards Salvia.

“She won’t order us into battle, would she? Lady Reinhart has to know that a force like this won’t stand up to a regular army—even a Goblin Lord’s. Without a commander of some sort…”

“She might have one. Invrisil has a few [Strategists] and it’s not like she couldn’t send for a [Commander] from one of the larger cities.”

“Be reasonable Salvia. A local [Commander] is no match for a Goblin Lord. If it comes to a battle, I could see our groups holding the line in the city with adventurers. But an offensive is suicide! Lord Tyrion is gathering an army of his own, and it’s going to be twice as large as this one. Let him take care of the Goblin Lord. Not Lady Reinhart, who is, with all respect, not a general.”

Gershal looked around as he said this. It wasn’t wise to badmouth Lady Magnolia, but he had to state his opinions, which were close to fact in this case. Salvia made a face.

“I know. I know. I have orders not to participate in any assaults on the Goblin Lord unless I’m sure I can pull my boys out safely. And I’ll bet half the officers here won’t commit to an assault either. You’re not alone Gershal—just don’t say it anywhere Lady Reinhart’s people might hear.”

“They’re not here, are they?”

The [Lieutenant] looked around, worried. Salvia shook her head and pointed to a pair of [Knights] in pinkish-red armor who were striding through the camp.

“Not her people exactly, but see those two. They’re [Knights] in service to Lady Bethal.”

“Oh.”

Gershal knew that Lady Bethal Walchaís and her house were strongly aligned with the Reinhart family. Still, the two [Knights] did little to strike fear into his heart.

“Aren’t those the Knights of the Flower or something? I’ve heard about them. Arrogant hotheads or so I’ve been led to believe. All the more reason why this army lacks cohesion. If I have to fight with those eyesores—”

Salvia kicked Gershal under the table, making him wince and clutch at his leg. She glared at him, tin cup held tensely in her hand.

“Don’t say that within earshot, you fool! The Knights of the Petal take any insult against their [Lady] or their order to heart. They’ve thrashed officers who’ve laughed at them and they’ll break bones if you insult Lady Bethal.”

Gershal shut up. Salvia put down her cup and reached for the wine bottle to refill it.

“They might dress like pink flowers, but they’re the real deal on the battlefield, Gershal. I hear their armor is all custom-made Dwarf work, enchanted by Wistram mages. They’re nigh-invincible against mundane arms and they all have magical weapons. If there’s any group I’d want to be charging into the Goblin Lord’s ranks, it’s them.”

“Oh.”

Instantly Gershal reevaluated his opinion of the two Rose Knights. Dwarf-made armor? His armor was iron, and not exactly top-rate iron at that. He’d be grateful for some high-quality steel, let alone a piece of armor from the Dwarf forges of Terandria. Yet the presence of Lady Bethal’s knights still didn’t assuage his concerns.

“That’s one elite group. But I don’t see any other notable force. By all accounts Lord Veltras has gathered a far larger army—he called for six thousand horse from the Terland family and they sent it! At least a quarter were [Knights], whereas I can count the number of crests here in the hundreds.”

“Yes, yes. I get what you’re saying Gershal. But we were called here to protect Invrisil from the Goblin Lord.”

“I have no problems with that. But doing it alone—”

Gershal broke off, knowing he was belaboring the point. His heart ached for the villages and towns that had already been destroyed by the Goblin Lord. But he was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. Without a true leader—or twice as many soldiers, he feared that any attempt to do battle with the Goblin Lord would only level up his Goblins and create more undead.

He was worried and unhappy, and unfortunately, the alcohol only made his mood worse. Gershal and Salvia had finished half the bottle and were sharing his cheese and her wine with some other officers they’d met when they heard a horn blowing to the east of camp. Everyone looked up.

“That’s odd. They haven’t announced anyone since Lady Bethal and her escort rode in.”

“Might be a small [Lord] leading his soldiers personally. Poor fellow if he is—I doubt he’ll see much battle on defensive duty.”

“Hang on—listen. There are more horns. This is no local lord.”

Indeed, more horns were blowing, heralding the arrival of someone important. Gershal rose to his feet and saw a man on horseback riding through the camp.

“All officers! Assemble at the center of camp! Lady Magnolia Reinhart has arrived in person! She will be discussing the coming battle against the Goblin Lord!”

“Oh, dead gods.”

Salvia paled and Gershal felt his heart jump in his chest. Coming battle? He looked around at the other officers. They were all looking uneasy.

“We’ll—just have to see what she says. Perhaps she intends to hold the city.”

“No problems there. But he said ‘coming battle’. If she wants us to attack…”

“We’ll just have to tell her it’s not feasible. There’s a few [Captains] and some [Lords] among us—they can say it to her face.”

“Not I.”

Salvia looked pale at the idea, and the officer who’d suggested it paused.

“Well, we’ll just have to say it together. She can’t object to all of us stating the truth.”

Silence followed his words. Gershal stopped himself from pointing out that Lady Magnolia Reinhart could do what she very well pleased. If she grew angry at all of the officers present…he sighed.

“We’d better see what she wants.”

“True.”

The officers began moving in a mass towards the center of the camp, where a wooden stage had been placed. Gershal had wondered what it was for—now he realized it was for the Lady Reinhart. He prayed she wouldn’t make the wrong decision.

“Someone has to destroy the Goblin Lord.”

Salvia muttered to Gershal as they walked. Gershal nodded. He’d wrapped his cheese carefully in wax paper and was tucking it into his armor. Cheese. It was a local superstition among his city. A cheese had once stopped an arrow that had gone through a [Soldier]’s armor. Now all of the young men and women who left Vaunt carried a cheese when they went into battle. It was a good field ration and it reminded them of home.

He wondered what the traditions of the villages and cities around Invrisil were like. Gershal felt a pang as he imagined the Goblin Lord’s army laying waste to them. Someone had to stop the Goblin Lord, indeed. But—

Not this army. Not them. They were too small. Gershal closed his eyes. And then he heard a susurration, saw the ranks of men and women parting, and knew Lady Magnolia Reinhart was approaching. He had never met her before in his life, but Gershal knew the rumors surrounding her. She was cunning, deadly, manipulative, and, it was said, cold-hearted as the snow itself. But she had never been called a fool.

He hoped that today wouldn’t prove the rumors wrong.

 

—-

 

“Lady Reinhart? General Shivertail? We have arrived.”

Reynold’s voice came from the front of the carriage, slightly muffled. He guided the pink magical carriage to a stop as the camp full of officers came into view. It was the smaller camp to the sprawling campgrounds next to it, where the soldiers from each unit were waiting.

The ground was cleared, and the melted snow had revealed wet but sturdy earth. The growing plant life had been trampled by thousands of boots. Now it was muddy, and Ressa wrinkled her nose as she stepped out into the mud.

“You shouldn’t have brought a dress.”

“Nonsense! How will they know it’s me if I don’t wear a dress? Besides, aren’t these enchanted to resist stains?”

“Your legs aren’t. Step carefully and try not to fall on your face.”

Lady Magnolia scoffed and exited the carriage carefully. She took one step into the mud, grimaced, and turned to Ressa.

“Ah. Perhaps the high heels were a mistake. However, we shall endure. General Shivertail, are you ready? I believe the officers have assembled; once we reach the stage it will truly begin in earnest.”

Zel Shivertail sat in Lady Magnolia’s coach and felt his scales tingling. He looked up, and saw Reynold fussing with the carriage. He looked to one side and saw Lady Magnolia Reinhart standing in the mud, peering up at him.

It felt like he was dreaming. Only, as he ducked his head and stepped from the carriage, he knew he wasn’t. He could see Humans in the distance, hundreds of them. All gathered around a wooden platform. They’d seen Lady Magnolia’s carriage of course, and now their faces were turned to him.

Humans. And here he was, a Drake [General], about to lead them. Of course, Zel knew that was the plan. It had been the plan ever since Magnolia had sent him a letter suggesting just that weeks ago. But though he’d replied, though he’d thought of the Necromancer and the Goblin Lord and thought about the need for a Drake-Human alliance…

It still felt like he was dreaming.

“Are you alright, General Shivertail?”

Magnolia might have had a Skill, or else she could see his unease on his face. Zel straightened and felt at his armor. It was light as a feather, yet the fiery-gold metal shone as if internally ablaze. The Heartflame Breastplate made Zel feel warm in the chill air. A relic of his people and he was wearing it.

“I’m fine, Reinhart. Let’s do this.”

She nodded. They began to walk towards the center of the camp, Ressa and Reynold following a few steps behind. Zel scrutinized the closest Humans to him. They looked like officers, sure enough. Soldiers were the same the world over. But this?

It wouldn’t be the first time a Drake had gone north. There were quite a few Drakes who’d decided to live in Human lands, for all they were actively discouraged from doing so by the Drake cities. But while they hadn’t invaded each other in decades, the Humans and Drakes were still nominally at war.

If a Drake [General] led his soldiers past Liscor, or a Human [Lord] moved past the Blood Fields it might be war again. And yet here he was. And already, the Humans had begun to notice him. Some were pointing, others turning.

Zel strode forwards with Lady Magnolia at his side. He spoke to her as he walked, still feeling as though someone else was taking every step. The world felt like it was…echoing…around him. It was a dream.

But it was real, too. Zel’s heart beat faster than it had in years.

“It feels surreal.”

“Oh? What part?”

Magnolia looked up towards Zel. Her face was composed as she walked across the muddy ground. Many eyes were on her too. Waiting. She had to feel the momentous nature of what was occurring. But she looked calm. Zel hoped he did, too.

“All of it. You know that my people won’t accept this. And yours will probably riot as well. The continent could change from this.”

“Of course it will. That is the point, General.”

Zel shivered but kept his head high. Now all the Humans were turning and some had recognized him. He heard muffled exclamations in the crowd. His heart was beating too fast.

“Two days ago I was in a small inn outside of Liscor. I ate, I drank…it was peaceful. I could forget I was a [General], then. Here…”

“Yes?”

Magnolia looked sideways at Zel as they approached the stage in the center of the camp. The Drake was silent for a moment.

“What will happen after I speak, I wonder?”

She shrugged, smilingly slightly.

“I believe I will find out. Spies and so forth. But it depends on what you say. They are waiting for you, General. Are you ready?”

Now all the Humans were looking at him. Zel put his foot on the first wooden step. The wooden stage was simple, but solidly built. Good. That was all he needed. He looked at Magnolia and thought he saw her hands tremble. Just for a second. But then it was gone. She looked him in the eye, fearless. He grinned then, and felt the dream break.

This was reality. Zel offered Magnolia a claw and she took it. They ascended to the top of the stage together. Zel looked over a sea of faces. Human faces. He thought of a young woman named Erin Solstice, of a [Barmaid] named Lyonette. Of an inn. Of a girl named Ryoka Griffin. Of the Necromancer. Zel’s tail curled slightly and then straightened. He nodded.

“Nothing will be the same. Good. Let’s do this.”

This is what the officers saw. Lady Magnolia and a tall Drake wearing shining armor stood on the stage, flanked by a [Maid] and a [Butler]. It was Lady Magnolia Reinhart who spoke first. She took a step forwards and spoke in a loud, cheerful voice.

“Good evening.”

Her words were amplified by a spell she carried, or a Skill because they were clearly audible even in the back of the crowd. The officers waited, some seeing her for the first time.

Magnolia Reinhart was neither tall nor thin and lithe. She was not, by her own admission, a dashing beauty, although she was quite pretty. But she did have a presence that eclipsed her body. When she spoke, every eye was on her.

“I am Magnolia Reinhart. No doubt you all know why you have been called here from your respective cities. A Goblin Lord threatens the north. He marches towards Invrisil as we speak, with an army of tens of thousands. Worse, he raises the undead from each city he destroys. He has slaughtered our people, my people for too long. He must be stopped.”

A sound ran through the crowd. No one dared speak, but there was a sighing, a sense of unease. Stop the Goblin Lord? Magnolia gazed from face to face, hers betraying no fear.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion Veltras is assembling his own forces elsewhere. Yes, the Goblin Lord’s army is considerable. It has destroyed two Drake armies already. However, Invrisil is no plum ripe for the picking. Its people will not be prey to Goblin swords, and nor shall it come under attack while I live. That is why you are here. You will repulse the Goblin Lord and destroy his army.”

Now there were voices of dissent. Murmurs—those speaking feared to do more than groan aloud. Ressa shifted in place, her gaze finding those who made noise and piercing them with her glare. Magnolia raised her hand and there was silence.

“I realize many of you have reservations. Only naturally. The army assembled here is, alas, smaller than I had hoped. You all hail from different cities; it is only natural you would feel concern about going into battle against another army without leadership. I am aware of the problem.”

Magnolia paused and Zel waited. His heart had grown calm in his chest—either that, or he could no longer hear it. He waited, knowing what was to come.

“To that end I have asked a suitable [General] to lead this army against the Goblin Lord. He stands before you now. I present to you your commander who will lead you against the Goblin Lord.”

Lady Magnolia stepped to one side. She gestured simply at Zel. He stood, waiting. For a second there was shock, then silence. And then someone began to shout.

“A Drake?

Faces paled, turned red, or changed into expressions of fury as the officers realized what Magnolia was implying. One, a huge man got to his feet. He was shaking as he pointed at Lady Magnolia.

“You asked for a Drake to lead us? Have you no shame!? Outrageous! How dare—”

He was cut off as his friends dragged him down. But the discontent was evident in the faces of the soldiers and officers alike. Magnolia concealed her inner emotions as she smiled graciously and nodded to Zel. She raised her voice again, cutting over the shouting from the crowd.

“I will let the General speak for himself. And I will have silence until he finishes speaking, is that clear?”

This time her request was not honored. There were still voices sounding off. Magnolia frowned and clapped her hands. The sound her hands made was soft and suddenly there was silence. No one could speak. They stared up at Magnolia. She looked around, eyes glittering dangerously. Then she smiled.

“Thank you. Now, General, I cede the floor to you.”

She bowed ever so slightly, making the Humans blink and shift in surprise. Zel took two steps forwards and took a breath. This was it. He realized now, dimly, that he hadn’t really prepared a speech. Oh well. He knew what to say. He looked over the ranks of outraged, confused, and skeptical Humans and began.

“Many of you may not recognize who I am. I realize all Drakes look alike to most Humans. However, I am no ordinary Drake. I am a [General]. And as Lady Magnolia has said, I am here to lead you against the Goblin Lord.”

The crowd shifted. Zel could see they were resistant, hostile even. He went on, his voice raised. He needed no Skills or spells to speak to the crowd. He had addressed larger armies, shouted over the roar of the battlefield. This? This was easy.

“To those of you who do not know me: I fought in the First Antinium War and the Second, side by side with Human armies, with Gnoll tribes and pushed the Antinium back into their Hives. I battled the Goblin King’s armies. I have fought longer than some of you have been alive. Perhaps my history means little to you, but you may know me for one of my deeds. I fought the Necromancer at Liscor. I slew him.”

He thought he had. Zel remembered grabbing Az’kerash, remembered the sensation of tearing him apart—a lie. But of all his feats, this was the one Humans recognized. The one the world had recognized him for. Now all the eyes on him were filled with comprehension. He could hear murmurs, despite Magnolia’s invocation of silence. Yes, they knew him.

“My name is Zel Shivertail.”

A gasp ran through the crowd. And a cry went up, short and sudden. Some of the officers took a step back, others looked around in disbelief. Some appeared stunned. They had heard his name before, yes, but few had expected to ever meet him. He was a figure from history, someone whose name had been shouted from the rooftops during the first and second Antinium Wars. Zel heard the name shouted again and closed his eyes.

Tidebreaker. The Drake [General] who had broken the Antinium advance. Zel Shivertail, the hero of the Antinium Wars. Here, on Human lands.

Now there was true silence, as everyone stared at Zel, wondering what he would say next. Zel looked across the ranks of faces and nodded.

“I am here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. To do battle against the Goblin Lord.”

“Why?”

The shout came almost at once. Zel saw a man in poor armor shouting up at him. Of course. He was a Human and Zel was a Drake general, an enemy [General]. It didn’t matter that he was a low-level officer. Humans had their pride, like Drakes. They wouldn’t suffer an enemy [General] leading them, even if Magnolia ordered them. It was Zel’s job to convince them otherwise.

So Zel answered the man simply.

“The Goblin Lord is here. He is coming. Perhaps not for your city, sir, but for Invrisil. He has destroyed villages and towns and cities already. His army grows. You have heard that he defeated two Drake armies? Well, we sent two armies against him, both led by high-level [Generals]. Both were destroyed down to the last [Soldier].”

Silence. Zel looked around.

“I don’t have to tell you all what that means. An army grows from its victories, and the Goblin Lord has only won his battles. He also has an army of the undead that has grown with every slaughter. And he is coming. Why am I here? Because he must be stopped.”

Now Zel’s voice rose. He walked down the wooden stage, looking from face to face.

“I am a Drake. You are Humans. I understand that. But when I looked north, after the Goblin Lord had passed Liscor, I saw no Humans rushing to destroy him. I hear Lord Tyrion Veltras is forming a grand army. If so, that is commendable. But he is too late. And he is too far. He is not here. In a day or two, the Goblin Lord’s army will be upon Invrisil. Will Lord Tyrion wait and watch another Human city destroyed? Will he allow tens, no, hundreds of thousands of civilians to be slaughtered?”

No one responded. Of course, that was what would happen if they didn’t defeat the Goblin Lord here. Invrisil was Magnolia’s holding. If it was attacked she would lose influence and Tyrion would gain. That was politics. And it was shameful. Zel put all the scorn he could into his voice.

“That is not right. It is not acceptable. Drakes defend their own when they are attacked. So do Humans. And when Lady Reinhart asked me to lead the defense of her city, I agreed. Not because I am abandoning my people, or because I will be paid. No. Because it is the right thing to do. This is Human land, yes. But this is my continent. This is our home. And I will defend it to my death.”

Face to face. Zel looked into eyes and saw they were like Drake eyes. Different yes, but his words struck some chord in his audience. He went on.

“Drakes do not run. That was a…favorite saying of a friend of mine. It seems it’s become the expression that defines my people. But from what I’ve seen, Humans don’t run either. When the Goblin King landed on your shores, you didn’t flee his armies. Over a million Goblins invaded Izril and still, your people refused to run. You fought. And you were not alone. From every continent other nations, other people sent their armies to fight. You fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Gnolls, Drakes, half-Elves, Dwarves…together. And when we fought together, Izril was undefeatable! I should know. I saw it all. I was there.”

Memory. The Second Antinium War. Burning skies filled with smoke and flame. Goblins, the undead, the Antinium marching from every corner of the continent. Some of the men and women below had lived through those times, or had grown up in them. He saw them shudder, and then saw the burning in their eyes. Yes, that was what he wanted. Zel stopped and pointed at them. He roared across the crowd, his voice thunder.

“This is your home! This city may not be yours, but every city here was built by Humans. You claimed these lands. You spilled blood for them and held them against Drakes, Goblins, the Antinium, and every other threat that sought to claim them for thousands of years. Now the Goblin Lord marches north, his armies growing with every victory. Will you give him another city, the lives of your people? The Humans I know would not do that! The Humans I know would drive his army into the sea and fight till their dying breaths before they gave ground to their enemy!”

There was a growing momentum in the crowd, a shifting. Backs straightened, eyes locked on Zel’s. He looked at them. Soldiers. That was all. They were all the same.

“Drakes squabble. Human nobility argue. But [Soldiers] fight. We do our duty and then we go home. Well, I am no [Lord]. My own people think I’m troublesome because I think we shouldn’t be at war with your people. I’m no politician; I’m a soldier like you all. And I see the enemy. Now, I don’t know what you think of me, but there’s no Tyrion Veltras here. No other [Lord] or [General]. Just me. And I won’t retreat until the Goblin Lord’s army is shattered and his undead are buried in the ground again! I will fight! But I cannot do it alone! Will you do the same?”

Zel raised one fist and stared across the sea of Humans. He waited. He had given them no grand speech, no rousing promise of victory. He had spoken to them like soldiers and now he waited. What if they said nothing? What if they refused? Would it all fail? Were they too alike? What if—

A voice rose in the crowd. At the back, Zel saw a man in battered iron armor raise his voice. He shouted as heads turned, his eyes blazing with emotion.

“I am [Lieutenant] Gershal of Vaunt! I will fight with you, General Shivertail! We do not run from Goblins! I will protect Invrisil with my men if you will lead us!”

His voice rang out in the silence, proud and alone. It was what Zel had been waiting for. Because on the heels of his declaration came another voice. A woman, standing next to him raised her fists.

“My cavalry will ride with any man, Drake or Gnoll against a common foe! I pledge my unit to your command!”

“And I!”

An officer next to her unsheathed his sword, nearly cutting the man beside him. More Humans spoke up. A [Lord] stood and shouted.

“For Invrisil! I will fight to defend the city! I pledge my warriors to Lady Reinhart’s army!”

“I will follow any [General], Drake or Human to defeat the Goblin Lord!”

And then the voices became a shout. Zel waited, standing atop the podium, as the officers and soldiers gathered began to shout his name.

Shivertail! Shivertail!

Tidebreaker!

And last, but most importantly, a word. Not his name, not a word that represented Zel or Magnolia. The word Zel had been waiting for.

“Izril!”

“Izril! The Dragonlands! The unconquered!”

Izril!

And then there was cheering. Officers shouted, swept up in a fury to defend their homes. Zel stood on the platform, absorbing their energy. This was the key. They had been disunited before. Now they had a common enemy. They were an army, however disparate. He waited until the cheering had settled and then gave orders.

“Prepare for battle. We will engage the Goblin Lord if he comes any closer to the city. If he goes around, we will pursue and drive him into a corner. But I promise you this: he will burn no more villages, despoil no more lands. This army will be his end. Officers, I will begin assembling you into groups within the hour. Prepare yourselves; I will assign commands based on rank and level. When we go into battle, it will be as one united force.”

Zel turned as the cheering began again. That didn’t matter. The fact that they’d accepted his command, that they’d agreed to be led by him was all that mattered. He could sort the rest out later. Now…

He walked towards Magnolia, Ressa, and Reynold. They were applauding him with the others. Zel glanced at Magnolia and she descended the wooden platform with him. They walked through ranks of officers, Zel exchanging words with them, reassuring, standing tall, showing them he was worthy of being followed, until they had a moment to speak.

“I’ll stay here. I’m leading this army now; I’ll stay in the camp.”

“I thought you’d say that. There is a tent waiting and I believe Reynold has a number of lists for you. I will retire to my estate for a while to let you sort things out. Well done, General. Did you use a Skill to impress the crowd so?”

Magnolia paused as she got into her carriage with Ressa driving. Zel shook his head.

“I did not. A Skill might let me drag the army blindly into battle, but it won’t last. I need an army willing to fight, not a bunch of unwilling soldiers.”

“Hm. Interesting. Well, it was quite a rousing speech you gave. Lord Tyrion is not here. I would quite like to see his face when he hears that.”

Magnolia chuckled. Then she paused.

“Still, I do think you could have given a more rousing speech. All the quiet moments and the pauses—I should have liked a bit more vim to it all. A bit of shouting perhaps? What do you think, Ressa? I give it six points.”

Zel stared at Magnolia as she turned to her maid. Ressa tilted her head, thinking. She nodded at Zel as she replied.

“Four out of five. Not the sort of speech you give on the precipice of a battle, but stirring enough.”

Both women looked at Reynold. The [Butler] flushed and stroked his mustache furiously.

“I’d ah, give it a hundred points out of a hundred, milady, Miss Ressa.”

He avoided their accusatory looks with his eyes and bowed slightly to Zel, speaking to the Drake [General].

“You said what they needed to hear. None of the soldiers here want to risk their lives for glory or believe in noble causes. But defending home and family? They understand that. I felt…inspired myself.”

“Typical. I suppose I’d have to be a [Soldier] to appreciate a speech like that. Come on Ressa, let’s leave General Shivertail to his work. I will speak to you tonight, General.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Zel lied as he watched the carriage drive away. He turned and saw Reynold waiting for him, as well as a number of officers.

“I never expected to be cheered. I hoped I wouldn’t be shouted off the stage. If this was a Drake army, I’d have been wary about being dragged off were I a Human.”

Reynold smiled at Zel.

“We Humans are a bit more impressed by titles, sir. And you are a hero. When I was younger, I heard of the Tidebreaker slaying the Necromancer in battle. There were celebrations in the streets when it was announced. We remember, sir.”

He coughed, turning a bit red and Zel smiled. Then his smile faded. The Necromancer. The Drake shook his head.

“I’ll try to live up to expectations, Reynold. Now, let’s meet these officers. We have a lot of work to do.”

He strode forwards. And the Humans came to meet him. And even as Magnolia’s coach drove away, rumors were already flying by [Message] spell and people running towards the city. There was a Drake [General] leading Humans. And not just any Drake.

Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker.

The world might never be the same.

 

—-

 

Lady Magnolia sat in her carriage, scraping mud off her high heels onto a cushion. Ressa, sitting in the driver’s seat, frowned over her shoulder.

“Stop that. Maids will have to clean all that up.”

“I hate mud, Ressa.”

“Don’t make me come back there.”

Fine. What did you think of General Shivertail’s speech, Ressa? Truly?”

The [Maid] turned back to the road and twitched the reins. The carriage dodged around a convoy of wagons as the [Wagon Driver] in front screamed and raised his hand as if that could stop the oncoming impact.

“Just what I said. It wasn’t a flashy speech, but it did the job.”

“Mm. I still prefer his famous ‘Defiance on the Roshharn Plains’ speech, or the ‘Liscorian Address’. ”

Magnolia was unconvinced. She grumbled to herself as she settled back into her seat. But then she brightened as she glanced over her shoulder.

“I say, there’s a woman on horseback racing towards Invrisil. Do you think they’re already starting to gossip?”

“I imagine so. I saw several using artifacts. Word is probably already spreading about Zel Shivertail’s speech.”

“Oh good. I do so love an enthusiastic audience. Speaking of which…you have the recording?”

“On the cushion. The spell caught most of his words perfectly, although the angle was slightly off.”

Magnolia found the small crystal Ressa had mentioned and touched it. Instantly, a projection of Zel sprang into life, and his voice echoed throughout the carriage. She stopped the magical memory with a finger and sighed happily.

“I think I’ll put this one in my personal collection. After we copy the spell and sell it of course. How much do you think I should tell my agents to charge for it? A thousand gold pieces for each copy?”

“The first one will earn the most.”

“Mm. I wonder who pays most for this sort of information? Ah, well, I suppose any worthwhile [Informant] would sell to multiple sides at once. Hurry up now Ressa; I want to be the first to sell the information about Zel!”

“I’m hurrying. I can’t control this thing as well as Reynold, though. I nearly killed that man on the road just there.”

The coach drove onwards. Magnolia settled back into her seat, already plotting how to disseminate the information about this new alliance in ways that would profit her. But she broke off from her calculations and looked out the window back towards the camp.

She smiled.

“A Drake [General] leading a Human army. Isn’t that something? It’s like a story. Or a dream, I suppose.”

Ressa’s voice was muffled from her position in the front, but it still conveyed a bit of emotion in her words.

“Yes. You did it, Magnolia.”

“At last. We finally took a step. At last.”

Magnolia smiled with genuine happiness. Then she laughed.

“And what will they say about it? Oh Ressa, the world is changing.”

And within the hour, word was spreading by spell and bird and foot. And the world took notice.

 

—-

 

Important events were subjective across the world. Obviously news like the return of the King of Destruction was worthy of worldwide reporting, but even then, the news of his return was not nearly so vital in Rhir as it was in Chandrar. Thus, gossip about the latest marriage between royals or wars won or magical artifacts unearthed travelled at varying speeds depending on how useful it was.

But in certain circles any news of political value was transmitted instantly from nation to nation. The latest developments in the world stage could be worth hundreds or thousands of gold pieces—but of course, such news decreased exponentially in value every minute. And again, few individuals in Baleros were willing to pay for news about Terandrian politics, however dramatic.

But news about a Drake allying with a Human? Much less a Drake whose name was known around the world and a Human woman who could boast the same? That was news worth thousands of gold pieces to some. And Magnolia Reinhart’s informants earned a lion’s share in the hours after Zel had addressed his army.

And as luck would have it, one of those informants spread word to Olesm. Of course he couldn’t afford to pay in gold for the news; he could only afford silver. But he still got the news by [Message] spell, and within ten minutes he’d called an emergency meeting of Liscor’s council.

Watch Captain Zevara strode into the room at the same time as Wall Lord Ilvriss. Olesm was already there, having beaten them by about a minute. He was panting, his eyes wide, and when he turned to them both Drakes knew the news was serious.

“Out with it.”

Ilvriss didn’t wait for the rest of the Council to assemble. He was dressed in armor and looking more alert than Olesm had seen him in days, if slightly hung over. Olesm was grateful for that. The Drake nervously lifted the folded bit of parchment and read out loud from it.

“T-this is the news I just received from Invrisil. It came by one of my informants—I’m sure it’s trustworthy. Here’s what it says. Zel Shivertail, the famous Lineholder General, the Tidebreaker and hero of two Antinium Wars…has formed an alliance with Lady Magnolia Reinhart. He has assumed command of a Human army gathered around Invrisil and is preparing to destroy the Goblin Lord’s army—”

Olesm choked on his words. Ilvriss gaped at him. Zevara went to go sit down and missed her chair. She landed with a crash on the ground. Olesm winced as the Watch Captain stared at him. Then Zevara shouted.

What?

“It’s what it says!”

Olesm flinched as Zevara leapt to her feet. The Watch Captain grabbed the parchment and read it herself. Ilvriss didn’t come over. Instead, he stared at Olesm with a pale face. He seemed almost…calm, which put him at odds with Olesm’s state of near-panic.

“You’re sure of this?”

“I can’t imagine my informant would lie or exaggerate something like this. They’d never be trusted again—the news is everywhere, Wall Lord! That’s what General Shivertail meant when he left—what do we do?”

“Do? He’s gone to the Humans! There’s nothing to do Olesm, he—he’s allied with Magnolia Reinhart? Why would he—just for the Goblin Lord?”

Zevara crumpled the parchment with her fist, looking confused and distraught. Ilvriss looked at her, and then at the first Drakes filing into the room.

“This situation is serious. Olesm, brief the other council members. I am returning to my inn. I need to retrieve a magical artifact.”

“Why? Uh, I mean, why, sir?”

Ilvriss paused, his claw already on the doorframe.

“This requires direct consultation with my peers. And I think, the rest of the continent. Prepare yourself and get me every map and piece of information you can on the Goblin Lord and Reinhart’s forces. This will be a long meeting.”

Then he disappeared out the door. Olesm looked at Zevara, and then he ran for his office.

 

—-

 

“This is Ilvriss. Do you hear me?”

“We hear you…Wall Lord. We have an image of you, but it is unstable. The spell seems to be working however. Proceed.”

Ten minutes later, Wall Lord Ilvriss was standing in the meeting room, speaking into a crystal orb the size of his fist that had been placed on the table. Olesm stood against the wall clutching rolls of parchment. He stared into the orb with wide eyes. The magical ball was reflecting another room, a grand chamber that kept wavering in and out of focus. But what it showed was clear enough.

A room full of sixty or so Drakes were all seated in a round chamber, on benches arranged into a semi-circle. They were all dressed in rich clothing or armor, and each one of them was looking towards Ilvriss. Olesm was scared to even breathe. These were the nobility of Salazsar, the ruling elite of the Walled City. Each one was a Lord of the Wall or a Lady of the Wall, and they were all staring at him. Well, not at him, but at Ilvriss, but the pressure alone was making Olesm nervous.

Ilvriss seemed at ease talking with his peers. Indeed, his voice was the only calm one in the room at the moment. He walked back and forth in front of the orb, speaking loudly.

“There isn’t much else I can elaborate on. Zel Shivertail is gone. I mentioned as much by [Message] spell, and you received the news about his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart before me.”

“But you were with him two days ago, Ilvriss! You have to know why he changed sides!”

The voice that came through the orb was angry, but distorted. Ilvriss grimaced and shifted the orb and the voice warped and warbled. Olesm looked at him and Ilvriss shook his head. Zevara muttered into his ear.

“Bad connection. Looks like the magic spells are faded or there’s some interference. This is as good as we’ll get.”

Magical communication was very tricky. [Message] spells were common, true, but actual real-time conferences were extremely difficult to organize. And while Wistram could devise any number of complex spells to facilitate conversations, everyone else had to get inventive.

The way Ilvriss spoke to the other Lords and Ladies of the Wall in his city of Salazsar was by using a scrying orb. It gave him a view of their conference room while they did the same to him. Both orbs were extremely expensive and it had to be said, annoying to use. Ilvriss already had a headache as he stared into the small orb and saw a distorted, fish-eye view of a room full of Drake nobility staring back at him.

“I can’t speak to Shivertail’s thoughts. You know he came north pursuing information about the Goblin Lord. And he was delayed in Liscor due to the Antinium…situation.”

“Ah yes. Was his departure related to that, do you think?”

Ilvriss paused before he replied. Another issue was that the use of two scrying spells meant that their conversations were completely public if anyone wanted to listen in. Ilvriss kept his replies as devoid of confidential information as possible.

“Our findings with the Antinium were unusual and troubling…but not unduly so. Whatever threat they might pose, it’s clear that General Shivertail thought the Goblin Lord was a far more important threat.”

“I see. But then why would he ally with Humans? And with her of all people?”

“I don’t know. But it seems futile to speculate. These are the facts, Wall Lord Menoss. What we should be focusing on is what will happen next.”

Ilvriss gritted his teeth and kept his tail from lashing. Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Lady Magnolia wasn’t an issue solely important to the Drakes in Salazsar of course. No doubt every Walled City was in a panic right now. And for good reason!

“He really went over to Magnolia Reinhart’s side? This isn’t some—some ruse of hers, is it?”

“All indications are that it is not. Zel Shivertail has decided to ally himself with Humans. He has defected, Wall Lady Rizzia.”

There was a pause from the other end. Ilvriss subtly adjusted the orb and a few Drake faces swam into focus. One spoke up, looking worried.

“He can’t do that. Shivertail’s always been an agitator, but this? We must have him back.”

“Have him back? That traitor?”

“Well, he is a [General]. He’s one of ours, he can’t just—”

“He’s not ours. He’s part of the Trisstral Alliance. I wonder what those cities think of this. If they authorized his departure, they’ll have another thing coming—”

The other Drakes were arguing amongst themselves. Ilvriss ground his teeth together. They were missing the point! He slapped a claw on the table and there was a sudden silence.

“Lords and Ladies, please! Forget about the reasons. Instead of thinking of Zel Shivertail’s actions as a matter of dissent, look at it another way. The highest-level Drake [General] in the entire world has just gone over to the Humans’ side.”

The room—both rooms—fell silent. Ilvriss stared around at the suddenly grey faces and nodded.

“Zel Shivertail has never gotten himself involved in politics. He’s a career soldier and one of the reasons why we can afford to fight amongst ourselves. If he starts leading Human armies or worse, participates in battles on their side—”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he? Why not? He has nothing to lose here! We’ve refused to hear him more times than I can count. What’s stopping him from joining with Humans who will give him an army and backing? Face the facts! We have just lost our best [General]! We shouldn’t be arguing over the politics, but looking to our safety!”

Ilvriss’ words caused a hush. Olesm held his breath, thinking of all the ramifications. True, no one [General] was influential enough to define the Drake cities or weaken them too much in their absence, but on the other hand…if the Antinium attacked or another nation invaded, it was widely assumed Zel Shivertail would be the first to lead Drake armies in defense. More than that, he was a symbol. People felt reassured—he had beaten the Antinium in two wars after all! If he was gone…

Ilvriss was speaking. Olesm wrenched himself back into listening mode. The Wall Lord was the voice of reason today, which was surprising. Had he really changed that much from his time at Erin’s inn?

“Well if anyone could do it, it would be Erin.”

Olesm mumbled to himself and got a jab from Zevara for speaking. Ilvriss went on.

“I suggest we first contact the other Walled Cities to hear their reaction. And then we reach out to General Shivertail. Otherwise he may decide to stay in the north after he’s finished crushing the Goblin Lord.”

There was a pause as the nobles in Salazsar considered his words and then one of the Wall Lords closest to the orbs spoke.

“We shall reach out to the other cities and attempt to begin a larger discussion. Wall Lord Ilvriss, please hold.”

“I will do so.”

The orb went dark and Ilvriss sighed. There was an audible exhaling of breath around the room and Ilvriss looked at Liscor’s city council. They were [Merchants] and low-level officials, and they looked to Olesm like they were going to be sick. Discussions of this level were several grades above them. However, Ilvriss seemed to regard Olesm and Zevara as worthy sources of input. He turned to them.

“Shivertail’s absence is panicking my people. No doubt it will cause trouble elsewhere, but the question is how much damage it will do abroad. Thoughts?”

“No one’s going to invade Izril just because Zel Shivertail is gone. We’re most at risk of trouble coming from the Humans. However, we might be pressured by foreign powers. We need a united front.”

Zevara replied first and Olesm nodded. Ilvriss nodded as well absently and Olesm dared ask the question that was probably bubbling at the top of everyone’s minds.

“Do you know why General Shivertail would work with the Humans, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss blinked, looked up, and shrugged.

“Why not? That idiot has talked for years about the need for an army to fight the Antinium for a united front with the Humans. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’d do this.”

“But the Humans—he’ll be called a traitor! And he’s a hero! I just can’t see why…”

Olesm trailed off. Ilvriss looked at the young [Tactician] and shook his head.

“A hero. I forget I’m in Liscor. The facts aren’t so straightforward, young Swifttail. True, Zel Shivertail is a hero of the Antinium Wars. No one denies that. But as to his influence among our people…he’s been the target of a number of smear campaigns among the Walled Cities over the years. He’s been called a rabble-rouser, a traitor for opposing the war with the Humans, and more. Not in Liscor; your city would probably hang anyone who spoke a word against him here. But he’s been a target for years by politicians.”

“But that’s just—”

Olesm broke off before he said something that could get him in trouble. Ilvriss smiled bitterly, sensing what Olesm was going to say.

“It’s funny. After all these years, he may be more popular among Humans than he is among Drakes. And now, having lost him, every city in the south is looking over their tails nervously.”

He shook his head and looked back towards the orb. He muttered under his breath, loud enough for Olesm and Zevara to hear.

“What a mess. Periss was right. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Nothing.”

Ilvriss looked up, and he was all business again. He nodded to the orb.

“Shivertail’s out of touch for now. I doubt he’ll respond to any [Message] spells at the moment…what we can do is work on things from our own end. Getting idiots to do what we want is a good start. Fear and paranoia move politics far faster than anything else, Swifttail. Give them a few more minutes to stew before you open the communication spell again.”

“Yes sir.”

Olesm busied himself with laying out maps on the table, just in case. Ilvriss sighed, reached for a goblet full of wine, and stopped himself at the last moment. He looked around, found a cup full of water and picked it up. He stared gloomily into it and then turned as the orb flickered into life. He bared his teeth as Olesm backed away from the orb.

“Time to get to work, Swifttail. There’s no room for error or weakness here. The world is watching.”

And indeed, the world was paying attention. Although how each group reacted was a separate matter entirely.

 

—-

 

In Rhir, the news of Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Lady Magnolia hit the court of the Blighted King just past lunch. Most of the diners were in the banquet hall and received the news from the [Herald] with polite amazement or frowns. But a group of Drake [Soldiers] sitting at a table reacted explosively to the news.

“He did what?

One of the Drake [Commanders] leapt up from his table, ignoring the eyes on him. He roared in outrage as the trembling [Herald] repeated the announcement.

“That traitor! He’d ally with Humans? And for what? To stop a Goblin Lord? Let the Humans take care of it! That tailless, backstabbing—”

“Shut up you newt!

A fist smacked the first Drake in the face as another Drake rose. He knocked the first Drake down with a punch and raised his voice.

“General Shivertail’s a hero! If the Tidebreaker’s a traitor than your entire damned Walled City is full of backstabbing worms! Zel Shivertail is doing what he’s always done—protecting our home!”

“Protecting it by siding with the Humans!”

“Yes! Yes! This is what I’ve been saying all along! We need to fight together! The Humans aren’t a threat! If we work together, we can eradicate the Antinium. And a Goblin Lord? Ancestors, does anyone want another Goblin King? Huh? No! Shivertail’s working with Magnolia Reinhart—”

“That traitorous Human can’t be trusted!”

“Better her than the infighting idiots at your city!”

“You take that back!”

“Make me! I’m with the Tidebreaker all the way! He’s got my support!”

The Drake spun and grabbed one of the banners at his table that marked his delegation. He started shouting as he got up on the table and began waving the banner.

“Shivertail! Shivertail! Izril, the greatest continent in the world!”

The rest of the diners in the room stared at the Drake. At the same table Cirille covered her face with her claws.

Across the room, Richard and most of the Humans who’d been summoned to this world sat at a table with some of Rhir’s nobility. They were confused, but the Rhir nobles around them were mainly contemptuous. One [Lord] shook his head as the Drakes shouted across the banquet hall.

“Drakes. They’re so noisy.

“Izril!”

The Drakes argued and fought until they were ejected from the banquet hall. They were all commanders and over two thirds supported Zel Shivertail. As for the rest of Rhir, the news wasn’t as important. Drakes? Humans? They were on another continent. If it meant more aid to Rhir, all the better. Otherwise, it mattered little. On Baleros however, the opinion was sharply different. At least, for one Fraerling.

 

—-

 

“Play it again.”

Niers Astoragon was still in his night clothes, but the messenger had dragged both him and Foliana out of their beds. He scrubbed at his face, willing the fatigue to vanish as he listened to the recording of Zel speaking.

“Dead gods. And this is going out across the world? It will upset the entire balance in Izril. What is that Reinhart woman thinking?”

“Mm. Probably that this is a good idea. Tidebreaker vs Goblins. Bad for Goblin Lord. Good for her.”

Foliana perched on a couch, staring at the image of Zel Shivertail. Niers stared too.

“The Tidebreaker. A [General] like that allied with someone with the Reinhart fortune behind her…that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Only if they do bad things.”

“That’s practically a given, isn’t it? Magnolia Reinhart isn’t known for mercy. But Zel Shivertail agreed to help her? Maybe that means he—”

Niers broke off. He stared around. They were in his room and he was sitting on his desk. Unbidden, his eyes went to the gold-encrusted letter that Magnolia had sent him. Foliana noticed the look.

“Magnolia Reinhart sends me letters every month. Mm. Yesterday she sent me a letter and a muffin.”

The Fraerling [Strategist] looked up sharply.

“You didn’t eat it, did you?”

“Mm…”

Foliana! There are more spells and poisons than we can test for—”

“It had blueberries in it. And lots of sugar. And she sends you letters too.”

“Yes, and I don’t eat my letters!”

“So? You read them. Which is worse?”

Niers choked but couldn’t reply. He stared at the letter and listened to Zel speaking in silence.

“Defending home, huh? Doing the right thing. I’d never expect to hear someone allied with Magnolia Reinhart saying that—no, I suppose that’s exactly what she’d say. Only I believe it, coming from him.”

“Reinhart defends her home. Did it in the last Antinium War.”

“Yes, but that was—she’s not the same as him.”

“No. But they both fight for their home. You did, too.”

Foliana turned vaguely accusing eyes to Niers and he looked away.

“Curiosity. That was all, Foliana.”

“Mm. Well, maybe he was curious.”

“Who?”

Foliana pointed at the tiny Drake standing in the magical crystal on the table.

“Him. Maybe he was curious.”

Niers fell silent. He didn’t see Foliana leaving, but he knew she was gone after a while. The Titan sat on his table, replaying the image of Zel speaking again and again, late into the night.

 

—-

 

On Chandrar, various individuals took note of the politics in Izril, but only a few were in any position to care. One, the Emperor of the Sands, considered that the move was unfortunate for his nation since it had the potential to strengthen Izril.

The other, the King of Destruction, was mainly confused.

“Who?”

“The Tidebreaker, my King.”

Orthenon spoke in front of Flos’ throne. The King of Destruction frowned.

“Tidebreaker? The title seems vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it. This Tidebreaker is a Drake [General]?”

“Yes, a famous one. You may not recognize him because he rose to prominence after your slumber, my liege. He defeated the Antinium during two wars and fought the Goblin King and the Necromancer himself. He is considered to be the highest-level [General] the Drakes possess.”

“Interesting.”

Flos’ eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face.

“He sounds fascinating. I suppose this alliance bodes well for Izril, does it?”

Orthenon paused.

“It could be. On the other hand, it could result in turmoil if the Drakes and Humans enter conflict over his switching allegiances. Either way, I do not think this is fortunate news for us. A [General] of his level allied with Magnolia Reinhart is a considerable threat.”

“I am aware. It seems this Goblin Lord is outmatched. A pity. I always wanted to meet a Goblin King.”

“Do not jest please, your majesty.”

“Who says I’m jesting? Ah, come now Orthenon. I missed the Goblin King and they only appear every few centuries! What a disappointment. Come to think of it…be sure to instruct Trey and Teres about the Goblin King, would you? That is an important battle to remember.”

“I shall, your majesty. Now, while the news is important, I do not predict it will affect the situation locally in any significant way. If General Shivertail strengthens his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart we may run into trouble when coming into conflict with Izril, but that is far enough away to be safely ignored for now. For more pressing concerns, we seem to have rats in one of the granaries. I would not trouble you with the news, but it seems these rats can teleport, so I would request…”

Flos sighed as he leaned back on his throne. Chandrar was safe. The other continents listened to the news from Izril, but with no real alarm. Only interest and sometimes scorn.

 

—-

 

“It would be one of the Reinharts that would agree to such an alliance.”

“Indeed. Allying with a Drake against Goblins? Has she no shame?”

“Then again, the Reinharts have always been a meddlesome family.”

“Indeed. Indeed.”

“I suppose the news is important, however obliquely. I would rather see the Veltras family succeed than the Reinhart house. They at least object to the presence of Drakes.”

“True. An embargo may be called for. Tariffs at the least to express our discontent.”

“It will be a matter for debate. Let us see what the other kingdoms do first.”

“Hm. I suppose.”

In Terandria, scorn was everywhere. Not that it was particularly informed scorn; it was more of a neighborly disdain for everything they regarded as inferior. Teriarch sighed as he cut short the conversation between two Terandrian nobles with a wave of his claw.

It wasn’t hard for the Dragon to intercept communications between mages and magical artifacts, even the encrypted ones. That was the problem with mages of today. They were so, so…complacent. Every spell was the same, which meant all the flaws were the same too.

The Dragon sighed. If he tried, he could actually hear the reports about Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Magnolia passing across the world. So much news and over so little! All he’d done was ally with her. It wasn’t the first time Humans and Drakes had worked together.

“But perhaps it is significant for this age. When was the last time they formed an alliance? A hundred years ago? No. Four hundred? Wait, there was that marriage—hrm. Hmf. I suppose it is important. No wonder Reinhart is bothering me so.”

Teriarch flicked a claw, dismissing the [Message] spells he’d received from Magnolia. He sighed and curled up a bit more in his cave.

“What was it she said? A [General], a [Strategist] and me? Pah. That hatchling’s barely a [General]. I suppose he’s of a decent level, but as for his speeches, I’ll pass. Good speeches have more fire to them. When I was young, I heard some good ones. How did the one with the Human in purple armor go again? Something about eating the tails of their foes? Or did the Gnoll say that? Hm…”

The Dragon trailed off blankly and curled up in his cave. Another [Message] spell appeared and he flicked it away with a twitch of his tail.

“Not yet, girl. Not yet. One isn’t two and besides, I promised nothing. You think you can order Dragons around? We’re…very noble species…unacceptable. Going outside is…quite dull…anyways.”

His voice grew lower and sleepier as Teriarch drifted into a nap. He slept, as the world panicked. He had seen it all before and would see it all again. There were no surprises for immortals. Not for those beyond death.

 

—-

 

“What?”

Az’kerash froze, one hand outstretched over the heap of flesh and bones. Ijvani shuffled her feet, disliking the surprise she saw written over her master’s face.

Zel Shivertail has taken command of an army formed by Magnolia Reinhart, master. He is preparing to defend Invrisil from the Goblin Lord’s attack or pursue his army should the Goblin Lord avoid the city.

“Shivertail? Ally with a Human? Impossible. How can that—”

Az’kerash abandoned the grisly remains on the table and began to pace back and forth. He was visibly shaken by the information, but as he paced, his agitation disappeared and a calculating look passed over his face instead. The black skeleton was relieved to see that. She waited while the Necromancer mused out loud.

“Is this an opportunity or a trap? No—if Shivertail has given me this opportunity, I must seize it no matter how remote the chances of success are. Thank you, Ijvani. Now—”

He flicked a hand and muttered a spell. The air opened up and Ijvani saw Az’kerash speaking to the air.

“My apprentice. Heed my words now.”

 

—-

 

Across the world, the news of Zel’s alliance was heard, but it could be argued it mattered little to most. In Izril, the news sent Lord Tyrion Veltras into a rage and confused a certain blind [Emperor] until the politics of Drakes and Humans were explained to him by a certain Lady Rie Valerund. It reached the ears of Erin Solstice and made her rub them for a while. But the magnitude of what had happened was only understood by a few.

Klbkch of the Antinium and his Queen were silent at the news. They debated what might occur in hushed tones and thought of the past and the future. Ilvriss convinced his people to avoid denouncing Zel Shivertail outright, and to approach him carefully as well.

But that was all politics and it really didn’t matter. For instance, neither Rags and her tribe nor Garen Redfang and Tremborag had any idea of what had occurred. Neither would they have cared, largely. Alliances were all very well, but it was battle that mattered. If an angry Drake [General] was coming their way, no sane Goblin would fight him. They’d just run.

So perhaps the news mattered only to two individuals. A Necromancer and his apprentice. Because as Osthia Blackwing watched the Goblin Lord argue and then kneel in agony to his master, she felt the world change. And as he rose, bitter and furious and tore the map apart, she knew one thing before he turned and spoke.

“We attack Invrisil. We go to slay the one named Zel Shivertail.”

The Goblin Lord spat the words, turning to his lieutenants. The other Goblins stared at him, and Osthia felt her stomach lurch. She spoke and every head turned towards her.

“You won’t defeat him. Not General Shivertail.”

The Goblin Lord looked at her, his black eyes and white pupils dilated with rage. His voice shook—the first real display of emotion she’d seen out of him.

“We are ordered. So we will. Or die.”

And so the world turned. Gossip and rumors floated about, but there was only one certainty. Zel Shivertail sat in his tent and felt the certainty just like the Goblin Lord. He turned his head and the Goblin Lord turned his. Across many miles their gazes locked. And there was only one word on the lips of both.

“Death.”

 


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S02 – The Antinium Wars (Pt.3)

(This book, The Second Antinium Wars, a History, was widely sold across Izril in the years after the Second Antinium War ended. It has been widely criticized and subsequent editions included the Introduction section as well as substantive revisions to the text. The accuracy of the following narrative is not guaranteed.)

 

Introduction

The tale of the Second Antinium War may not need writing in this moment. The scars of that great conflict still loom large in the public consciousness, and history may yet reveal details that shed new light on the events during and preceding the war. It is also true that history requires the removal of years to be viewed in an objective light.

However, I, Krsysl Wordsmith, do not wish to wait for the dust to have metaphorically settled. I began writing this book six months after the Second Antinium Wars had ended. I consider this historical narrative a first step towards a full record of the war as a whole. No other history has been written as of yet and one must be made now, before the details of the conflict fade from living memory.

Does it have inaccuracies? Yes! Bias? Perhaps! But my word stands on its own and I will be remembered by history as the first [Writer] willing to collate the scattered viewpoints and accounts of the war into a single, understandable story that future generations can use!

I will not bow to lesser writers or indignant critics who decry my work! I have worked tirelessly in creating a truthful account that is only colored by my love of people and continent. Regardless of the slanderous attacks on my reputation, I can assure you good readers that the following narrative is as true to fact as any history written. I remain humbly and accurately,

Krsysl Wordsmith

 

 

The Second Antinium Wars –

 

Our tale, dear readers, begins, as it always must, with the species that has become the bane of the civilized world, the nightmare that haunts Izril to this day. The Antinium. Once a distant threat, a mysterious bogeyman race in Rhir used to frighten hatchlings at night. No longer. The previous Antinium War of only eight years ago had seen the upset of power in Izril and the dramatic emergence of a new national power in the appearance of the Antinium.

Their six Hives and foothold in southern Izril remained a threat to all Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans on the continent. Only the hard-won peace kept any sort of balance between the races, and tensions between Antinium and Drakes remained at a boiling point as both sides prepared for what would surely be a second conflict.

Drakes do not forgive. And the Antinium had demonstrated their ceaseless appetite to anyone with eyes. The peace they had agreed to was only a reprieve. Now the world waited with bated breath for one side to loose the opening shot.

The year is 3 A.F. and Izril remains tentatively at peace. The Drake cities, humbled by the Antinium, have rebuilt and strengthened their garrisons. Meanwhile, the Humans to the north have waxed arrogant, untroubled in large part from the last war. Those pompous, tailless fools neglected to watch their borders, which is how the Second Antinium War grew into the mess it did. But I suppose not all the blame can be assigned to Humans. Some must rest on the Drakes who began the war as a whole. But I get ahead of myself. Some background is essential first.

Before the Second Antinium War began, the world as a whole was not at peace. It never is. And while recording the machinations of each individual nation would interfere with the narrative, it is important to note several events in the world which would directly impact the Second Antinium War in the future.

To begin with, of the five continents in the world, only Izril and Chandrar could be considered calm by any stretch of the word. Chandrar was still recovering from the collapse of the King of Destruction’s empire and nations were rebuilding. Or in the case of the emerging Empire of Sands, slowly growing their borders and absorbing smaller nations. However, such conflicts were small and thus Chandrar could be considered peaceful.

Similarly, Izril was at peace, although it was hard-won. The six Antinium Hives and the foothills in their proximity were designated as forbidden zones. The Drake cities sent regular patrols near the borders of the Hives, but for a few incidents where Drakes patrols crossed over the lines and disappeared there was no military action. Any Antinium found crossing the border were swiftly executed and while each incident raised tensions, no wider breach of the peace treaties had yet to occur in the eight years since. The continent was peaceful, even if that peace was a façade.

As for Rhir, conflict is a way of life in that continent, and the Blighted King’s forces occupied themselves battling the Demons as usual. No, it was Terandria and Baleros where momentous events were occurring.

In Terandria, the Necromancer had appeared once again. This elusive specter of death, the infamous outcast of Wistram, the fallen Archmage, had plagued the continent for over a century, leading armies of death against the living. He would destroy and despoil kingdoms, his undead armies beaten back only after much effort and then disappear before he could be slain, returning after years or sometimes decades. Each time stronger.

Now he had returned leading a massive army against the port-Kingdom of Desonis. He quickly overwhelmed the kingdom’s army but did not approach the capital. Rather, he seized a local port and vanished.

Speculation would run rife about the Necromancer’s whereabouts, and Wistram, fearing an attack, would prepare for a conflict with the Necromancer’s army. However, incredibly, news of the Necromancer was only a backdrop to the larger event occurring in Baleros. And that was the emergence of the Goblin King.

The Goblin King. To preface speaking about him, I will note the facts that have been observed about such individuals, few though they may be. Goblin Kings emerge every few centuries at most and each time herald destruction and death without fail. They appear to be a naturally occurring phenomenon, a rare individual born out of the Goblin population that has immeasurable talent, much like Goblin Chieftains and Goblin Lords.

However, while those lesser leaders of Goblins can lead small armies and be reasoned with, Goblin Kings are different. Each one is incredibly difficult to kill and lays waste to every civilization they encounter. They lead massive armies formed from Goblins that emerge from every part of the world and flock to the Goblin King’s banner.

Only the combined efforts of nations can stop Goblin Kings, which is why almost every nation in the world has signed a treaty which requires their aid in destroying a Goblin King, should one appear. Such is their threat that Goblin Lords are actively hunted down to prevent them from becoming Goblin Kings.

The race of Goblins itself is a threat, but one widely accepted as a reoccurring nuisance given the perceived impossibility of eradicating their kind permanently. Yet efforts have been historically made to coexist in peace with their kind. This humble writer trusts that the rise of the last Goblin King, known as Velan the Kind, will prove how futile that endeavor is.

In the year of 14 A.F, the Goblin Lord known as Velan the Kind had existed in a peaceful and even harmonious relationship with the nations of Baleros. While his autonomous tribe of Goblins was not recognized as a formal power by most nations in the world his company of Goblins was regarded as one of the strongest on the continent. It was rumored to be the fifth Great Company of Baleros and Velan’s own commitment to peace and trade had earned him the grudging respect of other species. It was hoped his example could be spread to Goblins worldwide, putting an end to Goblin raids and their threat as a species.

Unfortunately, in the waning months of spring, Velan the Kind fulfilled an unknown criteria and ascended or otherwise transformed into a Goblin King. Not much is known about the actual event—only that shortly afterwards Velan the Kind appeared with his entire tribe in the Balerosian city of Zexil and razed it in a single day. In doing so Velan broke eighteen separate treaties of nonaggression.

His army destroyed the city utterly and left no survivors. He then proceeded to execute every messenger sent to him and began razing city after city, his army growing with every battle. His only message to the confused leaders of Baleros was a single word, conveyed by a half-dead Courier.

“Vengeance.”

Thus began the war with the Goblin King, as every company on the continent agreed to a truce to deal with Velan’s threat. However, the Goblin King was joined by many Goblin Lords and their tribes, creating an unassailable force. He seized and leveled the port cities on the eastern side of Baleros and proceeded to construct thousands of ships. He sailed from the continent in the beginning of summer, leaving only destruction in his wake.

That is the setting of the conflict, dear reader. Both the Goblin King and Necromancer occupied the public consciousness at the time. Yet it was the Clash on the Jessal Highlands that would begin things in earnest.

Five days after the start of summer, a Drake army marched past the Antinium’s border and laid siege to one of their Hives, catching them by surprise. The army had been formed by three of the Walled Cities and a number of lesser city-states for the sole purpose of exterminating the Antinium once and for all.

On that warm, humid summer’s day, the Antinium must have been desperate as a mighty Drake army appeared and proceeded to lay waste to one of their Hives, exterminating the Workers and Soldiers and using the rain-based tactics to flood the tunnels of the Hive.

And perhaps they might have succeeded in removing the Hive! I urge you to imagine it, dear readers. If they had succeeded in this first punitive strike then history might recall this as the day the Antinium downfall began. Alas, it was not to be.

 

“Wow. I thought this was supposed to be a happy story. Hey Klbkch, didn’t you say you were reading an appropriate bedtime story?”

Everyone looked up. The Antinium sitting in the barracks of the Painted Soldiers all stared at Erin as she crunched down on some popcorn. Klbkch, who had been chosen to read the book out loud, clicked his mandibles together gently.

“I was under the impression that this ‘bedtime story time’ event was to be undertaken without commentary, Erin.”

He looked around the room at the rows of silent Workers and Soldiers. They sat on the floor, each one cocooned in layers of blankets and pillows. Most of the Antinium had mugs of hot milk and honey in their hands, or bowls of popcorn. Some had roast bees, others fish congee—Erin had outdone herself in preparing for tonight. She had received special permission to come into the Hive itself and participate in the bedtime event.

She just hadn’t realized that this was the story Klbkch would choose to read out loud. Erin blamed herself. She should have offered to tell everyone the story of Winnie the Pooh, or Alice in Wonderland. Instead, they were reading about the history of a war.

“I’m just saying that it’s dark, Klbkch! Really dark!”

“I can request more light if you want.”

Pawn turned to Erin, solicitously offering her one of the lanterns scattered around the room. They gave the large barracks a comfortable glow. She sighed.

“Never mind. But are you all really enjoying yourselves?”

She looked around. Belgrade, Anand, Garry, Pawn, and Bird all nodded happily. Bird was playing with his pillow, pulling out feathers and identifying them under his breath.

“Goose. Goose. Goose. Oh. A duck’s feather. I am very content.”

“So are we. I feel warm and comfortable. It is a unique experience to have while resting.”

Anand nodded. He was swaddled in a blanket and crunching on some buttery popcorn. Erin turned to her right.

“How about you?”

She addressed a huge Soldier who was nearly engulfed by three blankets and six pillows. The Soldier’s head poked out of his cocoon of blankets, staring at Erin. It was horrifyingly cute or just…horrifying if you couldn’t see past their exoskeletons. Still, Erin thought the Soldier looked comfortable. He was certainly clutching his pillow tightly with all four arms. She smiled at him.

“Aw, okay. You’re good. But I still think this is really violent stuff!”

“Wars usually are. But as I was reading—this writer has a very objectionable description of our species. I was present at the battle and I do not believe the Antinium ‘trembled like the insects we are’ or ‘barely mounted an effective counterattack’. As I recall, myself and Xrn were the only two Prognugators close enough to respond. We marched on the attacking Drake army and found them dug into the area. They had created a kill zone with [Mages] and [Archers] and a wall of [Spearmen]. We could only assault them head on, which is what they desired. It was…unpleasant.”

“You were there, Revalantor Klbkch? Will you tell us the story from your perspective?”

Belgrade sat up eagerly, holding a warm mug of milk. Klbkch hesitated.

“There is not much to say. We charged. They held. We charged again. Still they held. And then we charged a third time and they broke. That was all there was to it.”

Klbkch shrugged awkwardly, almost embarrassed by the question. Belgrade looked disappointed.

“Surely there must have been more to it than that. The Drakes were ready for you, were they not? It seems incredible that they would be defeated so easily.”

His observation made Klbkch look down at the book. He casually reached down and tore out a page and crumpled it up into a fist.

‘Cowardly attack? A victory of deceptions?’ This book is more inaccurate than I had assumed. No. That is not how we won. Yes, they were ready. Very well, I will relate the story as best I can. The Drakes had provoked our armies into attacking them by striking at our Hive. They had lured us into a trap with no good solution.”

Klbkch’s mandibles clicked together and he shook his head as he stared into the distance. His Antinium audience watched him, spellbound.

“Either we attempted to overwhelm their positions, which was not a given even if we threw all available forces into the battle—or we lost one of our remaining Queens. Naturally, we chose to fight. But the casualties were high. With every wave we sent in, Soldiers were cut down by the thousands by magic and arrow, unable to penetrate the Drake lines.”

He paused, and his mandibles lowered as his voice grew low. Every Soldier and Worker leaned forwards, hanging on his words.

“Xrn and I were desperate, waiting for reinforcements that were too far away, knowing the Queen’s chamber was being flooded, that we had less than an hour before her demise at best. At that moment, I—”

“Popcorn! Get your popcorn here!”

A low voice interrupted Klbkch. Every head turned as Erin marched down the rows of Soldiers, passing out large bowls of popcorn.

“I have hot milk and honey! Lots of it! And snacks! Would anyone like a hot fish or roast Ashfire Bee? Speak up! Or—wave your hands! You sir, you look like you need food! Don’t be shy!”

Erin offered a bowl full of fish congee to a Soldier and looked around.

“What? Am I being too loud? Sorry! I’ll keep it down.”

Klbkch cleared his throat meaningfully with a dull clicking sound. He looked around as Erin tiptoed about, ladling soup into bowls and passing around supplemental pillows. Soldiers gently held the pillows, feeling the softness against their chitin—an alien sensation. And they could keep the pillows? They didn’t disappear after you slept? Wonders never ceased.

At the head of the room, seated in the one chair, Klbkch opened the book and looked around. The Free Antinium watched him, waiting for him to continue. He nodded slowly.

“It was desperate. We had not expected this assault, and there were but seven Queens left. Seven out of what had been hundreds. You were all created far too late, but once the Antinium had more Queens than Hives. Once we were mighty. Now, we feared losing a single Queen and so we fought desperately. To save her. To save our kind. Xrn and I led this desperate army against the Drakes. If we had had time we could have rallied a larger force. If we had time, we would have destroyed them easily. But we were out of time. So we paid the cost in the lives of the fallen.”

His voice sharpened. Klbkch gestured, and the Antinium saw the twin swords at his hip shine as he unsheathed them. Klbkch stared at the silvery glow of his sword blades as he spoke.

“Antinium. Listen well. This is the tale of the first battle of the Antinium Wars. This is the tale…of how I met your Queen.”

He paused and looked around the room.

“Obviously I had met her before. But this was our first significant meeting which preceded the creation of Liscor’s Hive. I felt the need to clarify that statement.”

He looked around, shrugged, and began to speak.

 

—-

 

Fire from the sky. Death below and above. Lightning blew apart a group of Soldiers as they charged towards the Drake lines; the earth exploded in front of a unit of frantically digging Workers and arrows cut down the rest. Klbkch and Xrn stood on the bluff overlooking the Fourth Hive and the Drake army. Klbkch shook his head as the tide of Soldiers broke against the line of Drake speakers.

“We cannot break their formation with a piecemeal attack, Xrn. And they are prepared for our tunneling; they have flooded every tunnel our Workers have dug.”

“And their [Mages] are too powerful. Too many. I cannot fight them at this range. If I focus on one, the others shield with spells and counterattack.”

Xrn agreed, clutching her staff in one slim hand. She conjured lightning and hurled it towards the Drake army. It vanished halfway towards her target and a flurry of arrows and spells shot towards both Centenium. The two Prognugators took cover behind a rock, and Klbkch’s mandibles clashed together angrily.

“Oath breakers! They violated the peace treaty! And they are about to flood the Queen out. Xrn, we must launch a full-scale attack.”

“What?”

The azure Antinium turned to Klbkch. She shook her head.

“Impossible. We cannot order the Soldiers into that slaughter! They will break and run, Klbkch! They have their limits.”

“Then I will lead them myself.”

Klbkch grimly raised both his silvery swords with two of his four arms. The other two held daggers awkwardly. Xrn stared at him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Unacceptable. You are still not used to your new body. Don’t throw your life away, Klbkch! If you perish—”

“If I do, enact the Rite of Anastates.”

“You have died too many times! I will not lose you like Rehab or Mellika! One Queen is not worth it, Klbkch! Wait for Wrymvr! When he arrives we will crush the Drakes. But we cannot lose you! You are Centenium!

Klbkch was silent as the two stood together. He shook his head slowly as he stared down into the battlefield below, where a storm was raining down into the entrance tunnels, flooding the Antinium Hive.

“I was Centenium, Xrn. I lost my form, my levels—we have seven Queens left.”

“And we have but three Centenium. Don’t go.”

Xrn pleaded with him, but Klbkch simply raised his swords. He looked sideways at her.

“Take out as many [Mages] as you can. Stop the rainfall. I will break their lines.”

He strode forwards, towards the head of the Antinium army. Xrn let her arm fall helplessly. She heard Klbkch shouting as the ranks of Soldiers and Workers turned to follow him.

“Antinium! The enemy is attempting to slay a Queen! They are destroying the Hive! They must be stopped! Follow me! Give no ground to our foe! Charge!

He charged down the slope and the Soldiers charged after him in a silent wave. Xrn stood on the cliff, frantically shooting down the wave of spells that came from the Drake army, trying to protect the lone Antinium in the front. She saw Klbkch charging across the muddy ground, running into the wall of Drake spears. Then there was a flash of silver—frenzied fighting—falling Soldiers and Workers—

Chaos. The Drakes had not been prepared for a suicidal charge and their front line wavered as their [Mages] and [Archers] enacted a terrible vengeance upon the Antinium. Xrn raised her staff and tried to destroy the enemy Drake [Mages].

“[Venomous Snow]! [Thunderstrike Volley]! [Chaos Flamewheel]!”

Her spells blasted apart Drakes in robes, lightning and jets of fire arcing through Drake lines. But they didn’t break. And an arrow struck Xrn in her chest. She stumbled backwards.

“Not yet.”

She snapped the shaft off, ignoring the blood. The Antinium were wavering. She looked around in desperation and saw thousands of Workers standing around helplessly. Their crude bows did not have the range needed to strike the Drake army from this distance and it would be death to advance any further into the kill zone.

“If it is slaughter, then it must be. Workers! Prepare for a second charge! [Glorious Radiance]!”

Xrn’s spell made the Antinium shine like beacons. She pointed her staff towards the Drake army. She could not see the flash of silver among their ranks. Where was Klbkch?

“Charge!”

A second wave of Antinium charged down the slopes, some of the Workers tripping and falling in the mud. Xrn raced down the slippery incline, hearing thumps as spells blasted the ground around her, hearing only the roar in her mind. Black arrows streaked down towards her forces—she waved her staff and they broke on a shield in the air. The Drakes were ahead of her now.

“Break their ranks!”

Xrn ran past a struggling knot of Soldiers being held at bay by Drakes with spears and swords and planted her staff in the ground. She concentrated and then thrust her fingers forwards.

“[Repulsion Wave].”

The Drakes in front of her—and Soldiers—were blasted into the air. Xrn pointed towards the gap in the lines and the Antinium flooded through. Now the Drakes lines were collapsing, but there were still so many! Xrn struggled, fighting other [Mages] hand-to-hand, burning them with spells, until she heard a sound above the noise of battle.

It was a voice, a roar, a screeching that no animal or person could ever make. The piercing cry echoed and made the Drakes look up. Xrn did too, staring towards the north. And then she saw him. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“At last. Wrymvr.”

A dark shadow flew across the sky. A tiny shape—but growing larger with each passing second. The Drakes turned, their [Archers] sighting at this new threat. But then the singular shadow multiplied, and grew, spreading across the horizon.

“The Flying Antinium!”

Xrn shouted, knowing the Drakes had no idea what was happening. They were trying to form a second line to deal with this new threat, but the Antinium were closing in too fast. The dark shapes became visible now, and it was apparent that the Antinium weren’t actually flying—they were gliding down, hopping forwards like grasshoppers and propelling themselves forwards with their wings incredibly quickly. Only one figure, larger than the rest, truly flew, and he screeched again, a wordless scream of vengeance.

The Flying Antinium crashed into the Drakes from the side and Xrn raised her staff. The light from her eyes shone bright red, the color of battles and Drake blood. She shouted.

“Charge! Forwards, all Antinium!”

She ran forwards as the Soldiers and Workers crashed into the Drakes like the tide. This time the Drakes could not stop them. Xrn ran forwards as Drakes died, searching, hunting for any color in the black mass. And then she saw it. A flash of silver.

Klbkch.

On that day the Antinium liberated the besieged Hive and the youngest of the Antinium Queens. Klbkch personally rescued her from drowning and she would later go on to lead the hive in Liscor. The Queen of the Free Antinium lived that day, and the Drakes learned to their cost what war with the Antinium was. It was sacrifice. The Antinium could not be broken so easily. And their retaliation for this treachery would soon engulf the continent in flames.

 

—-

 

“Did it really happen like that? Truly, Prognugator Xrn?”

Xrn opened her eyes. She looked around the campfire at the other Antinium watching her. Tersk, Pivr, her Prognugator-Guardians and the other Antinium assigned to her escort were all staring at her. Slowly, the Small Queen looked around and then remembered the book she was holding. She nodded.

“That was what the battle was truly like. We triumphed, but barely. Were it not for Wrymvr’s arrival, we might have been too late to save the Queen.”

“And yet, it appears that Revalantor Klbkch took a great risk in attempting to save her. Did you not say that it would be more prudent to avoid risking his life—and by extension, yours—to save a single Queen?”

Pivr observed as he fanned his own wings at the fire, looking smug about the role the Flying Antinium had played in the battle. Xrn gave him a long look, which deflated Pivr quite nicely.

“Perhaps. But that would not have been Klbkch’s nature. It was a risk, true. But he has fought for the Antinium longer than your Queen has existed, Pivr. He understands sacrifice.”

“And yet, he disregards his worth. The Centenium are a unique group of Antinium that can no longer be reproduced, are they not? Surely Revalantor Klbkch should take his safety into account.”

Tersk spoke up quietly, polishing his armor. Xrn nodded. She played with her staff, twirling it and making the fire change colors as she stared around the night sky.

“Perhaps he should. But again, that is not his nature, Tersk. Klbkch, Wrymvr and I all served during the Second Antinium War. And while it is true Klbkch lost much of his strength and his original form, we three still defined the war. Each one of us led the armies of the Antinium. Wrymvr and I were unstoppable in battle. As we had been created to be. Klbkch was forced to lead through strategy rather than personally most of the time. But each of us claimed many victories through our strength.”

Tersk nodded.

“So I understand. But I have never met Prognugator Wrymvr. Is he similar to you or Revalantor Klbkch, Prognugator Xrn?”

The Small Queen hesitated.

“…No. Wrymvr is different. He and Klbkch and I were all created to serve different roles. Klbkch was a warrior, meant to assassinate the Antinium’s enemies and fight on the front. I was meant to cast magic. And Wrymvr was meant to defend the Grand Queen. He was created to be undefeatable.”

“He must be the most powerful of the Centenium, then!”

Pivr looked up, his eyes shining. Xrn’s own eyes flashed purple with annoyance.

“He is a fool. But yes, he is strong. Perhaps that is the only thing this book gets correct. Wrymvr the Deathless was a threat. And in this war the Grand Queen released him from his role as protector. We unleashed him against the Drakes, as well as the Flying and Silent Antinium. It was enough to win a few battles. But unfortunately not enough. If we had more variants, more Centenium, then perhaps we might have won the entire war. But we did not.”

The other Antinium were silent as Xrn opened the book again. Only Tersk dared ask the question hanging in the air.

“Prognugator Xrn?”

“Yes?”

“What are the Centenium? Why were they created?”

Xrn stopped with her finger on the next line of the book. She looked around, at the other Antinium. They were so close to home, to their Hives. And yet, these poor copies of true Antinium would never know home, would they? They would never know the grandeur of the true Hives, the might of what the Antinium had been. She looked at Tersk, the finest warrior of his Hive. An ill-made clone of Galuc with armor. She shook her head and her voice was kind as she spoke to him, an adult to a child.

“The Centenium were made long ago, Tersk. Long ago, on another continent. For one purpose. The Grand Queen made many Antinium in many shapes to serve every role imaginable, but one hundred of us she labored upon, gave individuality to, gave names and strength beyond the rest. We were not made to be spent and replaced like the other Antinium. We were made to be one thing and one thing alone.”

“And what was that, Prognugator Xr—”

Heroes, Tersk. We were made to be heroes.”

 

—-

 

The battle on the Jessal Highlands ended in disaster. The surprise attack on the Antinium had failed, leaving only regrets and recriminations from the other Drake city states that had not been aware of the surprise attack. A request to end hostilities was made immediately, but the traitorous Grand Queen of the Antinium, no doubt sensing an opportunity, ignored the pleas of the Drakes and launched a vicious counterattack at once.

Within a day of the battle at Jessal, the Antinium armies were on the march again. The Black Tide rolled forth, but the defenders of the greatest continent in the world had not been idle in their preparations. Drake armies marched against the Antinium, armed with the knowledge of their inability to swim and weakness against high-level magics and warriors.

However, the Antinium had not been idle either. The second battle against the Antinium took place between an army led by Wrymvr the Deathless and an army from Pallass. It was assumed that boxing in the Antinium and flooding their position would decimate their army, but the Drake high command received the shock of a lifetime as new Antinium warriors overran their formations in minutes, slaying the [Mages] and throwing the army into disarray.

The Antinium fielded two new variants of their species in the Second Antinium War. Whether they always had such creatures or had somehow altered their own warriors with magic or alchemy is unknown and the subject of much speculation. However, the facts are clear: the Antinium had created a flying warrior capable of leaping across vast distances known as the Flying Antinium, and a stealthy infiltrator capable of camouflage and deadly surprise attacks known as the Silent Antinium.

These two new variants bridged the gap in the Antinium’s formations, allowing them to swiftly flank their enemies and mount surprise attacks on vulnerable targets. The Drake armies which had relied on [Mages] for superiority fell backwards as the Antinium willingly sacrificed hundreds or thousands of their flying warriors to take out [Mages]. Meanwhile, the Silent Antinium infiltrated army camps and cities, slaying high-profile targets in the night.

The news of the new Antinium was devastating for morale across the Drake cities. And indeed, the fear the Silent Antinium created was such that many cities locked down their gates, refusing to open them for fear of infiltration. And yet the Silent Antinium crept behind their walls, locked gates or not, creating a wave of terror across the continent.

What ended up stopping the Silent Antinium in main was not any one military action, but rather, the existence of another, opposing force on the Drake side. The Assassin’s Guild in the south of Izril took the existence of the Silent Antinium as a direct threat to their own way of life and put out a universal contract on every one of the Antinium’s assassination insects. Thus, a quiet war began where [Assassin] dueled assassin-bug in the shadows.

This hidden conflict would become known as the War of Sighs, kept mainly out of the public view. The only evidence of the battles in shadow and darkness would be the corpses of the Silent Antinium and Drake [Assassins] appearing on doorsteps or in buildings, slain where they had fallen. In Drake cities, inhabitants would wake up and discover dead Antinium gutted in the middle of a street or an [Assassin]’s head placed next to the bedsides of slaughtered Drake officials.

The most notable such event occurred at a meeting of Drake nobility in a private meeting room in the Walled City of Oteslia. The Lords and Ladies of the Wall conducted their meeting for ten minutes before an unpleasant odor led to them investigating the tables they were sitting at. They discovered the bodies of six Silent Antinium and four [Assassins] hidden under the tablecloths.

It is impossible to tell how many [Assassins] or Silent Antinium died in the conflict due to the elusive nature of both forces, and this writer has refrained from questioning the Assassin’s Guild on the subject out of personal concern for his own safety. However, it is safe to say that the costs were tremendously high on both sides, such that the Assassin’s Guild in the south of Liscor has yet to recover, unlike the flourishing Human guilds to the north.

It is simply another example of Drake integrity one supposes, that fewer Drakes have the inclination to stab enemies in the back. An honest Drake stabs from the front. But I digress…

The war between the Drakes and Antinium had taken a turn for the worse. While the Silent Antinium’s assaults had been blunted, the armies led by Klbkch the Slayer, Xrn the Small Queen, and Wrymvr the Deathless seemed undefeatable by all but the most famous of the Drake [Generals].

Zel Shivertail managed to rout the Slayer’s army in a pitched battle and the Small Queen’s army found itself attacked by multiple armies, stalling her advance, but Wrymvr the Deathless rampaged unchecked behind Drake lines. This monstrous Prognugator of the Hives truly deserved the title of ‘Deathless’, because despite concerted efforts by multiple armies, the Prognugator refused to be slain and actively hunted down Drake commanders during battle.

The Antinium pushed forwards, again relentlessly overtaking city after city. It was as if the first Antinium War had returned with a vengeance as the Drakes found themselves on the back foot once more. And this time their Human allies were too preoccupied in the north to send assistance. For you see, the Necromancer had landed to the north, and his arrival had heralded a plague that swept the Human cities while his armies grew in number.

Az’kerash. The Necromancer. The bane of Terandria and now, Izril. His undead forces were never as numerous as the Antinium, but where his personal army went the Necromancer left only death in his wake. Where other [Necromancers] have raised armies of tens of thousands of zombies, ghouls, or skeletons, Az’kerash created far darker armies.

His forces consisted of Draugr, advanced and incredibly powerful zombies, wraiths, Crypt Lords, wights, and worst of all, Bone Giants. This foul horde of abominations moved ever southwards, heading towards Liscor and despoiling Human lands on the way.

And for what purpose? For what reason did he turn his gaze so suddenly to Izril? This befuddled writer has no notion dear readers. Perhaps the Necromancer sensed the confusion caused by the Antinium, or had grown bored of Terandria. Then again, what rational thought can be ascribed to such a horror? It is enough to say he went south, and his undead armies distracted the Humans in the Drake’s darkest hour.

 

“Dead gods, this [Writer] really does drone on a lot. Doesn’t he realize how biased he is? It’s not as if the Humans had a fun time fighting all those dead, you know.”

Ceria complained out loud and Pisces broke off from reading the very battered book in his hands. Pisces sniffed in annoyance as he looked up from reading and glanced about the inn.

“I personally find it incredible how dismissive he seems to be of the Necromancer’s true intentions. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised; Krsysl Wordsmith’s works have never been—how shall I put it?—particularly innovative. The best he can do is parrot other authors’ analyses and commentary.”

He sniffed again, but his audience seemed disinclined to support his opinion. Mrsha scratched at one ear as Lyonette held her on her lap. Jelaqua looked up from her cup, eyebrows raised, and Moore and Seborn looked up from their game of cards.

The inn wasn’t that full this late at night. Drassi and Lyonette were manning the inn, but their own guests were the Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, Mrsha, and the five Redfang Warriors who were sitting at a distant table, jabbering to themselves. They had been having a rather idle night with Erin gone, until Pisces had produced the book and begun reading from it.

Since he was a good reader no one had minded—until now. Ceria wondered if she’d made a mistake in interrupting. Pisces loved to poke holes in other people’s statements and he wouldn’t shut up if he thought someone was wrong.

The half-Elf sighed as she sat at the table with Pisces, Ksmvr, and Yvlon. She eyed the book in Pisces hands and raised her eyebrow at the [Necromancer] she thought of as a friend.

“If you don’t like him so much, why do you have a copy of his book, Pisces? And why do you insist on reading it aloud?”

“It is impossible to point out the flaws in his arguments without first hearing them. Besides which, I am offended by the lack of knowledge in this room! Ksmvr has never heard a history of the Antinium Wars, young Mrsha and Miss Lyonette have received only the scantest of summaries, and as for Yvlon and Miss Drassi—”

“I know the history of the Second Antinium War you jerk!”

Drassi called out from across the room. She propped her hands on her hips and glared at Pisces.

“Every Drake knows the history! And I bet Miss Yvlon knows her history too!”

“I did study the war, Pisces.”

Yvlon raised her eyebrows at Pisces. He curled his lip.

“Ah, education. And did you receive your wonderful education from this book, Miss Drassi, Miss Byres?”

The two young women hesitated. Pisces nodded.

“I thought so. How unfortunate. This ‘historical narrative’ is riddled with flaws. Oh I suppose as a form of propaganda it has some merit, but as an accurate insight into the minds of those who fought in the war? Hardly.”

“If you’re so smart, you tell us what the Necromancer was thinking. You like dead things. Why’d Az’kerash invade Izril all of a sudden, then? And don’t tell me it’s obvious because that means you don’t actually know.”

Ceria growled at Pisces. She looked over at Mrsha; the Gnoll was yawning widely, not particularly interested by the debate. Pisces noticed the look and frowned. He eyed Mrsha and then twirled his fingers.

A wind blew through the inn, making everyone look up. Ceria glanced towards the windows, and door, but they were closed. Pisces smiled as the wind blew at his robes, and then flicked his hands.

“You want a story based in facts, Springwalker? Very well, I suppose I can oblige you.”

“I never said—”

Too late. The lights in the room dimmed. Ceria looked around as the light from the fireplace seemed to grow behind Pisces and his shadow grew large on the wall. Mrsha looked up as Pisces snapped his fingers and sparks erupted in the air around him. Yvlon shot back from the table, swearing, and Ksmvr ducked. Ceria just batted at a flurry of glowing embers that flew past her.

“Stop the illusions, Pisces.”

He grinned at her, the air around him aglow with lights.

“Atmosphere is important, Ceria. Besides, if I am to tell a story, I might as well do it justice. Now…”

He coughed and his voice grew deeper, more resonant. Pisces turned his seat so he was facing Mrsha and the Redfang warriors, all of whom stared at him with sudden interest. He gestured dramatically and the shadows on the wall grew behind him as he spoke.

“Az’kerash. The Necromancer. You want to know his true intentions? Why he truly came to Izril? Well then, understand he was no mere [Necromancer]. He was once an Archmage of Wistram, acknowledged universally as one of the greatest magic users of all time. And though he was cast out and his name besmirched, his power in undeath was unmatched.”

“We know that. Get to the point.”

Pisces glared at Ceria, but went on, his shadows transforming into a vast and hooded figure behind him. Mrsha stared at it with wide eyes as Lyonette hugged her reassuringly, seeing lurching and shambling forms moving across the walls. Pisces’ voice was a low echo throughout the room.

“While the Antinium fought, the Necromancer sowed chaos among the Human cities in the north. He marched south, his small army growing with each day from the dead. However, his target was never any lone Human city—no. He travelled south, towards the Drake lands with a purpose. Not simply to destroy.”

“Oh really? You’re going to tell us he had a plan? Did it involve getting himself killed?”

Ceria smirked at Pisces, making him stop and frown at her again. She smiled, and then stopped when she saw Ksmvr putting a finger in front of his mouth. She looked around and realized she was the only one not taking Pisces seriously.

“Go on. What did the Necromancer want if he didn’t want to just kill people? Did he want something the Drakes had?”

Jelaqua leaned over her table, looking casually interested. Across the room, the Goblins were pointing at the shadow illusions Pisces had conjured and trying to make their own with their hands.

He grinned, and the room went dark except for flickering lights around his face. Mrsha squeaked. Ceria sighed.

“The Necromancer? He desired the treasures of the Walled Cities, of course. Not what was contained in the cities themselves either. Oh no. What he wanted was the secrets of the walls themselves.”

“Hey Pisces? I know you’re being dramatic, but I can’t see, and I’m trying to clean up the plates. Can you make it a bit brighter?”

Drassi interrupted, waving her claw in the air. The room grew a bit lighter and Pisces looked put out. He cleared his throat meaningfully as the Drake walked around the room, gathering plates.

As I was saying—the Walled Cities contain a powerful secret. Consider them, for a moment. The famous Drake cities whose fortifications are practically impregnable against attack. Constructed in the age of Dragons, a bastion for Drake kind. Why is it that no other Walled Cities were ever made in the millennia since? Were they truly the product of great magics or is there another secret to their construction? The answer is simple: there is a secret, and it is one that is hidden in plain sight in the history books. Although perhaps only a [Necromancer] would be able to see it.”

“Oh really? You know the secret of how the Walled Cities were built? Well color me impr—”

Ceria felt something wet splat into the side of her face and yelped, breaking off from her heckling. She saw Mrsha glaring at her, a paw full of tonight’s dinner—spaghetti and meatballs. She’d hit Ceria with a meatball.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

Lyonette scolded the Gnoll as Ceria ate the meatball, resigned to silence. Pisces smirked victoriously and went on. Against the wall, armies of shadowy undead marched, pursuing fleeing Humans.

“Oh yes. The secret is out there. But as I say, hidden. Let us look at the facts: the last Walled City was built right as the age of Dragons ended. As the Dragons went into hiding and their species as a whole dwindled in number. The Walled Cities were meant to defend from Dragon and while many have fallen over the thousands of years that have passed, those that still stand have the same strength as they did in the days of yore. What magics could last so long? No—what materials could hold such enchantments without waning in power? Stone is weak compared to the onslaught of years. But what if there was another ingredient, another part of the walls that gave them their mythical strength? That is what Az’kerash discovered, what he desired above all else.”

“This is better than one of those street performances in the big cities.”

Jelaqua whispered to her teammates as everyone leaned forwards. Ksmvr spoke, his voice quivering with anticipation.

“What is this secret, Comrade Pisces? Tell us.”

Ceria resolved to kick Pisces if he didn’t have a good answer. The [Necromancer] looked around, his eyes glinting in the fire’s light.

“Why, Dragon bones of course. The Walled Cities are made with the strength of Dragons. The Drakes took the skeletons of their ancestors and placed them in the walls. That is why the Walled Cities are unique, why they are so powerful. And it is why the Necromancer marched south.”

At Pisces’ words, there was a gasp across the inn. Ceria froze, foot poised to kick. And then everyone jumped as they heard a crash of breaking pottery. Drassi had dropped the stack of plates she’d been carrying. She stared at Pisces, ignoring Lyonette as the young woman leapt to her feet to make sure Drassi wasn’t hurt.

“Are you serious, Pisces? Dragon bones?”

Pisces nodded, smiling in satisfaction as everyone gaped at him. He raised a finger, and the broken pieces of the plates danced into the air, neatly piling themselves up on a table.

“Of course I’m certain, Springwalker. I can’t verify the facts myself, as the Walled Cities’ secrets are jealously guarded, but I imagine the Lords and Ladies of the Wall know the truth. I wonder how those arrogant Drakes reconcile that fact? Perhaps they take comfort knowing they hide behind the bones of their ancient parents. Whatever the case…Az’kerash must have known, and so he marched his armies ever southwards, intending to form an army capable of razing a Walled City for himself.”

“But he failed. That’s the point, isn’t it? He never got past Liscor.”

Yvlon stared hard at Pisces, clenching her fists gently and rubbing at her metallic arms. Pisces nodded.

“Naturally, the Necromancer’s plans failed. His armies did indeed cross past Liscor while he besieged the city, and caused much damage to Drake lands, but he failed to achieve his goals because he failed to take into account the other factor in the war.”

Ceria looked around.

“The Goblins?”

Pisces grinned, and the shifting mass of shadows on the wall behind him turned into the silhouette of a huge Goblin with a crown. The Redfang Warriors looked around, suddenly the focus of the room. Pisces opened the book he was reading.

“Indeed. The Goblins. Or more accurately, the Goblin King.”

 

—-

 

Antinium in the south. The Necromancer to the north. It seemed like Izril was in chaos, but there was no despair in the tails of the Drakes as they fought back against the hated Antinium. The war was winnable, and indeed, if the Humans could muster some backbone, the Antinium could be defeated again. That was the prevailing mood. At least, until the Goblin King arrived.

Velan the Kind had conducted a bloody war in Baleros, but it has to be said that he refrained from leading his armies deep into the jungles of that continent. Rather, he consolidated his forces, calling mighty Goblin Lords and Goblin Chieftains to his cause, swelling his army. He must have known the futility of any advance—the Four Great Companies of Baleros were all united against him, and a vast host had been formed to destroy him. But before the Balerosian forces could clash with the Goblin Lord, his entire army vanished into the sea.

That was the Goblin King’s master plan. That was why he had seized so many port cities—not to create a foothold, but to flee across the sea, to an easier target! And the naïve commanders of Baleros, the much-vaunted mercenary companies had given him the time to create enough ships for his armies in their cautious advance.

Yes, this historian will say it if no one else will! If the forces of Baleros hadn’t dragged their feet so, the Goblin King might have been eliminated before he could attack Izril! For that was exactly where his vast armada sailed.

The Goblin King’s armies crossed the oceans from Baleros, winning two notable battles at sea. The first, against a fleet of Minotaurs sent from their isles and the second at Wistram. The overconfident Minotaurs had expected to destroy the Goblin King, but their ships were no match for his Goblin Lords and the Goblin King himself.

It must be noted that the Goblin Lords each possessed a might on par with any Named Adventurer, and the Goblin King himself was reckoned a match for all but the strongest warriors in the world. Speculation has been rife as to what would have been the outcome if a famed warrior such as Mars the Illusionist had met him in battle. Alas, the outcome of such a duel will never be known, especially because the Goblin King’s armies prevented any surgical strikes against the Goblin King or his lords.

Nine Goblin Lords sailed with the Goblin King, each of different ability. Some were infamous for their might, such as Greydath of Blades or the Goblin King’s right hand, the Goblin Lord [Shaman] known as Tallis the Stormbreaker. Others were less distinguished, but the true terror of their abilities was displayed in the second battle as a force from Wistram sought to interrupt the Goblin King’s crossing.

The Archmage Balkizat sailed against the Goblin King’s army himself with a small army of [Mages], determined to sink the Goblin King at sea where his army was weakest. There he dueled Tallis the Stormbreaker in a magical battle that lasted for nine hours. On the ninth hour, Balkizat was slain by the Goblin King’s [Shaman] and the forces of Wistram retreated, hiding behind their magical walls until the Goblins had passed.

The defeat of an Archmage of Wistram marked a turning point in the perceived Goblin King’s threat worldwide. Other nations that had viewed themselves as removed from the struggle began to respond to requests for military assistance. But that would come too late for Izril. The Goblin King landed with the bulk of his forces in Cape Heathshell on the northwestern edge of Izril. From there he began invading the Human lands with a fury that exceeded that of the Antinium and Necromancer alike.

Faced with this new and dismaying threat, the Humans finally roused themselves to definite action. Unfortunately, hubris still gripped their addled minds, which led to the disastrous decision by two of the Five Families to send an army against the Goblin King, as if he could be swept away so easily. A force of about a hundred thousand [Knights] and [Lancers] was formed and led by Fulviolo El and the famed twins, Petria and Ulva Terland.

This army met the Goblin King’s vanguard in a pitched battle three days after his forces landed. By all accounts, within ten minutes the Goblin King’s soldiers had routed the Human army and the Goblin King personally beheaded Fulviolo and Petria, while Ulva Terland escaped with her life. With a single stroke he broke the backs of two of the Five Families and obliterated their personal armies so thoroughly that less than a hundred survivors escaped the battle.

Despair had come for the Humans, and it was in the shape of Goblins it came, not from the Necromancer’s undead or the Antinium. The Goblin King’s armies rolled over all Human opposition, pushing towards what many considered the Human’s capital, First Landing, their oldest and grandest city on the continent.

Obviously, oldest and grandest is a relative term, since the Walled Cities predate the construction of First Landing by at least six thousand years, but it was the Human’s only claim to glory, and the metaphorical heart of their people. If the capital city of humanity on Izril fell, there would be no rallying point for the Humans.

Thus, the Five Families and every noble house within six hundred miles of the city gathered their forces for a desperate stand at the city walls. Eight Goblin Lords besieged the city for three weeks, leading charges that resulted in bloodbaths for both sides. But they were unable to take the city by sheer force of arms. At least, in the beginning.

The Five Families, the legendary founding houses that first invaded Izril from Terandria millennia ago are known to be fractious and distrustful of one another. However, as the Goblin King’s armies assailed the walls of their city and his forces ravaged their homes, the banners of all five families were raised in unison for the first time in over a thousand years.

Each of the five houses opened their garrisons and sent their scions to the front. Of their number, Lady Magnolia Reinhart and Lord Tyrion Veltras were most notable for their accomplishments during the war. It was Lord Tyrion who took command of the defense of the city, establishing his prowess as a military leader while Lady Magnolia marshaled the rest of the land’s nobility in defense of their home. And it was she who implemented a tactic born of sheer desperation as the Goblin King’s forces began to overwhelm the city’s defenders.

While every [Lord] had been called into military service at the start of the conflict with the Goblin Lord, the [Ladies] of the realm had refrained from taking part in the fighting, due to some Human notion of sentimentality. However, the desperation of the Human defenders finally spurred the female nobility to act. Two weeks into the slaughter, Magnolia Reinhart and every [Lady] in the city appeared on the front lines and lent their Skills during the battles against the Goblin Lord.

It is at this point that some explanations are required for readers unfamiliar with Human culture. It is a peculiarity of Humans that their female population, especially their nobility, refuses to take part in most battles unless specifically trained in combat. The idea of gender segregation is, of course, completely foreign to Drakes, Gnolls and most other species, but it remains a romanticized Human notion. And indeed, up until this point, although every [Lord] had taken part in the fighting, no [Lady] had entered battle in person.

Now however, the [Ladies] appeared en masse, going into combat with their personal escorts and lending their Skills to the Human warriors. Most [Ladies] possessed only the lowest-level of combat Skills, but as any [Tactician] worth their salt will note, the heat of combat rapidly increases one’s level and grants combat-based Skills. Thus, although weak, the Skills of hundreds of [Ladies] were multiplied across the battlefield, allowing the Humans to push back the surprised Goblins. It must also be said that the psychological impact of seeing their female nobility willing to risk their lives in battle strengthened the Human soldiers’ resolve, adding to their sudden strategic advantage.

This daring tactic surprised the Goblin King, as did the unusual skill and courage of the Human defenders, a rarity in their species as a whole. He quickly realized the nature of the Human’s comeback however, and enacted a plan of his own to destroy the Human’s vestiges of hope. The Goblin King ordered his vassals to target the relatively undefended [Ladies] as they hid behind the front lines. And there began the slaughter known to the world as the Sacrifice of Roses.

The Goblin Lords pinpointed the ranks of the [Ladies], leading charges in person to slaughter the helpless nobility where they stood. The defining aspect of the battle however, was that the Humans, uncharacteristically, refused to run when their death was imminent. Rather than flee and break the battle lines, they fought to the last woman, holding their ground long enough for their soldiers to enact blood vengeance on the Goblins who had pushed so far into their lines. One of the lesser Goblin Lords, Murmar, was confirmed to have been slain as the result of these defensive actions. However, the cost came at the near-total annihilation of each [Lady] targeted.

This valiant defense of their home at the cost of their own lives became a defining moment in the Human resistance against the Goblin King, an icon that demonstrated the courage of Izril even in the face of overwhelming odds. The Sacrifice of Roses became a rallying cry across Izril and has been lauded to this day as a defining moment of courage.

Perhaps too much so. If this humble [Writer] may be so bold as to interject his own opinion at this point, much has been made of the sacrifices of the Human nobility of Izril during the Second Antinium War. However, I would characterize their sacrifice as valorous, but not above that of any Drake or indeed, Human [Soldier]. Accounts of Ladies of the Wall participating and falling in battle are verified and recorded—why should Humans take more credit for what was, in truth, a rather costly and ineffective strategy employed in a single series of battles?

Lest I remind you dear readers, the Human [Ladies] of Izril only took to the front lines as a last stand. Is their singular moment of sacrifice worth more than any bereaved Drake family mourning the loss of a [Soldier]? It was an acceptable measure taken in a desperate situation, not, I feel, a moment of true heroism as has been claimed by others.

 

“Stop reading that.”

A hand reached down and closed the book in front of Lady Bethal. She looked up, surprised, as her husband, the [Chevalier] Thomast, frowned at her. She sat up in bed, looking around the tent they were sharing in the army’s campgrounds outside of Invrisil. The two had come to the battlefield to fight against the Goblin Lord’s army. Lady Bethal had declined Magnolia Reinhart’s offer of hospitality so she could stay with her husband on the night before the battlefield.

She had been reading the history of the second Antinium wars in a delicately-bound pink book in the bed her [Knights] had carried ten miles to the camp site. Now she closed it, her hands trembling slightly as Thomast looked at her.

“I was just reading, Thomast. Is that a crime?”

Her eyes sparkled with her infamous temper. Thomast, renowned for his silence and lack of temper in contrast to his wife’s moods, simply shook his head.

“Not a crime. But you know it’s not true.”

“It’s what’s written, isn’t it? That Drake [Writer] thinks we Human [Ladies] are cowards. And perhaps we are? Isn’t that why you’re sending me away, rather than letting me watch the battle?”

“You would not watch if I was in danger. You would try to save me and we might both perish. I can’t allow that.”

“Allow? I’m your wife.

Bethal’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared. She sat up in her bed and Thomast carefully avoided meeting her eyes, as if she were a wild animal. He looked at her hands instead. They were shaking ever so slightly as they rested on the book.

“You are my wife. And this is a war. General Shivertail is commanding—he can’t have unpredictable elements interfering with his strategy.”

“I can take orders! I have fought in a war before, Thomast.”

“I know. And I know you can fight. But not this time. Stop reading about the past, please.”

He reached for the book. Bethal clutched it to her chest. She was breathing faster now, her voice rising in agitation.

“Why can’t I read, Thomast?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“It’s what’s written!”

“And it is not true. Bethal—”

“We fought, Thomast! All of us! We fought and we died and this arrogant worm of a Drake has the nerve to question our bravery! As if we didn’t know our soldiers were dying? But we still died, and for what? If this is how history remembers us, wouldn’t it have been better to run? To be remembered as cowards, but be alive? Rather than—than this?

She hurled the book across the tent. Thomast sighed and stroked at his mustache.

“It’s not true. You know that. I know that.”

“And what about everyone else? What about children, what about people who read this book and don’t know the truth? How can he write this? How can—”

Her husband was silent, gently sitting still as Bethal shouted. She wanted him to yell back, but found it was hard to look at him. Her vision was—swimming.

Bethal reached up and found her eyes were full of tears. She wiped them away almost absentmindedly at first. But the tears kept coming. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it began to break.

“It’s—we knew what would happen, Thomast. Magnolia told us. She said—we all agreed. No quarter. No mercy. But we still did it. We—we—”

“I know. Love, I know.”

Thomast reached out and held Bethal. Her shoulders began to shake. She kept talking, stumbling, choking, but forcing the words out.

“I remember the banners. There were so many to begin with. But each time the Goblin King charged—there were so many Goblins. Each time he charged the banners disappeared. More and more of them. Just—missing. I was separated from the others in the fighting. And when the Goblin King retreated I looked for mother, but she was gone. So were Maisy and Lady Alvita and Eruvie—all gone. Father was gone and then the horns blew again and he charged and—so many. They were gone, Thomast. All gone.”

She began to weep. Thomast held Bethal, hugging her tightly. She whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“We held the line. None of us ran, not even when the Goblin Lords appeared. Even when they cut us down. I still dream of that night. I know it shouldn’t matter, but when I read this—”

It is not true.

Thomast said it fiercely. Bethal clung to him.

“Say it again. Louder, please.”

“It is not true!”

The [Chevalier]’s voice raised, and Bethal lowered her head. Time passed slowly, and her shaking stopped. Thomast offered her a handkerchief to wipe her face and blow her nose. Bethal did so, and then turned to Thomast with the smallest of smiles.

“Do you know how I first heard of you, Thomast? It was before we met at the ball at Magnolia’s estate. I must confess I had planned running into you. Although I had not planned to actually run into you, much less dirty your clothes. I was determined to meet you. You see, I had read the open letter you had sent to this Drake [Historian].”

“Oh?”

Thomast knew what Lady Bethal was referring to, but he let her tell her story, stroking her hands. Bethal smiled up at him.

“I still remember what you wrote. Do you? I’ll repeat it. I memorized it by heart.”

“Tell me. What did I write?”

“You wrote to that horrible Drake. That Wordsmith. You said—oh, how did it begin? Oh yes, Dear Sir.

 

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you in regards to the popular book you recently published, entitled The Second Antinium Wars, a History. I take issue with several passages within your historical narrative, most notably the paragraphs where you question the sacrifice of the [Ladies] of Izril during the Sacrifice of Roses.

I find it incredible that you would attack the deceased, much less from the safety of your quill, far from any actual danger. It appears that it is easy for you and others who enjoy the contempt of peace to criticize those who gave their lives in battle, knowing full well the odds against them. I hope you have a tenth of the courage it takes to stand your ground wearing nothing but a dress and holding a dagger against an oncoming Goblin army.

I trust you will retract your comments and issue a public apology swiftly as to avoid further disgracing this historical account. Your attack on the courage of the fallen is a disgrace to your class and to the truth. Species matters not. The honor and bravery displayed by Drakes, Humans, Gnolls, and every other species during the war should not be called into question, much less by someone who never fought in either war. I was there and I will never forget their sacrifice.

Sincerely,

Thomast Veniral, [Fencer]

 

“I fell in love with you just a bit after reading that.”

“Mm. I regret writing that. I was young and it only put his back up. I was challenged to eight duels within the week.”

“So?”

Bethal gripped Thomast’s hands fiercely, her eyes blazing.

“You were right! And that Drake will never admit it, but you spoke the truth. You were right, Thomast. Never regret telling the truth. And it was the truth. We knew what we were doing. We—”

Her voice broke again. And again Thomast held her. This time he kissed her gently on each cheek and then on her lips. Bethal’s voice trembled.

“That night the roses fought and fell. But we never ran. We marched on, through the rain and mud and death. So many of us. So few afterwards. And when the Goblin King charged we blazed and died like fireflies in the night. But we stopped him.”

“You did.”

Thomast embraced his wife. She sobbed into his vest.

“Thomast? Kiss me please.”

He did. The book lay on the floor, forgotten. But the pages went on, flawed fiction mixing with grains of truth to tell a story. Such was history.

 

Whatever the case, the defense of First Landing and the subsequent Sacrifice of Roses blunted the Goblin King’s attacks. The loss of the first of the Goblin Lords shook the Goblin King and he withdrew his forces after it became clear the Humans were too well-entrenched to uproot without sacrificing part of his army. Instead, the Goblin King ordered his Lords to conduct a campaign of fire on the landscapes, razing farmlands and smaller targets while he maintained the siege, intending to starve the Humans out.

The advance of the Goblins had stalled for the first time, a cause for celebration perhaps. But the cost was passing high. In cases where Goblins succeeded in overrunning or bypassing the Human lines and engaging the personal retinues led by said [Ladies], casualties were absolute. Over 60% of the [Ladies] who took to the front lines perished in battle along with their escorts.

Their deaths, along with their [Lord] counterparts, has led to a vacuum in the ranks of the landowning classes in the Human lands that has persisted to this day. Conversely however, those [Lords] and [Ladies] who did survive the Second Antinium War all obtained high levels and absorbed vast tracts of land into their estates.

And of course, the battle for First Landing was not yet over. The Human defenders might have faced months of deprivation and slowly dwindling food supplies under the siege warfare, but for an unexpected attack on the Goblin King’s armies from the Reinhart estate.

Magnolia Reinhart, one of the leading figures of the First Antinium War, led a counterattack from her estate on the Goblin King’s forces. Despite having committed virtually all of her family’s soldiers to the defense of First Landing, she appeared two weeks after the Sacrifice of Roses with another army a hundred thousand strong.

To the amazement of all, she drove the Goblin King’s army back with a magical army of constructs. She had summoned this vast force with the use of an artifact known as the Crown of Flowers. This artifact is known as one of the great treasures of the Humans of Izril, and is in fact rumored to be the very same artifact used to conquer the Drake cities when the invasion of the continent first took place thousands of years ago.

Not much is known about the Crown of Flowers as its powers are a well-guarded secret. Indeed, they are considered so potent that Magnolia Reinhart was forced to strike a deal with the Assassin’s Guild to ensure her life and the artifacts would not be targeted for the duration of the war. This was the first incident where she struck a deal with the Assassin’s Guild, but it would lead to her widespread employment of [Assassins] throughout the years following the Second Antinium War. But that is beside the point.

It is not clear why Magnolia Reinhart did not employ the Crown of Flowers as soon as the Goblin King’s forces reached Izril, but prominent [Mages] speculate that she may have in fact done so. The army summoned by the Crown of Flowers was comprised of powerful plant-based constructs which grew in power the longer they existed, ‘blooming’ into their full power over time. It may be that it was only after weeks had passed that the Crown of Flowers had been able to summon the army at this desperate hour.

Whatever the case, the interlude in the fighting had given the crown’s powers time enough to work. The army of constructs summoned by the Crown of Flowers grew out of the ground and assembled around the Reinhart Estate near First Landing and marched south. They attacked the surprised Goblin King’s army and, in tandem with the Human defenders, forced him to retreat.

This unexpected victory forced the Goblins back and earned Lady Magnolia the Reinhart the title of ‘The Deadly Flower Blooming in the North’. She had shown the Goblin King her thorns and his armies withdrew, giving the Humans some breathing room, however small.

The sudden retreat by the Goblin forces may have been due to the Goblin King’s absence from the battlefield at that time. Confident in the abilities of his Goblin Lords to maintain the siege, he had vanished from the battlefields. Reportedly, the Goblin King had rapidly moved south with a small force, entering the High Passes. There he vanished for eight days.

What he did during that time is largely unknown, but it is speculated he personally cut a path through the treacherous High Passes, fighting the myriad monsters that formed their lairs in that place. And after eight days had passed, the Goblin King appeared south of the High Passes. He had opened up a gateway between north and south Izril, bypassing the defenses of Liscor entirely. Thus, the Goblins were now able to reinforce their armies on both sides, giving them another strategic advantage over the separated Drake and Human forces.

A note at this point. While I have written exclusively about Drakes and Humans, it would be wrong to write further without touching upon the contributions, or rather, lack thereof by the Gnoll species during this time. The Gnoll tribes did indeed take part in resisting the Antinium advance and fought against the Goblin King in some numbers, but their presence was mostly seen in a defensive role, as with the First Antinium War.

The Gnoll tribes’ insular and cowardly attitude towards battle may have been seen most disgracefully in regards to the Necromancer, however. The Gnoll species as a whole has more reason than most to hate his existence—after all, the Necromancer earned his name over a century ago when he slew the beloved Chieftain of the Gnolls who some had labeled the first ‘King of Gnolls’. The Necromancer killed the Gnoll Chieftain Kerash and was thus dubbed Az’kerash, or ‘Slayer of Kerash’ by the Gnolls.

And yet, as his armies travelled south, the Necromancer faced little opposition from the Gnolls, who seemed more fearful of his advance than enraged. The Gnoll tribes contributed little to the defense of the land, and indeed, are conspicuously absent in most major battles of the Second Antinium War.

 

“We fought! What nonsense is this?”

Krshia’s paw slapped the book’s pages. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] growled out loud and snarled at the text as she got up and paced around her apartment.

“We fought! We did! Not all tribes, but did all Drakes fight? No! My tribe fought, and countless others! We did not fear the Necromancer, no! How dare this Drake write otherwise? He calls himself a historian? I have seen more accurate histories written on shopping lists!”

She hurled the book to the ground and stomped on it before picking it up and checking it for damage.

“Hrr. I can still sell this, though. Perhaps I can even sell it for more if I rip out these pages. They would make good toilet paper, no?”

Grudgingly, Krshia flicked the book open and kept reading, although her tail was angrily thrashing back and forth.

 

Regardless, the Necromancer advanced south, largely undeterred by the war going on between Goblins and Humans. To my understanding he only clashed with the Goblin King’s forces once, and the battle ended as a stalemate between Az’kerash and the Goblin King. It appears both forces largely ignored each other after that, and the Necromancer exploited the fractured militaries of both Humans and Drakes by marching his army to Liscor unimpeded.

It was there the Necromancer’s armies besieged the Drake city and cut the continent in two. The Drakes could not assist the Humans and vice versa. Perhaps this was to aid the Goblin King after all, because it meant neither side could assist one another while the Goblins enjoyed the use of the High Passes. And meanwhile, the Necromancer’s forces spread out, heading south of the Blood Fields and harvesting more bodies for his army.

The siege of Liscor is of course a famous and heroic tale of defiance by the courageous Drake defenders and I fear I can do it little justice with only a few pages of writing. However, let us begin by saying that the Liscorian army had withdrawn around their city in advance of the Necromancer’s assaults, and held the walls of their city as the Necromancer concentrated the bulk of his forces in an attempt to bring it down.

Liscor had never fallen to siege once since its creation as a city-state. The natural geography of the city combined with their advanced walls and powerful army meant that they were able to repel most assaults with ease. However, the Necromancer had brought armies of powerful undead and the aforementioned Bone Giants to assault Liscor’s walls. The Liscorian army was forced to fight the undead on the walls and slew the giants only at great cost. And though the Necromancer’s giants failed to break Liscor’s walls, they had done such terrible damage that there was no hope of Liscor repelling the undead alone.

A truly grueling siege of Liscor began, as the Necromancer inflicted plagues on the city’s inhabitants, launched rotting corpses over the walls and personally unleashed his magics on the city’s defenders. It was an onslaught that would have felled a lesser city, much less a Human one in a single day. And yet, Liscor held on. Against all odds, they endured first one week, then two, and then four weeks against the Necromancer’s onslaught. Every citizen fought to defend the city, hoping against hope for relief.

And it came from none other than Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker himself. The Drake [General] had heard of Liscor’s plight and abandoned his battles against the Antinium to march north. He, the former student and friend of General Sserys of Liscor would not abandon Sserys’ people in their hour of need. Shivertail did not march alone either; three other Drake [Generals] joined him with their armies, and they cut a path to the Necromancer and assaulted his army at Liscor.

This climatic battle would be known as one of the most famous battles of the Second Antinium War. It began as Zel Shivertail’s forces attacked the Necromancer’s entrenched army around the city. Accounts of the battle have been verified and multiple perspectives have been recorded. To summarize the tragic opening to the battle, I will be brief.

On the first day, Az’kerash slew [General] Hekiss. On the second, [General] Vusso fell and two hours later, [General] Misa. Only Zel Shivertail remained as the Necromancer’s forces threatened to overwhelm both the city of Liscor and the attacking army.

 


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S02 – The Antinium Wars (Pt.4)

Dear readers, it is not in my nature to exaggerate or lie. I, Krysyl Wordsmith, attempt to tell you the most unbiased of accounts possible. But I cannot suppress my patriotic pride for my people. And the following account of the Siege of Liscor by the Necromancer, Az’kerash, is almost impossible to tell without appreciating the grave odds of the struggle, the desperation, and above all, the hope and courage exhibited by the brave Drakes of Liscor and the hero Zel Shivertail himself.

Consider it, dear readers. Liscor imperiled once more and this time the Necromancer unleashing his undead hordes on the gateway to the southern continent, attempting to succeed where the Antinium had failed nearly a decade ago. And oh, but he was succeeding. Liscor’s defenses had been improved since the last war, their walls built higher and spelled with new enchantments. But the Necromancer had brought an army capable of destroying all but a Walled City, and with every fallen soldier his forces grew.

And what was the Drake high command doing? Nothing! They were fighting the Antinium on every front and now facing a Goblin King’s invasion as well. Who could they send? Who could rally an army strong enough to destroy the Necromancer and break his siege?

The Tidebreaker would. For his late comrade General Sserys, to save his friend’s beloved city he gathered three other Drake armies, each lead by a [General] of the Drake cities. I urge you to imagine it. Four [Generals] marched on the Necromancer. And each one increased the strength of the combined army they led until it was unstoppable.

This technique of ‘stacking’ high-level commanders and leaders has been used to great effect across the world; indeed, in the last Izril-Terandrian war, the Human armies were pathetically crushed by superior Drake forces who sent in multiple [Commander] classes into each battle, allowing them to utilize Skill-based tactics and enhance their army’s fighting quality far beyond the Terandrian armies. (Of course, the individual ability of each Drake soldier over the Human soldiers may have also played a part in such victories.)

Zel Shivertail had created a force capable of wiping out the Necromancer despite his great power. Four [Generals] should have broken the back of his army within a day. But instead the Necromancer slew General Hekiss, Vusso, and then Misa with his fell magics, turning the tides of battle in an instant.

How? How could he slay the pride of the Drakes with such contemptuous ease? It seems that the Drakes, the Humans, and perhaps even the Goblin Lord and Antinium underestimated him. The Necromancer was no mere distraction from the war—he was a side unto himself! He had the magical prowess to destroy enemy armies and [Generals] from afar; shielded by his undead he could fight at his leisure, overrunning cities with ease.

He destroyed every army that he encountered, save for the Goblin King’s army. Even an Antinium army sent north was obliterated, although not made into undead. It appears even the Necromancer has standards for his undead—or that the Antinium made for poor corpses.

Regardless, the hope of salvation for Liscor had turned into a nightmarish situation as the Drake army sent to liberate the city found itself on the brink of being wiped out. And perhaps they would have been. The Necromancer ordered his undead to encircle the army and Liscor, hoping to swell his deathless horde further. But he failed to destroy the Drake army on the third day, and the fourth, and every day after that. For one simple reason:

He could not kill the Tidebreaker.

Not by magic, not by overwhelming numbers or ambush! General Zel Shivertail remained on the battlefield despite Az’kerash’s repeated assaults on him day after day. The famed [General of the Line] refused to retreat, and it was his rallying presence and Skills that kept the Drake armies and the valiant defenders of Liscor from folding under the Necromancer’s devastating attacks.

And yet, dear readers, Zel Shivertail’s weakness became apparent as he failed to dispatch the Necromancer despite charging into enemy lines again and again. The Tidebreaker is known to be the best defensive [General] in Liscor, and indeed, perhaps the world.

Unlike the late General Sserys who was known for his offensive strategies, Zel Shivertail’s Skills mainly revolve around defensive formations and holding the line, despite his exceptional personal combat prowess. Thus, he was unable to launch a decisive strike and corner the Necromancer—when he would charge Az’kerash’s position the Necromancer would screen himself with his undead troops or disappear.

And so the battle became a deadly stalemate, as both armies refused to retreat. So long as the Necromancer lived, the undead would continue rising, empowered by their dark master. And so long as Zel Shivertail refused to fall, the Drakes fought on. And yet, and yet dear reader, the undead began to triumph.

For every Drake that fell at Liscor, an undead zombie or ghoul would rise in its place. And Az’kerash’s own magical mastery allowed him to create a number of greater undead each day. Meanwhile, the people of Liscor and Zel Shivertail’s own army were finite in number. The siege wore on as Zel Shivertail requested urgent reinforcements to defeat the Necromancer. Alas, the Drake high command was once again unable to act.

The Antinium were sweeping down from their Hives, and worse, the Goblin King’s armies had also begun to march. Unlike the Human campaign in the north, Velan the Kind left the strategy in the south to only one of his Goblin Lords, if the mightiest of them.

Tallis the Stormbreaker.

The great [Shaman] of the Goblin armies came late to the war between the Antinium and Drakes. He began by sacking port cities along the western coast, and then slowly moved inland. The Drake armies were no match for his overwhelming magical might, and he routed armies with contemptuous ease. Drakes across the continent despaired hearing of Tallis Stormbreaker’s advance, because the Antinium were already sieging Pallass and Zeres, threatening to once again cut the continent in two.

But here history takes a fortunate turn. Because as luck would have it, the Goblin Lord’s advance sent him perilously close to an Antinium Hive. And the thoughtless, foolish Antinium saw his armies not as a potential ally, but simply as another threat. They sent Xrn, the Small Queen to deal with Tallis Stormbreaker as they had every other army. And here the Antinium suffered their first great defeat of the war. The Stormbreaker annihilated the Antinium army with a single spell within ten minutes of the Antinium charging his army.

 

“That cannot be right.”

Pivr stared at Tersk as the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium paused with the history book in his hands. Tersk didn’t reply. He was staring in shock at the words on the page. He had not known the history of the Second Antinium War in any great detail. To hear of an army destroyed so easily—

“An entire army? Destroyed by a Goblin?”

He looked up and across the campfire at the blue Antinium sitting there. Xrn looked up, her eyes shining with bright orange and red lights that illuminated the dark night like distant stars.

“Prognugator Xrn. Is this true?”

“It cannot be! We cannot have lost to Goblins!

Pivr insisted loudly. He fanned his wings in agitation, moving around the fire and grabbing for the book Tersk was reading from.

“Give me that.”

He snatched the book and read the passage. He recoiled in disbelief and turned to Xrn.

“This book is lying. It must be.”

“Must it? Why must it lie, Pivr? Because you do not like the truth? This Krsysl Wordsmith exaggerates his history and twists the facts to suit his narrative, but he does not make up false events. Tallis Stormbreaker destroyed the first army we sent against him. And the second and third.”

The other Antinium stared at Xrn in horrified silence. Pivr’s wings fanned wide and his mandibles leaked a bit of the acidic bile he had been engineered to produce. Tersk snatched the book back before the acid could land on it.

“That is—we are the Antinium. We cannot be defeated so easily. You were there! This book said you led the first army. How could you have allowed him to triumph?”

The Antinium went still. Xrn sat up slowly and Pivr broke off speaking, realizing he might have erred. He backed up a bit as the warm lights in Xrn’s eyes became cold, turning blue and frosty grey.

“Allowed? I allowed him nothing, Pivr. The Stormbreaker took. That was the might of the Goblin King and his Goblin Lords. They destroyed the army I led against them, and I was helpless to fight back. We underestimated the Goblins, Pivr. We did not know what they could do. As it says in the book, Tallis broke my army with a single spell.”

“How?”

Tersk leaned forwards, his hands shaking on the book. He’d read ahead and seen no details of the battle. Xrn looked at him and the cold lights in her eyes changed. They became a swirling vortex, a mass of colors vanishing into a pinpoint in the center of her eyes. Tersk shuddered and looked away, but Xrn’s voice was kind and sad as she replied.

“Oh, it was very simple. Tallis Stormbreaker was the Goblin King’s personal [Shaman]. He possessed the might of his people and his magic reflected that. When we charged his army he cast one spell. One simple spell, with such a simple effect.”

Xrn looked past the others, into the depths of the fire. The wind began to blow as she continued, her voice lost in the past.

“He opened a hole into the sky.”

 

—-

 

There was a hole in the sky. A hole as small as your hand at first. So small you’d never see it. But then it grew, widening until the clouds were sucked into it, until it became a vortex, a gaping rift that dragged everything upwards, tearing up trees, sucking up rocks and dirt and everything below it.

Xrn saw the spiral appear in the sky as the Antinium army around her surged across the dry flatlands. They charged towards the Goblin army, towards the Goblin [Shaman] whose hands shone like the sun.

So brave. So simple. Xrn screamed at them to stop. She raised her staff and tried to dispel the grand magic overhead. But it was like throwing all her weight against a mountain. The hole in the sky widened and then began to pull.

Antinium Soldiers, racing across the ground in the tens of thousands began to slow as they lost their traction on the ground. And then they lost their footing and began to float. Xrn saw their arms flailing in confusion as the winds blew them upwards. She heard the howl now, a terrible sound that was louder than a tornado and deeper than the roar of the ocean. The sky tore and her army was sucked into that void in space.

Across the battlefield, Tallis Stormbreaker raised his arms and the gyre widened further. Sea and sky became one. Xrn looked up, her magics barely keeping her rooted as Workers and Soldiers were pulled helplessly into the air. Even the Flying Antinium were at the mercy of the winds—they were dragged into the sky hundreds of miles up and hurled into the ground.

The Goblin Lord laughed and his laughter was thunder. Xrn hurled fire at him, but the other Goblin [Shamans] and [Mages] broke her spells and hurled spells at her. She fled as her army fell up.

 

—-

 

There was only horrified silence as Xrn finished her story. The Antinium sat frozen around the campfire as the wind blew in sympathy for Xrn’s tale. The Small Queen looked up and met Tersk’s eyes.

“We did not know of Goblins. We did not know of the Goblin King or what his armies could do. We underestimated them and paid for it.”

“But how? How could they be so strong?”

Tersk’s voice shook as he looked at the book he held. Xrn shrugged; she had no easy answer. She stared at the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium, wondering if her story had broken his spirit. But to her surprise Pivr spoke up.

“If that was the power the Goblin Lords held, how could we defeat them, Prognugator Xrn? For we surely did not retreat. The Antinium do not retreat. How did we fight them? How did we win?”

She looked at Pivr, surprised. The Revalantor of the Flying Antinium fanned his wings, his multi-faceted eyes ablaze with passion. For all his faults he was brave. So Xrn answered him truthfully, drawing her answer from both past and present.

“It was a grand spell that Tallis Stormbreaker used. He could not call upon it the second time we sent an army towards him, nor the third. He still broke our armies with his magics, but he grew more exhausted with each spell he cast. The Antinium could have paid the price that way, taking his life with mountains of our dead. Or if we had more of our great warriors of old, more of our lost technology we could have overwhelmed him with might. As it was, the Grand Queen chose neither option. She looked at the Goblins as a threat and gave her Prognugators three separate orders. Klbkch, Wrymvr and I were ordered to break the Goblin King’s might at any cost.”

“And did you?”

Pivr’s gaze was steady. Xrn’s mandibles opened and lifted. She smiled at him and the other Antinium and nodded at the book.

“Read and find out. But my presence should be all the answer you need.”

 

—-

 

Three armies. Three disastrous defeats, against a single Goblin Lord no less! The Antinium had been humbled, and at last, after three total routs of her forces, the Grand Queen finally reconsidered the mindless tactics her armies had employed. She ceased battling the Goblin Lord’s army in open engagements and instead began harassing the Goblins in the south of Izril, attacking them at night, through tunnels and with her Silent Antinium, wearing them down as her armies kept a stranglehold on the Drake cities on the eastern front.

The Goblins, perhaps unaware of the situation within Izril, must have received a shock to find such a widespread and fearless enemy already vying for control of the continent. In many ways the Antinium resembled the Goblins with their overwhelming numbers, general lack of intelligence, repulsiveness…but any hope of an alliance between the two verminous species was ruined with the first battle with Tallis Stormbreaker. They became enemies, which in turn eased the pressure off the Human and Drakes defenders as these two powers collided.

Much like the Goblin King, Tallis Stormbreaker was too powerful to rout in a single pitched battle, as his command of massive battlefield-wide spells was especially suited to destroying the Antinium. However, by the same token, his armies failed to uproot the Antinium who would flee the Goblin Lord and then destroy lesser Goblin armies with their ceaseless suicidal attacks.

And meanwhile, the Necromancer was occupied at Liscor, battling with Zel Shivertail. The southern continent of Izril was deadlocked, dear readers, which, sadly, forces us to refocus once more on the Human battles with the Goblins to the north.

The Goblin King’s advance had slowed and even been turned away for the first time at the city of First Landing, although at great cost. Now the Goblin King’s forces split up. Unable to take the city, they began burning and pillaging in a wide radius around the continent, attempting to force the Humans into a pitched battle which they might win, or slowly wear the Humans down.

Several of the Goblin Lords marched west, burning a path across the continent. The rest clashed with the Human defenders. The new generation of [Lords] and [Ladies] showed some resistance here, as Lord Tyrion Veltras demonstrated his military competency against the Goblins and Magnolia Reinhart employed numerous artifacts to slow the Goblin’s progress.

But there were too many Goblins and the Humans were unable to slow their progress. It seemed as if the Goblin King’s armies might well destroy the entire continent as they marched east, undeterred by the Humans’ desperate and uncoordinated resistance. But here they ran into yet another obstacle, this time in the shape of a famous ally from across the world. It was as Greydath of Blades was threatening to defeat a small army of Humans on the Plains of Saltes that he appeared on the battlefield, surprising the world at large and Greydath in particular.

Niers Astoragon, the Titan. The small [Strategist] of Baleros reportedly strode onto the battlefield and made his presence known by taking command of the Human army. It is unknown how he arrived so quickly across the world—especially given how he was seen in Baleros one day prior to this battle. Travelling so far and so fast is practically impossible, and yet the Fraerling [Strategist] managed it somehow. For reference, the most world-famous Couriers making use of the fastest ships and artifacts still require at least four days to make the journey across from Baleros to Izril, and that is only the sea voyage.

It is speculated that he must have had a particularly powerful scroll of [Teleportation] or employed the services of some exceptionally powerful mage or group of mages—and it is noted that all of Wistram’s [Mages] deny helping the Titan at this juncture—but whatever the case, the Titan used the surprise his appearance had caused to push Greydath’s army back and win one of the first victories for the Humans.

This was not the only battle Niers Astoragon would win either. The tiny second-in-command of one of the Four Great Companies quickly assumed control of the Human armies in the area and proceeded to win or stalemate the Goblin Lords in the area. This sudden rallying in the east gave the Humans a second wind, despite the obvious irony that they were placing their hopes on such tiny shoulders. Still, this writer supposes that if any shoulders were equal to the burden, it was those of Niers Astoragon, the Titan of Baleros himself.

The Titan is of course famed for having defeated one of the King of Destruction’s Seven, the Gambler of Fates, Queravia, among his other accomplishments, but he rose to greater heights during the Second Antinium War. As one of the highest-level [Strategists] in the world he was able to fight on the same level with the Goblin Lords and his grasp of strategy would see him outmaneuvering the Goblin Lords despite possessing a weaker or less numerous force in the battles he fought.

It is unknown why Niers Astoragon chose to risk his life as he did and fight the Goblin King’s armies head on, especially since Baleros was already in the process of sending armies across the sea to defend Izril. Perhaps it was guilt that prompted the Titan to fight directly against the Goblin King.

After all, it was his company who first agreed to peace with Velan the Kind when he was a Goblin Lord. The Fraerling [Strategist] must have attempted to repay his considerable debt to the people of the world, and it has to be said, his impact on the battlefield was not as minute as his stature. He pushed back the armies of two Goblin Lords at once, fending both off with the skill that prompts some to call him the greatest [Strategist] in the world.

However, as with all non-Drake heroes, it appears Niers Astoragon had a fatal flaw. In this case, it was that of cowardice, for he refused to do battle with the Goblin King. Velan the Kind appeared on battlefields across Izril, pushing his armies east, south, north and west, his armies enjoying victory after victory when he fought among them. And whenever he would appear on the eastern fronts, Niers Astoragon would retreat from battle, allowing the Goblin King to gobble up cities and entire provinces rather than risk any kind of engagement with him.

Shockingly, it appeared that the Titan’s spine was far weaker than that of the lowest-level Drake [Soldier], as he would go on to end the Second Antinium War without ever participating in a battle where the Goblin King was present.

When questioned about his fearful retreat from any actual conflict with the Goblin King, the much-vaunted [Strategist] of Baleros had only this to say:

“I’m not an idiot.”

He then refused to reply to any of the letters this humble [Writer] sent to him, leaving this questionable page in history unfortunately blank. At least Niers Astoragon’s strategy bought time for the Humans, but in the larger scale of things, his retreats allowed the Goblin an equal number of effortless victories, balancing his contributions out on the whole. Whether his aid was truly that monumental is a debate for [Tacticians], but this Drake has his own doubts on the matter.

 

“That clod-footed village-smasher. I told him not to print that!”

Niers Astoragon frowned down at the tiny book in his hands. He considered ripping it up, but books were expensive, and books that were made for Fraerlings were hard to obtain. They were almost twice as expensive in fact—not because of the costs of production, which were minute, but because a Fraerling [Bookbinder] and [Scribe] had to labor hard to copy texts in minutiae.

So he reluctantly put the book down before he tossed it into the burning wax candle that sat next to him. Niers got up and paced about the table, kicking aside a tea bag as he vented his emotions.

A large furry hand reached down and picked up the tea bag. Foliana, sitting at Niers’ table in his quarters, raised the tea bag and began nibbling at it. She had no tea cup. In fact, she had nothing to drink at all. She did have a muffin, which she held in her other hand.

“Mm. He doesn’t like you.”

“Who? The author? He does not. I’ve met petty Drakes, but including all that nonsense because I refused to let him interview me and entertain all his idiotic questions? That’s a new low.”

Niers scowled but tromped back to his miniature armchair, sighing as he picked the book up and sat back in his chair. He looked up at Foliana as she perched on a much larger stool by their table.

It was a custom the two had to sit together and relax when they could. In this case, the relaxing component was debatable, but Niers still thought it was important to keep reading. He grunted as he flipped through the pages, trying to find where he’d last been reading.

“This business with the Goblin Lord has me uneasy, Foliana. There are too many parallels to the past. Zel Shivertail, Magnolia Reinhart…”

“Could be her plans. She did want to involve us.”

“True. I just don’t know…oh come now. ‘Fraerling courage is clearly in short supply?’ He calls himself a writer? This is the most biased, petty—”

Foliana reached down and patted Niers on the head. He shoved her paw away, irritated. She shrugged and went back to consuming the tea bag. After the Fraerling had calmed he looked up at Foliana and sighed.

“He is right on one count, though. We did allow this. If I had any inkling that Velan would have become this, I would have destroyed his tribe when we first met him.”

“Would have been tricky. He was strong back then.”

“And sane. Dead gods, Foliana, what happened to him?”

“Became Goblin King. Went crazy.”

Foliana shrugged, nibbling at the tea grounds. Niers frowned. He stroked at his beard, thinking hard.

“There has to be more to it than that. You met Velan once, Foliana. What did you think of him?”

“Sane. Smart. Kind. Like his name. Cared about his people. Also strong.”

Niers grunted.

“That was my impression as well. He was so calm and intelligent for a Goblin that I found myself taken with him in an instant. His sudden change though…it’s one of the mysteries I intend to unravel.”

“Like chess? And the dungeon?”

“All of it fits together somehow Foliana. I’m sure of it. If I only had time, I’d go to that new dungeon in Liscor, and the old one they found in Terandria. I could put together clues. But there’s never enough time, is there?”

The Titan sighed, and Foliana broke off a piece of her strawberry muffin and offered it to him. He took a crumb the size of his head and chewed on it glumly.

“I suppose it does seem cowardly, doesn’t it? But I knew any battle with Velan would be disastrous, so I did what I could. The army I had to work with was dispirited and lacked unity. I couldn’t see any way to pin down Velan without him tearing a hole in every formation I sent at him. Do you think I was wrong not to try to occupy him?”

Foliana was silent as she sat on her chair. The candle dripped beads of wax slowly until she began to nibble at the candle as well. Niers snapped at her and she abandoned eating the candle and spoke at last.

“Niers, you remember what I told you when all the others were telling us to come fight, don’t you? They wanted us to send our company to Izril. Across the oceans. I said no. I don’t like water and you were there. That was enough.”

“I recall you saying so. You refused to cross to Izril.”

“Mm. And you know why that is?”

“Besides you not liking water?”

“Mhm. But also another reason. Do you know?”

“No. Why didn’t you go?”

Foliana stopped nibbling at her muffin and looked at Niers with her tri-colored eyes.

“I’m not an idiot either. Even if he ate muffins, I would get killed before I scratched him.”

She sat back on her chair. Niers looked thoughtfully at the book in front of him and then frowned.

“This author really is insufferable. Yes, we were in full retreat. But that was in the expectation of reinforcements! Which we received, I might add! You remember, don’t you, Foliana? We were negotiating for every company we could get to cross the seas, and then—”

“I remember. I offered them a muffin if they’d go.”

“I recall that. You need to work on your tact or let our [Emissaries] sort negotiations out, Foliana. I can’t believe you got the companies to actually agree to help. How did you do it? And don’t tell me it was a muffin.”

“It was.”

“They sailed across the sea and fought the Goblin Lord for a muffin?”

“Well, it was made of gold. And I did offer them a few baskets.”

 

—-

 

While the Goblin King’s armies pursued the Humans across the continent, the world was slowly beginning to wake up to his threat. The desperate pleas from the Humans and Drake requests for assistance went largely ignored in Chandrar, who had seen too much death from the King of Destruction already. But Baleros, enraged by the Goblin King’s treachery, had sent countless mercenary companies across the ocean. Rhir sent a small army as well, honoring the treaties as the Blighted King always has, but it was Terandria who was first to act.

The shorter distance between Terandria and Izril and the continent’s own history with the previous Goblin King, Curulac of a Hundred Days, meant that the normally short-sighted [Kings] and [Queens] were aware of the Goblin threat from the start. Thus, an army of two hundred thousand Terandrians landed on the northern shores of Izril at the end of the summer.

They met the Goblin King’s forces right away. Velan the Kind had been caught off-guard by the Human’s arrival and was in the middle of pulling his forces back to face this new threat. To buy time he personally assailed the Terandrians as they were landing ships with five thousand of his Goblin elites.

This writer realizes that the idea of five thousand Goblins attacking a force numbering over two hundred thousand seems ludicrous, but the Goblin King was cut of the same cloth that the King of Destruction, Flos, was made of. Tales of his ability in battle are widespread, and this writer will omit any tedious recitals of his feats in combat. Suffice it to say that the Goblin King was known for defeating enemy [Generals] and [Mages] in combat, and his Goblin elites were similarly powerful.

The vanguard he led into battle was comprised of Hobs who were all as powerful as Gold-rank adventurers. They carried magical weapons and armor into battle and some were reportedly as tall as half-Giants. Whether these rumors are entirely accurate is unknown, but they were certainly a force to be reckoned with, as the Terandrians found to their cost.

The sheer daring of the attack on their ships caught the Terandrians unawares. The Goblin King managed to sink several ships before the Terandrians drove him off, and he successfully beat back the Terandrians in battle after battle, once again proving the futility of placing any kind of hopes on Humans.

However, the Terandrian forces were only the first wave. More fleets began arriving on Izril, all of whom began to come under immediate attack the instant they landed, sometimes before they reached ground. The Goblin King’s armies reformed into a spear that fought off the foreign armies, and the war in the north became a stalemate.

Yes, even with so many continents lending their aid, the battle against the Goblin King had only shifted from a losing battle into one on equal footing. Worse, it was feared that Tallis Stormbreaker would abandon his campaign to the south to support Velan the Kind.

The [Shaman] in the south had broken the Drakes and Antinium forces sent against him. And though the Antinium had stymied his forces, the Goblins would soon strike the larger blow. After a series of Antinium strikes against his forces, the Goblin King personally appeared in the south. He swiftly encircled an Antinium Hive and after wiping all the Antinium on the surface, led his army into the Hive and slew the Queen inside himself.

The fact that the Goblin King had succeeded in the very tactic that had cost so many lives of Drake armies must have shaken the Antinium terribly, for they immediately ceased attacking the Goblin King’s armies and pulled back all their armies to defend their remaining Hives. This cessation of assaults meant that Tallis Stormbreaker was free to maneuver his armies, which in turn gave him the opportunity to move through the High Passes and join the fighting in the north if he so chose.

If the Goblins concentrated all their forces in the north, the continent might be lost entirely, especially because the Necromancer had cut off the only safe land route north. And as the fighting drew into fall, it seemed like the Drakes might lose Liscor for good. No aid had reached the embattled forces of Zel Shivertail—Tallis Stormbreaker’s armies lay in the way, as did the Antinium forces. Zel Shivertail’s urgent missives were met with denials or silence from the Drake cities. Day by day his forces decreased and the Necromancer’s increased.

But still, Liscor fought! Against all odds dear readers, the Siege of Liscor had continued not for days, not for weeks, but for three months by the time they had reached the breaking point! Every adult in Liscor had taken to the walls during this time, and Zel Shivertail’s army continued to assail the Necromancer, holding the battle lines and shielding Liscor from the full brunt of his attacks.

Yes, if there is any battle to commemorate the spirit of Drakes, it would be that one. A single Drake [Spearsman] would stop a charging Draugr that Gold-rank adventurers might struggle to subdue. The Drake civilians, led by the core of their army, fended off wraith attacks and the undead giants with their indomitable spirit.

What courage, what valorous acts must have been seen every day! This writers longs to have been there, to see the heroism of Drakes at our finest. Despite the dark hour, the Necromancer had yet to take the city. And though it seemed like the final blow would be struck any day now, the Drakes still held on. Valiant, undeterred, full of the courage that is such a byword of the Drake species as a whole—

 

“Grandma, you’re grinding your teeth. If you don’t stop I’m taking the book away.”

Selys Shivertail sighed and looked up, unable to take the noise any longer. She didn’t live with her grandmother in the same apartment—that would have been a nightmare—but she visited the elderly Drake often. Selys usually found herself in her grandmother’s home at least once a week.

She told herself it was because she liked her grandmother, Tekshia Shivertail. And that was true, but it was also true that Tekshia Shivertail was the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. In other words, she was Selys’ boss as well as her grandmother and she wasn’t shy about withholding Selys’ pay unless her granddaughter showed up regularly.

It usually wasn’t a problem, but Selys would rather be out partying on a night like tonight. Instead, she was stuck with her grandmother, listening to the old Drake’s teeth grind and her tail thrashing.

“Stop reading that history book, grandma. You always get mad when you do, and remember what the [Healer] said?”

Tekshia Shivertail looked up. Her scales were grayer and had a lot less luster than Selys’, but she was still spry and quite attractive with her dusky purple coloration. She lashed her tail irritably as she glared at her granddaughter across the table.

“What the [Healer] said? He said I’m in better shape than you are, girl. I’m fit, you’re not. I can still outrun half the Gnolls in this city and you’re too lazy to get out of bed until the sun’s halfway overhead!”

“…Right. But he said that you get angry and that’s a bad thing.”

“For other people maybe!”

Tekshia slammed a fist onto the table and Selys jumped.

“Yeah, and I’m other people, grandma! Remember when you sent that poor Gnoll to the healer’s?”

“What of it? I have a right to be angry, especially when I read this nonsense!”

Tekshia waved the book angrily at Selys. Her granddaughter peered at the book.

“What’s that? The Second History of the Antinium Wars? I thought the author was very complimentary about us.”

“He is. Too much! That idiot’s practically licking our feet and wagging his tail over our ‘heroic sacrifice’. Heroic? There was nothing heroic about the siege and the Necromancer! It was the most miserable, nightmarish three months I’ve ever lived through and I’ve lived a long time! But to hear this Wordsmith fellow tell it, we were all having a grand time! Here, just listen to that.”

Selys’ grandmother read the offending passage out loud and Selys winced.

“Okay, he might not understand how battles work. I don’t think this Drake has ever seen a zombie, much less anything scarier than that.”

Tekshia snorted, her tail curling around the leg of her chair in irritation.

“That’s clear enough. A single Drake [Spearman] stopping a charging Draugr? Hah! Those damn things will run down the length of your spear and gut you before you can blink twice! And fighting off wraiths with swords? What does this [Writer] think we did, yell at them and hurt their feelings?”

“At least he thinks we’re heroes. It could be worse.”

Selys tried to calm her grandmother down, but Tekshia was too incensed to let up. She got up, muttering, and poured herself some tea, angrily spilling some on the book.

“Ancestors take it! Get me a cloth before the ink runs, Selys. Not that one! That’s my good cloth! Yes, that! Bring it over here!”

She dabbed at the pages of the book with the second-best cloth as Selys sighed loudly. Tekshia ignored her and went on.

“Being called heroes is almost as bad as cowards. And he completely neglected to mention how we felt! It’s as if our situation didn’t matter, as if we could hold our ground despite the odds! We were begging for reinforcements. But oh no, he would have everyone thinking we were just too lazy to beat the Necromancer when he was slaughtering us day by day!”

She ground her teeth again, sipping at her tea and making a hissing sound deep in her throat.

“If that coward—this Wordsmith fellow ever dared come here, we’d show him what we think about his ‘history’ book. It’s a shame our army isn’t near his home, or I’d ask a few of the boys to go to his house and teach him a lesson.”

“Grandma!”

Selys shot out of her chair and glared at Tekshia, looking horrified. The older Drake was unapologetic.

“What? A few sticks and rocks and a beating is how we used to settle things! Street justice is swifter than the Watch—and more efficient too! It’s not like I’d ask them to kill him—just break his hands, maybe.”

“That’s just as bad!”

“Is it? He can write what he wants and get away with it and we can’t tell him how we feel? Not while I’m alive. Get me my quill and ink and some parchment, would you, Selys dear?”

“Absolutely not.”

Selys folded her arms. Tekshia eyed the younger Drake balefully, but then relented.

“You’re right. I’ll send a [Message] spell instead. Much quicker. Anyways, at least this Wordsmith fellow got one thing right.”

Tekshia opened the book again, ignoring her granddaughter’s spluttering. She tapped one claw approvingly on a line in the book.

“It was Zel Shivertail who rallied us. Without him we would have been lost. That much is true.”

“Uncle Zel? He never talks about the battle around me. What was it like with him fighting the Necromancer? Was he really as big a hero as everyone says he was?”

Selys leaned over the table, peering at the book. Tekshia tilted the page to show Selys. She sighed, her anger giving way to nostalgia.

“He was a giant. That silly young Drake with his battered armor, fighting on the front lines, surrounded by undead. Taking shots from Az’kerash himself and standing right back up and charging back into the fray—how could we not follow him? I remember when he would visit the city as a child. That hatchling became a fine [General]. So long as he stood, we could keep fighting.”

“It’s so strange. He never mentions any of that to me. He’s just Uncle Zel when he visits. He eats pies, beats up [Thugs]—I can’t ever picture him being a big hero on the battlefield.”

Selys shook her head and Tekshia smacked her niece’s claws before Selys could reach for a fruit tart.

“Those are mine, you thieving little hatchling! If you want a snack then bring me those ‘cookies’ or some of that ‘cake’ you keep bragging about eating! Honestly, if you know this Human [Innkeeper] so well you could at least bring me some of her cooking! And you don’t know how important your uncle is because you’ve never been on any battlefield! If you wanted to know what it was like, why didn’t you ask him when he visited?”

“Uncle Zel never talks about the siege, grandma. He’s too embarrassed whenever people come up to thank him.”

“That hatchling. We’re grateful to him. But he’s just like your father used to be. Embarrassed when people praise him for what he did. It explains why he left without visiting me.”

“He visited you once, grandma.”

Once! Hah! He’s fearless on the battlefield, but he can’t handle me asking him about marriage! I keep telling him to settle down with a nice young Drake or at least have sex—he doesn’t have to marry them! He can make a few hatchlings and then—”

Grandmother!

Selys glared at her grandmother, scandalized. The old Drake flicked her tail at Selys’ face.

“You prudish youngsters! You’re all so timid. What happened to all the real Drakes? The kind who’d never bend their tails for any threat, who’d stand tall no matter what tried to beat them down? Your mother was as brave as could be, and she wasn’t shy about grabbing your father. And I’m sure they would have given me at least one more grandchild if—if—”

Tekshia’s ranting slowed and she stopped, suddenly acutely aware of her audience. Selys’ tail went still and Tekshia cleared her throat, avoiding her eyes.

“I’m sorry dear. I shouldn’t be reading this after all. You’re right. Too many bad memories come up. Especially with the siege. You might be too young to remember, it but—”

“No, I remember.”

Selys closed her eyes. She had been there. She could remember Liscor’s siege. Not the fighting, but the hiding in her house, the screams, the wounded and the stench—her grandmother patted Selys on the knee gently.

“I do talk too much, don’t I? I’ll stop. Let’s talk about happier things.”

She made to close the book, but Selys stopped her.

“No, go on. Keep talking. You hardly ever do and no one else will. Tell me about what it was like?”

“Again?”

Selys gulped. The young Drake woman stared at the book and then at her grandmother.

“Yes. Tell me. Tell me about all of it, and the parts you won’t tell me. Tell me about my parents. And…how they died.”

A flash of pain crossed over Selys’ grandmother’s face. Tekshia Shivertail closed the book and closed her eyes for a second. Selys waited, her heart twisting. She had been young then. But she could still remember her grandmother walking through the door, her armor covered in blood. She remembered asking for her parents and seeing the answer in the tears on her grandmother’s face.

Once. Tekshia looked away, raising a claw to scratch at the greyed scales on her neck.

“I told you, they died on the walls. Most of us did. Hah—the Necromancer couldn’t break our gates, and he could only send waves up the walls. We held him with spears and swords. Axes too. We’d toss rocks at the Draug that climbed up, cut them down before they could get onto clear ground. Because when they did—”

“That’s when it happened?”

The old Drake didn’t reply at first. Her voice was distant when she eventually spoke.

“We didn’t have enough [Mages]. I keep telling those idiots who run the Walled Cities—I say it all the time. We don’t have enough magic-users. Drakes don’t take to magic like other species. We say it’s dishonorable, too easy—not military. So what? If we had as many [Mages] as we had [Sergeants] in the army we would have beaten the Necromancer without help. Instead, our wonderful army of idiots died one by one as Az’kerash sniped them with spells. And on that day he sent the wraiths to harass us.”

Her eyes were distant. Selys remembered the sounds she’d heard from her house. The unearthly screams, the boom of magics, the only thing that could harm the spectral wraiths. And her grandmother’s voice went on, softer.

“They cut us down before Zel could get a [Mage] unit in position to help us blast them away. That gave the Necromancer’s army time to send up, oh, fifteen of the Draugr into one spot.  Fifteen, and one of those giant Carcass Walkers for good measure. It barely needed to climb to get up. I remember seeing it towering over the others and thinking this was the end.”

“But it wasn’t.”

Selys’ grandmother stirred. A bit of anger flashed into her eyes and she sat up.

“Of course not! Your father would never allow it. Your mother either. She was already shooting those Draugr off—using the last of her enchanted arrows. I told her to hold on to them, to wait for a good shot to and put one between the Necromancer’s eyes, but her arrows gave us a chance to rally. That brave idiot. If she’d just held onto one rather than save us, then maybe she would have taken the wraith out. But it got her from behind. And your father—”

Selys’ eyes were dry. She’d heard the story too many times. But her claws scraped at each other as she gripped her hands tightly together. Her grandmother’s eyes were distant, her head turned to the very walls.

“Your father saw the Carcass Walker start tearing us apart. And more undead were coming up the walls. The Necromancer knew we were about to break so he sent everything he had at us. Another minute and the Walker would have cleared us all off. So your father charged into it. He used a Skill—[Ram’s Charge], that silly, silly move. And he knocked it off the walls. And he went over with it.”

“And did he—when he fell, I mean. Was it—”

Selys’ throat closed over the next word. Was it quick? Her heart was twisting like her hands, twisting and twisting until she thought it might snap. But it never did. It just hurt. Tekshia shook her head.

“I don’t know. I was fighting—I couldn’t look around. Your father was brave, strong—I have to imagine he survived. He must have took down a score of them before they overwhelmed him. We never found his body, but he must have—”

Her voice trailed off. For a second she looked so lost. Selys hugged her. Tekshia stiffened, and then came back to reality. She was still for a second and then her voice returned to its usual snappishness.

“Enough sobbing over the past. Your parents died like the heroes they always were, Selys. We might have all died had the siege gone on a day longer. It wasn’t glorious; we fought because we had no choice. We fought and died, and only those of us who were there will ever know what it was like. And no idiotic [Writer] can change that.”

She busied herself around her kitchen, pushing the plate of tarts towards Selys. The young Drake woman took one and chewed it slowly, coming back from those dark times. Tekshia’s mood returned to normal too, and soon she was grousing about incompetent adventurers, who had been stronger, smarter, faster, and cleaner back when she’d been young.

“It’s a disgrace when there’s not one Gold-rank adventurer in Liscor who’s a Drake! Not one! Where did all our adventurers go? And just look at the Human ones who keep coming here! Now we have [Necromancers] walking about the city! I can’t understand why you tolerate that Human one, Selys. You of all people!”

Selys sighed, predicting another argument with her grandmother. She adopted a patient, if slightly strained, tone.

“He saved my life, grandma. During the attack on Liscor by the undead. And before you say anything it wasn’t his fault! He saved me and Erin too and he killed more undead than anyone else I saw that night.”

“So? Thank him and then kick him out of the city, that’s what I say! But no, he’s just a nuisance, not a threat. Ridiculous. At least you could kick him out rather than letting him in the Guild! If your father and mother could see you now, holding tails with a [Necromancer]…”

Grandma! I’m not dating him!”

Selys rolled her eyes and her grandmother grunted. She returned to the book, flipping through pages. And again, the past uncurled and swept through the room, reaching out from the parchment and engulfing the two Drakes. Tekshia’s voice was soft as she spoke to herself and her granddaughter.

“Yes, it felt like it was over that day. We had the wall, but the Necromancer was still pushing, and Zel couldn’t get to us this time. Not enough soldiers. We were going to break, I felt it.”

“Just like that?”

“You say it as if we hadn’t been on the verge for months. This was it. We didn’t have the strength to fight for another day and night without rest Selys. I was thinking of you, thinking of trying to get away with you when the lines fell, get you to Zel and away from the battle if I could. And that’s when we heard the horn calls in the distance. We turned, and saw them.”

Tekshia’s claw closed on her teacup, so hard that the ceramic cracked. She didn’t notice. She stared into the distance and Selys remembered too. The shouting, the screams, and then the cheering.

“There they were, Selys. We thought they were our doom when we first saw them from afar. But then we realized they were our salvation. They came down like the sea itself and broke the Necromancer’s armies. That is why we opened our gates to them. That is why we signed the treaty here. Because they saved us.”

Selys nodded. She stared at the book, which was so complimentary of the Drakes of Liscor and had omitted one of the most important points. Zel Shivertail was a hero of Liscor, true enough. But Liscor had another hero, whose tale was largely untold in this historical narrative. They had broken the siege, delivered the people of Liscor from the Necromancer at the last moment. The most unexpected of allies, those strange invaders from another continent, another world.

“The Antinium.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

S02 – The Antinium Wars (Pt.5)

“The Black Tide! The Black Tide marches!”

“The Antinium are to the south! Watch the walls!”

“Rally on me!”

Zel Shivertail’s voice was a roar as he turned his soldiers to face the new threat. His heart sank as he saw the waves of black bodies marching towards the city, a seemingly endless mass of Soldiers. Liscor didn’t have the strength to fight two enemies! And even if the Antinium overwhelmed the Necromancer, what then?

There was one desperate shred of hope that Zel clung to. He unfurled the dirty little bit of parchment the Courier had sent him two days ago, the mysterious note from the Drake high command. It had one simple message that had infuriated and puzzled Zel. After his countless requests for assistance, they had sent him a single reply that consisted of one line:

 

Prepare for irregular reinforcements.

 

The parchment crumpled as Zel clenched his fist. He stared at the approaching Antinium army. This couldn’t be what they’d meant, could it?

There was someone leading the Antinium, a figure that stood out from the rest. Klbkch the Slayer stood at the head of his army, two silvery swords in his hands. He alone carried weapons; the other Antinium were uniform. He raised his voice as Zel could hear it, amplified by some spell or Skill over the battlefield.

“Our target is Az’kerash, the Necromancer! Soldiers, the Drakes are allies for this battle! Do not injure any Drake soldier for any reason! Now! Target the Necromancer’s position! Destroy his undead army! The first rank will charge!”

The Antinium moved like lightning. Before the Drake army and the undead had quite digested what was happening the Soldiers in the first rank were already charging across the ground towards the Necromancer’s army. The undead turned to meet the Soldiers and the Antinium crashed into them like a breaking wave.

Zombies were crushed in an instant while Draugr held their ground and grappled with the Soldiers. Zel, frozen, saw one of the monstrous hulking undead crush a Soldier before two more bore it down. The Soldiers stomped on the fallen undead, brutally pounding them with their fists. But the undead army was full of horrors and the Soldiers stalled. Again, Klbkch’s voice echoed as he raised one of his swords.

“The second rank will charge!”

Another wave of Soldiers set forth. This one raced towards the undead just like the first. Zel expected them to slow and join the fighting, but the Soldiers didn’t slow down. The Drake gaped.

“Are they insane? They’re going to hit—”

The second wave crashed into the backs of the first wave of Soldiers, not slowing even as they ran into the backs of their comrades. They trampled ally and enemy alike, pushing forwards without regard for casualties on their side. The undead were unprepared for the savage momentum that carried the Soldiers forwards, and their lines began to cave in.

“Dead gods! They’re actually doing it!”

The undead formations that had withstood Zel’s army were crumbling, unprepared for the savagery of the Antinium. Zel could see the Necromancer, shielded by a Bone Giant, turning in surprise. Zel thought he could see Az’kerash’ eyes widening in surprise as the Antinium ignored Zel’s forces altogether.

“The third rank will charge!”

Klbkch’s voice heralded another wave of Antinium. Zel saw them coming, saw the undead buckling and knew this was it. He raised his fist into the air and roared so all his soldiers could hear him.

“All forces, follow me! This is it! Hit the Necromancer! Bring him down!

He sprinted to the front of the line and smashed into a pair of Draug. The Drakes behind him, caught up in the surge of momentum from the Antinium, roared and poured into the breach. Zel heard Drakes on Liscor’s walls cheering, saw arrows flying from the walls and the spells blasting into the Necromancer’s army.

Az’kerash held his ground, trying to stop the attacks from Zel and Klbkch’s armies. But then Liscor’s gates opened and a group of Drakes poured out. Attacked from three sides his army was engulfed. And Zel, fighting through the undead, found himself face-to-face with the Necromancer for the first and last time in the battle.

“You!”

Az’kerash was cutting down Drakes and Antinium with black magic, reanimating their corpses and hurling them at his enemies. He snarled as he saw Zel and he turned to run. He fired a jet black beam of energy at Zel’s head.

The Drake ducked and lunged. He shouted as his claws swiped left to right.

“[Antimagic Slash]!”

His blow caught the Necromancer on the chest and tore through whatever protection the mage had on him. Az’kerash stumbled as Zel laid his chest open. He snarled.

“You fool! Do you really th—”

Zel’s claws went through his chest. The Tidebreaker roared as he tore the Necromancer apart, throwing both halves of Az’kerash to the ground. There was a moment of stunned silence as the fighting Drakes and Antinium saw the Necromancer falling in two bloody halves and stopped.

And then the undead around Az’kerash stumbled and then began to fall. Zel turned and saw one of the remaining Bone Giants begin to crumble, unable to sustain itself without its master’s mana. He heard cheering and raised his bloody claws, roaring in victory. And then he turned and saw Klbkch, standing across the battlefield, his two silvery swords covered in gore. The two locked eyes as Liscor cheered their heroes.

Drake and Antinium. Zel stared at Klbkch the Slayer for all of three seconds and then charged him with a roar. Klbkch charged as well and the two collided in the center of the battlefield, cutting at each other, shouting as their soldiers tried to pull them apart—

 

—-

 

“Wait, what?”

Erin sat up suddenly, the empty bowl of popcorn tumbling to the ground. All the Antinium looked at her and Klbkch broke off.

“Is something wrong, Erin?”

“You two fought? I thought you were on the same side! Didn’t you say you went to Liscor because the Grand Queen ordered you to help the Drakes?”

Klbkch hesitated. He raised one finger.

“Nominally. I was ordered to consider the Necromancer a target and assist the Drakes. However, Zel Shivertail and I had clashed on numerous occasions before this. Our animosity was such that we began fighting despite our victory. It still persists to this day, in fact.”

Erin stared at Klbkch. She had noticed how neither Zel nor Klbkch liked being in the same room and how they never met each other’s eyes, but this?

“What did you do? I know you didn’t kill him, but—was it just like hitting each other a few times?”

“No. I believe I stabbed him in the chest before our forces separated us. With this sword.”

Klbkch indicated the sword on his left and then paused. He unsheathed the sword on his right and stared hard at it.

“Or was it this one? I cannot recall.”

He looked at Erin’s gaping mouth and shrugged.

“What? He survived. And he tore off my arm. I was quite upset about that.”

“But you stabbed—

Erin’s voice rose, but before she could shout someone poked her in the side. She looked over and saw Bird glaring reproachfully at her. The Worker raised a finger to his mandibles.

“You are interrupting the story. Be shush.”

He shushed her, ignoring Pawn, Belgrade, Anand and Garry’s horrified looks. Erin stared at Bird and then looked back at Klbkch. She coughed.

“Sorry. Go ahead, Klbkch.”

The Revalantor nodded and flicked to the next page.

“As I was saying, that battle marked the end of the Necromancer’s threat, as well as the end of hostilities between the Antinium and Drakes. At least for the duration of the war. For our aide against the Necromancer and promise of aide against the Goblin King, we signed a peace treaty. The terms of which included establishing a Hive in Liscor.”

“And they agreed to that? Really?”

Erin raised her voice. Bird reached out to poke her but Pawn slapped his hand. The two Workers stared at each other as Klbkch nodded.

“Neither Zel Shivertail nor I liked the peace, but we did abide by it. Well, eventually…”

 

—-

 

The unexpected arrival of the Antinium had saved Liscor and prompted an opportunity to turn the war around for the Drake high command. Against the urgings of Zel Shivertail and a number of Drake [Commanders] they signed a peace treaty with the Grand Queen, giving the Antinium a number of small concessions in return for their aid and an immediate cease to hostilities. This writer believes any peace with the Antinium is foolish, but at the time the Drakes had no choice. And perhaps the Antinium felt the same way. The Goblin King was too great a threat, and so the Peace at Liscor prompted an unlikely alliance.

What is notable about that period is the reaction of the two leaders in the field at Liscor. Klbkch the Slayer and Zel Shivertail both objected to the peace and engaged in several clashes before their armies separated. However, the rest of the Antinium and Drake armies were able to coordinate without the same incidents occurring. While no Drake army ever fought with an Antinium army, the two sides were able to focus solely on the Goblin King’s army and divide targets between themselves.

Now the Goblin King found himself at war with all of Izril, and only now did the tides of fortune begin to turn against him. While the Drakes were occupied with the Necromancer and Antinium they were at the mercy of the Goblins, but now the hammer of the Drake armies was free to march against their foe without needing to guard their tails.

With the Antinium. And the Humans. And some Gnoll tribes. And armies from three other continents who had landed their forces. But it was the Drakes who spearheaded the assaults on the Goblin King’s armies! And it was they who drove the Goblins back at last, winning battles, defeating the Goblin Lords in a series of victories!

But never the Goblin King. Alas, the fortitudes of the Drake armies had been sapped slightly by the two wars they had fought beforehand and even their [Generals] were unable to defeat the Goblin King in a pitched battle. It became clear that the Goblin King was still unassailable in his main army, which continued to win victory after victory, forcing the defending forces to retreat rather than suffer defeats at his hands.

Part of the issue lay in the scattered nature of the forces fighting against the Goblin King. Some, like the Terandrian armies, had joined with Izril’s humans to create a powerful army while other groups like the Balerosian companies fought alone on their fronts. The Antinium were naturally impossible to work with and the cooperative Drake armies suffered from numerous communication failures with other forces, leading to a number of uncoordinated attacks and defeats.

In this writer’s opinion, part or most of the blame can be assigned to the Humans in the north, who had squandered their advantage by separating their strength. The Five Families of Izril who had united in its last defense against the Goblin King did not fight against him together after the battle.

Instead, each of the five houses fought against the Goblin King in their own way. Lord Tyrion Veltras pursued an aggressive campaign against the Goblin King with his forces while Magnolia Reinhart focused on linking up with Niers Astoragon’s forces and maintaining a defensive perimeter to halt the armies of the Goblin Lords. Had they but worked together, the Goblin King might have fallen sooner. Alas, their disunity cost the continent weeks of continued warfare. A typical Human failure of course; putting their own self-interest before the greater good.

 

“A poor analysis. But I should expect no better from a [Writer], much less a Drake.”

A cold voice interrupted the narrative. Lord Tyrion looked up as he sat in a chair in the dark candle-lit room. A small voice spoke up by his left hand side.

“Father? Did you really fight with the Reinharts?”

Tyrion Veltras, the famous [Lord] and scion of the Veltras family looked over at a young boy of twelve or thirteen. The young boy had dark brown hair and a slightly flushed face. He was caught between youthful energy and sickness, so that it seemed as though his vitality couldn’t be contained with his frail body.

“Lie back down.”

Tyrion ordered his son and the young boy did so, wheezing gently. Tyrion Veltras paused and an expression of distaste crossed his face as he chose how to reply.

“It was an alliance of necessity, Sammial. I would not ally with Magnolia Reinhart for anything less than the safety of Izril, but in that she and I are united. For all her many flaws, Magnolia Reinhart is at least dedicated to the safety of the realm, unlike some of our peers. But the way she pursued that safety during the war was at odds with the way I chose to fight. So we separated our forces. It was not a tactical error so much as a necessity; if we had stayed in one place we might have been crushed by the Goblin King, a fact that this author fails to note.”

He turned his gaze to stare at the book, making the man holding the book flinch. However, if Tyrion had hoped his words had impressed the seriousness of the situation on his son, he was instantly disappointed. Sammial shot back up indignantly and glared at his father.

“My name is Sammy! I keep telling you and you keep forgetting!”

Lord Tyrion sighed slowly and spoke with clear patience in his tone.

“Sammy is not a name appropriate for a [Lord]. Your name is Sammial, a fine name—”

“It’s gross! I want to be Sammy!”

“You will refer to yourself as Sammial. Is that clear?”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes flashed and Sammial hesitated. He bowed his head sulkily and lay back, breathing harder. Tyrion eyed his son  and turned his head to look at the other occupant of the bed.

“You would do well to copy your older brother, Sammial. Hethon listens before he speaks. Do you have any questions about my strategy, Hethon?”

The other boy in the bed sat up nervously.

“No father.”

“Very well.”

Tyrion nodded at his second son, Hethon, who was perhaps fourteen. Hethon didn’t have the same sickly complexion as Sammial, but he was thin and nervous, hardly as imposing a figure as his father. Tyrion turned his head and his son breathed a sigh of relief. The [Lord] nodded and spoke in a crisp, commanding voice.

“Continue, Ullim.”

The man sitting across the bed on a stool jumped. The [Majordomo] of the Veltras estate nervously flicked to the next page and read in a steady voice.

Of course, Lord Tyrion was too busy to read to his sons, which was why he had ordered his [Majordomo] to keep them entertained at all times. That normally meant bedtimes as well, but this was a special occasion.

Lord Tyrion’s rage upon hearing that Magnolia Reinhart, his hated nemesis, had allied herself with Zel Shivertail had led to the destruction of his personal parlor, including the slashed drapes, broken windows, and two complete suits of armor, now looking quite battle-worn. His anger had frightened his two young sons, which was why he had agreed to sit with them for a bedtime reading.

That was uncharacteristic of Lord Tyrion, who had been absent from the household of late. The loss of his late wife had driven a rift between him and his sons. He was not, Ullim reflected, the most intimate of fathers in any case. Even now he sat on a chair next to his son’s beds rather than in them, sharpening a dagger with a whetstone.

The balding Ullim cleared his throat and read out loud as clearly as he could. He had served the Veltras’ for years as had six generations of his family, but he was aware that a single terrible mistake could end in his dismissal. Lord Tyrion valued loyalty, but he did not tolerate incompetence or betrayal.

“The ah, ‘failing Human armies’ had yet to repel the Goblin King, forcing the Drakes to once again come to their rescue. However, it seemed as though Velan the Kind was determined to fight to the bitter end and his Goblin Lords refused to give in, slaying [Assassins] sent to kill them, beheading Human [Lords] and [Generals], and escaping when defeat threatened their armies. While the Goblin King and his Lords lived, there could be no true victory.”

“Father? Is the Goblin Lord going to destroy Invrisil?”’

Ullim stopped reading and Lord Tyrion looked at Hethon. In keeping with his nature, he did not reassure his son, but pondered the question as he would any military matter.

“We shall see if Zel Shivertail’s claws have dulled with age. He was defeated by the Goblin Lord once—I can only trust that he will either repel the Goblin Lord or retreat before the battle is lost.”

He scowled, not reassured by what should have been positive news for his people.

“Either way, I must hope that the Goblin Lord’s army remains strong enough to enact my plan. Curse Reinhart. It’s as if she is determined to ruin all of my designs, even the ones she knows nothing of!”

He slapped his knee and sheathed the dagger at his belt in a brisk motion. Hethon and Sammial watched their father, almost as fearfully as Ulliam. Tyrion strode towards the windows and stared out into the dark night. It was Sammial who asked the next question with all the recklessness of youth.

“If the Goblin Lord is strong, how strong is the Goblin King? Could you beat him, father?”

Ullim flinched and Lord Tyrion turned from the window. His voice was glacial as he replied.

“Most likely not, Sammial. Not without the ancestral relics and more risk than I would care to take. But an intelligent [Lord] would not gamble victory so in any case. The Goblin King was a threat, yes, but he was one that we could deal with. This Drake would have you believe we were struggling to defeat his armies—the truth is that we had a plan and we were enacting it. His forces were pulling back across the continent, giving us concrete targets to strike at, opportunities to rout his forces. We were winning even if we had to sacrifice thousands of soldiers to cut down his own.”

“Why? If he was stronger than everyone else, doesn’t that mean he’d win?”

Sammial wrinkled his nose, confused. Tyrion laughed shortly and shook his head.

“The war was won by numbers and strategy, not the heroics of a single figure, Sammial. The Goblin King had not the strength to fight on so many fronts. Despite his hordes, he left himself exposed. Vulnerable. We could not defeat his main army so we crippled his limbs. We went after his Goblin Lords. Remember that, Sammial, Hethon. If a foe is too strong for you to take on from the front, bleed him to death.”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes blazed fiercely and his children shrank in their beds. Ullim the [Majordomo] thought it was a shame. Even when Tyrion Veltras smiled he still lacked fatherly warmth.

But who better to fight a Goblin King? He had been there, and seen his fall. Ullim gulped and continued reading as Lord Tyrion brooded, recalling the past and the ending of the Second Antinium War.

 

—-

 

The strategy that ended the Goblin King was simple: take out his Lords. The Goblin King was, after all, only one Goblin. Like any [King] or [General] he required subordinates to coordinate his massive army efficiently. Additionally, his Goblin Lords were all powerful combatants and their ability to act autonomously had allowed Velan to challenge so many armies at once.

However, with the Antinium and more reinforcements arriving each week, even the Goblin Lords were finally outnumbered. They had to retreat or be overwhelmed from every side. The Goblin King attempted to break through the encircling armies, but Antinium armies advanced from the south, drawing away a good portion of his forces. Wrymvr the Deathless even slew a Goblin Lord in personal combat, further damaging the Goblin King’s leadership.

It was the fall of Tallis Stormbreaker that truly told the world the Goblin King was on the verge of defeat. Three Archmages of Wistram cornered the Goblin Lord’s army with their own and engaged him in a magical battle that lasted for two days and two nights. On the second day, Xrn the Small Queen and an Antinium force attacked from the Goblin Lord’s side. It is thought that the unpredictable magics employed by Xrn combined with the might of the Wistram’s Archmages overwhelmed Tallis the Stormbreaker. As the Goblin [Shaman] fell he unleashed a storm which battered Izril for a week with drenching rain and hurricane winds. But he had fallen.

At this point the Goblin King had a handful of Goblin Lords left. It is hard to tell how many truly existed or remained at this point since his Goblin Chieftains could lead huge armies of his own, but the Goblin King had lost many of his vassals and abandoned his multi-sided war across the continent. He formed his remaining forces into one massive army and marched straight towards the combined armies of the world, meeting them in a battle that would last four days and decide the fate of the Antinium Wars.

Eighteen companies from Baleroes. An army of [Knights] from Terandria. The battle-hardened forces from Rhir. A small detachment from Chandrar’s kingdoms. The might of Wistram. The Humans of Izril and of course, the glorious armies of the Drake cities. This is the force that engaged the Goblin King in the final battle, while smaller forces drew away his Goblin Lords.

It was a daring plan. The Antinium and Niers Astoragon both cut off parts of the Goblin King’s army, forcing several of his Lords to battle them and leaving the Goblin King exposed. In that brief window, the allied armies attacked, aiming for one goal and one alone: the death of the Goblin King.

The battle opened with a direct charge on the Velan the Kind by six [Generals] and an army of [Knights] and mounted adventurers, including three Named Adventurers. They sought to best him by strength of arms—and failed.

The Goblin King slew two of the [Generals], a [Lord] of Terandria and Ironheart Calecum, the Named Adventurer in personal combat, forcing the vanguard to retreat in disarray. The Goblin King chased after the retreating soldiers and found himself in a mage bombardment that cut him off from his army.

Unbeknownst to the Goblin King, a separate detachment had been created apart from the main army that was clashing with his forces. It was led by the three Archmages of Wistram and the majority of the high-level [Mages] and [Archers] began to rain death on his position, attempting to destroy the Goblin King at range.

They too failed.

The Goblin King survived the area of attack spells and arrows meant to take his life. However, his personal invincibility did not extend to his army and his vanguard was wiped out to the last Goblin by the powerful spells concentrated on his position. The Goblin King was now left in a precarious position. His army was being subjected to massive attacks from the detachment led by the Archmages, yet any attempt to charge their position led to destruction.

Without Tallis Stormbreaker the allied world forces had an overwhelming magical advantage that they intended to use to decimate the Goblin King’s forces. There was no one who could survive the magical onslaught even at a distance to close and destroy the mages. The end of Velan the Kind seemed to be on hand at last.

 

“No!”

A groan went up from the Goblins clustered around the book. The lieutenants and former Goblin Chieftains in the Goblin Lord’s tent crowded around the open history of the Second Antinium Wars lying on his table. They had found the book faster than Osthia Blackwing had anticipated—raiding cities and libraries for this very copy.

The lone Drake prisoner sat in the Goblin Lord’s tent, watching Goblins read their own history. They did not know it, which surprised her. Oh, they knew the broadest of strokes. They knew their King had been slain, but not how. Now Snapjaw bared her metal teeth, snarling.

“Cowards! They attack from afar! Not fair!”

Fair? Osthia wanted to laugh at her. What was fairness in battle? But she didn’t speak, knowing the mood in the tent was murderous.

And full of grief. The Goblins acted like their King’s death was fresh and personal, which surprised Osthia. They didn’t seem to be acting. But Goblins, grieving over Velan the Kind? It was hard to accept.

“How? How does it happen?”

Another Goblin pushed forwards, a tall Hob. He jabbed at the book. Snapjaw, one of the more literate Hobs in the tent, peered at the book. She read, her face screwing up with the effort.

“It say—Goblins dying. Mages from Wis—Wis Tram attacking. Killing by thousands. Goblin King sees. And he—he—”

She choked on the words. Osthia looked at her, knowing what had happened. But Snapjaw couldn’t say it. Her eyes filled with tears as the others looked at her, prodding her to speak.

“Say! Say!

“Cannot. Cannot. Too—”

Snapjaw shook her head. A voice interrupted the Goblins as they pestered her.

“Leave her. I know what happened next.”

A Goblin standing apart from the others spoke. Osthia looked around, and saw the Goblin Lord standing, looking out of the tent flaps. Her eyes narrowed. He hadn’t read the book—he’d just listened while the Goblins had torturously read page after page. How could he know?

But he did, somehow. The Goblin Lord turned. His eyes were distant, staring back at another battlefield in the past. All of the Goblins in the tent looked at him. The Goblin Lord’s eyes were filled with tears. Osthia stared.

Tears. They were clear and ran down his face from his white pupils. Ordinary tears, bitter and filled with regret. The Goblin Lord answered in place of Snapjaw.

“What did he do next? What he could. The only thing he could. To save his people, for victory, he did all he could do.”

A tear fell from the Goblin Lord’s eyes and he caught it. It glimmered in his hand. Wet. Memory. The Goblin Lord whispered into the silence.

“He charged alone.”

 

—-

 

Alone! Into the heart of the maelstrom, through fields of fire, weathering the spells of three Archmages and bombardment from all sides! The Goblin King advanced on the small army of mages, his forces struggling to come to his aid, his Goblin Lords scattered on the battlefield.

The Archmages of Wistram threw death towards him. They broke the earth and unleashed magics that burned the air itself. They struck him with lightning, they ensnared him with magical nets and the lesser [Mages] and [Archers] filled the skies with fireballs and arrows.

And yet the Goblin King came on. Velan the Kind charged ever onwards, his magical defenses slowly failing in front of the incredible assault. His flesh burned, the spells tore his body apart.

But still he came on. And here we come to one of the mysteries of the Second Antinium Wars, one of the places where history clearly diverged. Because of chance, dear readers. The Goblin King was approaching the first ranks of the mages, unstoppable. And one word separates this history from being a triumph to a tale of despair.

If.

If Velan the Kind had survived to rampage among the mage’s ranks, the battle might have been lost despite the combined armies. His Goblin Lords had yet to begin falling, and the Archmages of Wistram might have well decided to flee rather than confront the Goblin King in person. And if they had, there was no guarantee of their survival, given how Velan had survived their most deadly spells at range. Had he lived, Velan might have rallied his forces and cut apart the allied armies, rallying his Goblins and dooming Izril.

But it was not to be. The Goblin King’s charge that had crushed the finest of soldiers, gone through spell after spell and through an elite group of Gold-rank adventurers stopped before it could cause disaster. And it was stopped by the simplest of things:

A single arrow through the eye.

It was incredible, unprecedented. The Goblin King’s protections had been destroyed by the magical attacks on his person, but his body was still as tough as diamonds, his reflexes unhindered by the damage he had sustained. He was almost upon the first rank when a lone Silver-rank adventurer half-Elf by the name of Elia Arcsinger loosed an arrow that hit the Goblin King in the eye. She used the Skill of [Piercing Shot] and at nearly point-blank range her arrow was able to do what every other arrow and spell could not. The lucky shot pieced the Goblin King’s skull and killed him in an instant.

To this day, the death of Velan the Kind remains a contentious point among [Strategists] and [Tacticians] alike. Many argue that Velan the Kind should not have perished as he did, regardless of luck. While it is a known fact that a stray arrow or blade can kill all but the most well-defended warriors on the battlefield many [Strategists] argue that the Goblin King should have been able to dodge the shot.

That the arrow was capable of killing the Goblin King was not in dispute. Elia Arcsinger was in possession of an enchanted Arrow of Slaying known for its piercing properties and was using a similarly enchanted longbow certified by several Gnoll [Bowmakers] as capable of propelling arrows as far as four hundred meters across the battlefield.

Combined with the [Piercing Shot] Skill, her arrow would have stood a good chance of piercing even the Goblin King’s skin at point-blank rank. That she struck him in the eye resulted in the fatal injury, all of which is understood to be accurate by most who take up this debate. The crux of the issue is that the Goblin King did not avoid the arrow, which most [Strategists] concede he should have been able to do.

The general argument is that the Goblin King had been known to catch arrows and dodge them in other battles. That he failed to do so in this case might have been due to the chaos of the battlefield, or the effects of one of the spells he endured. Nevertheless, there remains a vocal minority who claim that Elia Arcsinger used a special Skill or had some other enchantment on her body she herself may have been unaware of. Or perhaps her latest abilities were the reason for her miraculous shot.

After all, the half-Elf’s fame for killing the Goblin King has resulted in Elia Arcsinger becoming known as one of the greatest Named Adventurers of this age. The title of Kingslayer and her famous [Line-Ender Shot] Skill obtained from killing the Goblin King do seem to indicate that the credit for the Goblin King’s death should lie with Elia Arcsinger and no other. And yet, many [Strategists] still argue the event to this day.

To this writer’s mind there is little purpose speculating overlong as to the cause of the Goblin King’s death. It is enough to say that he died, and the world will ever be grateful to Elia Arcsinger for her steady aim in that last hour of desperation. So let this bring an end to pointless debates. The Goblin King should have dodged. But he did not. And history will note that as fact. There is no point arguing over what occurred, especially when more important issues demand the attention of [Strategists] and their ilk.

 

“But that’s so suspicious!

Olesm leapt to his feet, tail thrashing as he forgot where he was and shouted in his small office. He angrily waved the book he was holding about, shouting at it as if his voice could reach Krsysl Wordsmith if only he was loud enough.

“That’s the entire point! If the Goblin King should have survived, why didn’t he? Was it a spell or a Skill or what? Was it betrayal like some theories indicate? Or did an Archmage cast a spell? What about the interview where Elia Arcsinger said herself she doesn’t know why the Goblin King didn’t dodge? Don’t just gloss over all the important details, you egg-headed moron!

He collapsed into his chair, panting, and held the book open.

“How did it happen? Why? Why did he die there when he should have won? Was it just luck? Really? Or was it something else?”

Olesm stared at the book, and turned the next page.

“This is a terrible historical account. I hope no one takes this seriously.”

He read on, knowing what had happened next. What had happened, yes, but not the why. The why of it was lost to Olesm, a precious secret that no [Strategist] or [Archer] had even been able to puzzle out. Why didn’t Velan the Kind dodge? What did he see? What happened?

Only the Goblins knew the truth. And even then, only a Goblin King could explain why it had happened. But it had. And that was that.

Or so the book said.

 

—-

 

The battle finished minutes after the Goblin King’s death. Although only a fraction of the Goblins present had witnessed the event, every Goblin on the field and perhaps every Goblin in the world sensed Velan the Kind die the moment it happened. Witnesses report seeing Goblins falling to their knees or throwing down their arms, allowing the combined armies to cut them down, too grief-stricken to fight back.

While it may be amusing to readers to imagine Goblins exhibiting any kind of grief, it does appear this was the case, as the Goblins fled, their morale broken by their King’s demise. And with that, the last battle of the Second Antinium Wars was won. The Necromancer had been destroyed, the Goblin King slain, and the Antinium had been pacified. At least for the moment.

However, I would urge you good readers to consider this last warning—

 

The story ended. The Goblin King died on the pages as he had on the battlefield, and across the world, readers closed the book and looked up.

Some wept to hear of the Goblin King’s death. The Goblins around the Goblin Lord bowed in grief, and with that grief harbored their terrible rage against the world. Others, like Tyrion, smiled and promised his sons the same truth in the world—that evil would always be vanquished and good triumph.

And some, like Erin and the Antinium, just closed the book and sat in silence for a while, absorbing this tale of what had been. It was a flawed history, true, but one with grains of truth. Those readers would sit in a moment of introspection, as time flowed strangely around them and they felt, just for a second, as if they could see the very fates that had led to that moment in history.

And then the moment would break and Erin would offer everyone popcorn with yeast, which was, as she claimed, the only way to eat popcorn. And the Antinium would eat and Klbkch would let Erin take over to tell another story—Charlotte’s Web, a story which would cause much emotional distress on the part of every Soldier who had killed Shield Spiders.

Life went on, sometimes informed by the past, other times going on in blissful ignorance of it. Erin Solstice’s attempts to comfort a Soldier and explain that Charlotte was a special spider would be entertaining if confusing, but that story was only a backdrop. The narrative had not ended yet, and one pair of readers continued on. They flipped the page and continued the history, reading the final notes of Krsysl Wordsmith.

 

However, I would urge you good readers to consider this last warning before closing this book. Yes, the war was over. The last of the Goblin Lords died as they hurled themselves into battle. Without their King, the Goblins fled, only to be cut down to the last Goblin by the victorious armies. The world was at peace again.

And yet, what a hard-won peace! And at such a cost! Velan the Kind’s rampage might not have been as devastating as the last Goblin King’s path of destruction across Terandria, but it was certainly catastrophic to the Humans. More importantly, the battles with the Necromancer, Antinium, and the Goblins had laid waste to the beloved Drake cities and would be the work of years rebuilding.

Unfortunately, that also meant the truce with the Antinium had to be honored. The allied armies declined to attack the Antinium despite the urging of many sensible minds. Foolishly, the various world leaders decided they were sick of war and let the Antinium remain a threat. Worse, they allowed the Antinium to establish a Hive in Liscor, one of the stipulations of the peace treaty!

Why the heroic people of Liscor allowed this is beyond this writer—indeed, the Liscorian army criticized and then resisted this move, leading to a rift between the public and army. Subsequently, the Liscorian army has rarely returned to its home city and spends much time on the campaign. A true shame.

But Liscor’s problems are, alas, the world’s problems. The Antinium are the one enemy side that survived the Second Antinium Wars, and their ‘help’ only highlights their threat as a group. Their victory was forestalled by the greater threats of the Goblin King and the Necromancer, but that does not erase their menace. They surprised us all with their advancements since the First Antinium War—I dread to think of what they might do if given time to prepare again.

It is my hope that this book will serve to warn readers of the Antinium and present them with a greater understanding of Drake sacrifices. We must stand together against the Antinium threat. Alone we are prey to menaces like the Goblins. Let this history be a record: the Antinium have been our enemies once, and our allies of convenience a second time. But they will never be our friends. They remain our invaders and we must resist them. And it falls on the world to lend us their aide, lest the fall of the Drakes herald the death knell of the world.

We have survived Goblins, the undead, and the Antinium in this second great war for Izril. Let there never be another one in this writer’s lifetime. But if there is, I, Krsysl Wordsmith will document the war and history to the best of my ability. History must not be forgotten and I will retell it as it should be again and again. Thank you for reading. I remain yours, most humbly,

–Krsysl Wordsmith

 

At last it was over. Zel Shivertail lowered the book and closed the cover slowly with one claw. Then he looked over at Lady Magnolia.

“What a terrible book. Why did you have me read through it again?”

She smiled sweetly at him and sipped from her cup of sugar and tea.

“Oh, perspective. My dear General Shivertail, don’t tell me you object to such a glorious retelling of Drake history?”

Zel grunted. He felt like he should wash his claws after touching the book. He pushed it across the table towards Lady Magnolia.

“I do, actually. History should be impartial, not biased and certainly not glorifying one species and insulting others. We all fought the Goblin King—to say any one species did more is insulting to all of us.”

“Ah, well, your opinions are not that of Mister Wordsmith’s. I said as much to him when he first published the book, but I’m afraid he didn’t listen to me. A pity you weren’t there; I think he might have listened to a fellow Drake, let alone the famous Tidebreaker. I think he admires you.”

“Ancestors.”

The Drake [General] shuddered and shook his head. He was sitting in a tent—his personal tent—at the small table he’d requested. This wasn’t the command tent so he had little to look at, but he did have a smaller map of Invrisil and the surrounding landscape he was studying.

Lady Magnolia and her [Maid] Ressa were sitting in Zel’s tent as if there was nothing odd about them being there. They had dropped by unannounced earlier that evening and Lady Magnolia had forced the history book on Zel. He wished he’d refused.

“I heard about this book coming out. And I heard how widely it was criticized so I never bothered to pick it up. I understand quite a lot of copies were made—why would you ever fund something like this?”

“I? I wouldn’t put my name on this book if Krsysl Wordsmith paid me.

Lady Magnolia’s eyebrows shot up. Zel glanced at her.

“I thought you funded this.”

“I funded the first history. Not the second.”

She corrected him. Lady Magnolia frowned and sighed as she put her tea cup on the table. She picked up the book and flipped through it sadly.

“I paid Krsysl Wordsmith to write the history of the First Antinium Wars shortly after it had ended. He was an eager young [Writer] and he did an excellent job of writing the history. It was widely praised as you know.”

“I do know. What went wrong with the second one?”

“The fame went to his head I fear. And he decided to take the money that had made him rich from writing the first book and invest it in the second. He wrote the second as a patriot, thinking it would make him beloved. Instead, it earned him criticism from his own people. Although he does have quite a number of Drakes who still think of him as a good writer. I did try to persuade him to write a more unbiased history, but he detests me I’m afraid.”

“That idiot.”

Zel grunted. He picked up the book and shook his head as he flipped through pages of commentary, maps of the battlegrounds, sketches of the Goblin Lords—and one of himself. Zel stared at a rather flattering image of himself holding the Necromancer’s head with Liscor in the background.  He shook his head in disgust.

“This helps no one. The answer is simple and this author should have seen it. We have to fight together. That’s how we beat the Goblin King. Peace between Humans and Drakes is more important than pride.”

“Some would say that peace with the Antinium is just as important.”

Lady Magnolia spoke cautiously, watching Zel. The [General] looked up.

“If you believed that, why invite me here? No, the Antinium don’t believe in peace. And neither does the Necromancer.”

“True. That is my view as well, which is why I have been preparing ever since the Second Antinium War ended. But some do say such things. And there is a…thought that the Antinium of Liscor might be less dangerous than the rest of their kind.”

The Drake paused. He didn’t know how Magnolia had heard that, but it didn’t surprise him. He thought about Klbkch and his claws clenched into fists. But then he thought about Pawn and shook his head.

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t know. But one Hive is far from all of them.”

“Indeed. It is a thought though, and I want you to be aware of the opportunity that exists there. However, you are correct. The Grand Queen of the Antinium rules over her kind and she…bothers me. She will seize any opportunity she feels is right.”

“So will the Necromancer. I can’t believe he survived me ripping him apart.”

“Mm. Next time we’ll see about using a spell. I intend to make sure he is dead this time. But you can see why I haven’t pursued him yet.”

“Because he’s south of Liscor? A Drake problem?”

“Well, yes. Frankly, the problem is that both he and the Antinium are south of Liscor. Let’s assume the Drakes attacked one. The other would surely seize on that opportunity to force the Drakes into a war on two fronts.”

“Not a problem if we had Human help.”

“Indeed…but I am afraid that Human help might not turn up at all. Many Human [Lords] and [Ladies] would leave your people to fight alone, in the hopes of swooping in and defeating the victor. Or worse, your help might turn into a dagger in the back if Lord Tyrion were to march an army south of Liscor. He still dreams of conquering Izril, you know.”

“Wonderful. No wonder you wanted a Drake [General].”

Zel sighed. He felt old after hearing so much history. He had lived through most of it, true, but it felt like another lifetime. He was so old. He could still remember the First Antinium War. And the Second…Zel wondered if he’d live to see a third one. He didn’t want a third one, but what other choice was there?

A thought occurred to him as he pushed the book around on his table. Zel looked up at Magnolia with a frown.

“Where was your powerful magic-user ally during the Second Antinium War? Did he take part in the fighting at all? Or does he hail from another continent, like Niers Astoragon?”

Magnolia’s expression changed slightly. She pursed her lips together and looked slightly annoyed. She toyed with her teacup as she replied.

“He…excused himself from the war. The Goblins are not his enemy and he refused to battle them, much to my displeasure. He did succeed in stalling the Goblin King for a few days in the High Passes, though. I suppose that I owe him some credit for that.”

“Wonderful. So I can’t expect help against the Goblin Lord?”

“Do you need it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like more certainty, but if I can’t have it then I’ll fight and see how it plays out.”

Zel stood up. He paced around his table, looking at the small map. So close. He’d plotted the Goblin Lord’s advance relative to his army. Magnolia Reinhart turned to face him. Her foot was jiggling just the slightest bit as she asked the question that had to be on everyone’s mind.

“How soon?”

“The day after tomorrow. Or tomorrow if he really marches his troops. He won’t, though. So it’s the day after tomorrow at some point. Day, night…I’ll force him into a day battle if I have to. I won’t let him play any tricks with the undead this time. It’ll be a straight-up battle.”

Zel Shivertail’s voice sounded loud in his ears. His heart pumped a little faster, thinking of it. So soon.  But the Goblin Lord had turned towards Invrisil, against all expectations. He was coming here. And Zel was ready.

“I have given you all the tools at my disposal. We shall go over all of my estate’s resources tomorrow once more. If there is anything you need—”

Magnolia’s voice was brisk as she stood up. Zel turned his head and nodded absently at her.

“Battle Golems, that magical artifact…I’ve reviewed it all. I could use more adventurers if you can hire them.”

Magnolia pursed her lips.

“They don’t want to fight in a battle. This is technically not the defense of Invrisil so I can’t conscript them easily. But I will double the reward for Gold-rank adventurers.”

She paused and looked at Zel.

“Are they so necessary?”

“Necessary? No. I think I can win this. Even without any adventurers. But I like stacking the odds in my favor. Call it the wisdom of age or something.”

Zel sighed. Magnolia stood next to him in silence for a few seconds.

“You will win, won’t you?”

“Probably. I don’t make promises before a battle. But yes, probably.”

“The Goblin Lord—”

“—Is not Velan the Kind. Your history book proves that. He’s a threat, a danger, and one I refuse to underestimate. But he’s no Goblin King.”

“Not yet.”

Magnolia’s words hung in the silence. Zel shook his head.

“Maybe not ever. A Goblin King is something rare. Something…I saw him during the final battle, you know. From a distance. I was on the front lines against his regular army. Holding the line. I saw him charging minutes before his death. And I thought he seemed so—so—”

“Dangerous? Strange? Frightening? Lonely?”

The Drake shook his head.

“Sad. As if he knew what was going to happen next.”

Magnolia stared at him. Ressa blinked. Zel turned away, embarrassed by the confession.

“It was just a feeling. But it stuck with me. And if that book you read taught me anything, it’s that we don’t know much about Goblins. Not truly. We don’t know why Velan ran berserk, why he died like he did…nothing. And this Goblin Lord is the same. We think he’s allied with the Necromancer, but is that as an equal, or as a servant?”

“Some questions have no answers. At least, none we can discern. I suspect the Goblin Lord is the only one who could answer your questions. Besides Az’kerash, at any rate.”

Zel nodded. His claws tightened on the book and he tossed it to one side. His head turned south, towards the coming battle. Soon. Tomorrow? The day after. Zel felt his heart beating faster. The Second Antinium War was over. The Goblin King was dead, but here was another Goblin Lord. Was he connected to the Necromancer?

“In that case, I’ll ask him when I have a claw around his throat.”

He turned and left the tent. Magnolia Reinhart’s gaze traced the same invisible line in the distance. She tapped a finger to her lips and whispered.

“We’ll see. Nothing is set in stone.”

Then she turned and kicked the book on the floor. Magnolia scowled at the book, rubbing at the tips of her toes and grimacing.

“I truly do hate history books. Honestly, I think I’ll hire a Gnoll to write the next one.”

She stomped out of the tent, leaving The Second Antinium Wars, a History lying on the ground. After a moment Ressa picked it up and followed her mistress and Zel Shivertail outside. The stage was set, the pieces all in place. It was time for another page in the story of the world to begin.

Soon.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.48

Time was peculiar. Lady Magnolia knew that well. Some days, some moments could seem to last forever while entire years could flash by. It was all a matter of how much was happening. When it seemed like the world was ending and dire news was the headline of each morning, time could be at a standstill as every day became an unfolding disaster. By the same token though, when there was too much to do and time was precious, it slipped away like shadows in the sun.

She planned with Zel Shivertail, letting the [General] take command of his forces, assisting where she could without getting in the way. Magnolia pulled strings, marshalled all the resources at her immediate disposal, flattened gossip in places and encouraged it in others, and heard reports from [Scouts]. A day passed like that and then it was time.

The Goblins were here.

The first sign of their presence was the distant drum beats that echoed across the grasslands like thunder. The last of the winter’s cold fled with their arrival, and the dark skies and overcast day heralded a wet, if temperate battlefield.

“Muddy. Bad footing. I wish we could have had better weather for today’s battle.”

Magnolia Reinhart turned her head as she stood on those same fields. She had been staring at a black mass in the distance. Now she looked at an armored woman by her side. The woman was dressed so she looked nothing like the [Maid] she was—wearing thick metal armor and carrying an enchanted mace, she was the spitting image of Odveig, the former leader of the Celestial Trackers. But Sacra had many disguises, many faces. And Magnolia appreciated the depth of her knowledge in moments like these.

“Why is mud disadvantageous, Sacra? Aside from the obvious reasons. I would assume that the danger of slipping applies to Goblins as equally as Humans.”

Sacra bowed her head slightly, not taking her eyes off of the distant Goblin host.

“Your pardon Lady Reinhart. But Goblins are experienced in fighting in almost all forms of weather and terrain. Humans are not. Some of the soldiers here won’t have practiced in these conditions. They’ll be at a slight disadvantage.”

“I see. Hopefully General Shivertail will be able to compensate.”

Magnolia turned her gaze back towards the Goblins. They had been marching steadily towards Invrisil for two hours now, across the plains outside of Invrisil. The Human army had decided to meet them four miles outside of Invrisil’s suburbs. Any closer and the Goblins might use the houses and buildings as cover, or worse, scale the outermost walls and threaten the city itself.

Invrisil had not come under attack since the Second Antinium Wars. It had grown without fear, safe from [Bandits] and monsters due to the high number of adventurers who lived within its confines. But now, in the face of the Goblin Lord’s armies those same adventurers were in hiding.

All but a few. Magnolia shifted her gaze and stared at the army of Humans that had formed up ahead of her, in the path of the approaching army. The armor of thousands of [Soldiers] gleamed in the light drizzle from overhead, and Magnolia could see hundreds, maybe thousands of banners, each proclaiming a unit from a different village, town or city.

Just over forty thousand soldiers. A vast army. And yet the Goblin Lord’s forces were reported to be almost double that number. True, his forces would be comprised of noncombatants as well, children, pregnant Goblins, the elderly…and a good half of his army was the undead horde.

Even so, the numbers alone made Magnolia’s heart beat quicker. She stared at the Goblins until another voice spoke up.

“It’s not right.”

“What is?”

Lady Bethal stared at the Goblin Lord’s army. It was spreading out across the grasslands, growing larger by the second. So many. Magnolia tried to count and gave up. Bethal’s voice was pained, the only sound in the silence.

“We should have brought twice as many soldiers to this battlefield. Three times. These are Goblins. Why hasn’t every city within a thousand miles turned out their garrisons to support us? This isn’t a matter of politics! Why are we so divided? But instead Lord Tyrion siphons off soldiers we need, and so we have to send a Drake legend in with a half-formed army—”

“I know.”

Magnolia cut her friend off. She sighed.

“I know, Bethal. But we Humans do not always act in the best interests of our people. We are selfish, paranoid, petty…I should have known my enemies would fight me even in this. They would let a city of hundreds of thousands burn to hurt me.”

“Fools.”

“Not fools. Not entirely. Just…uncaring, I think. To his credit, Zel Shivertail realized how lackluster a force he had been given. But he chose to lead it anyways. He thinks he can win, not just defend, Bethal.”

Magnolia stared out across the ranks of Human soldiers, at the lone figure standing on the front lines. Zel Shivertail’s armor glowed in the dim light, a beacon for all those who looked for such things. Bethal shook her head.

“I pray he’s right, Magnolia. My Thomast is out there and almost all of my Knights of the Petal. If they are lost—”

Her eyes flicked to her husband, lost in the seas of soldiers. Magnolia could spot the iconic [Knights] in their light pink and red armor. She tried to soothe Bethal, although she didn’t feel that calm herself.

“Your husband is quite competent Bethal. As for your [Knights]—they are the most elite force on the field, bar none. We must commit all we can to this battle. And remember, if you should see Thomast in trouble, you have given me your word not to go into the battle.”

“I know.”

Bethal sighed loudly and Magnolia eyed her. That had been the condition she’d imposed on Bethal before she’d let the other [Lady] observe the battle. Magnolia and her small retinue stood at a distance from the army and battlefield itself. Close enough to observe, but far enough in theory that the Goblin Lord would not trouble himself with them. And if he did…

Sacra stood with both feet planted on the ground, mace by her side. She was joined by eighteen other [Maids] and [Servants]…none of whom were wearing their usual uniforms today. They were all former spellcasters and warriors and they were all armed with magical artifacts.

A small guard. Magnolia had put her faith in Zel Shivertail. She wasn’t here to fight herself; she was an observer in this battle. Well, an observer with a small role to play. Magnolia’s flicked her gaze to the two huge covered wagons parked by her small escort. Both lacked mounts to pull them anywhere and were sinking slightly into the ground at the moment. Each one was large enough to hold several horses if you managed to get them up into such a confined space, and they were large enough to take shelter behind.

But again, if it came to that then something had gone wrong. Magnolia trusted Zel Shivertail to win this battle. And as if her thoughts had summoned him, she saw his figure heading her way.

Zel Shivertail rode a horse briskly towards Magnolia and her escort, and Magnolia walked forwards to meet him. She had been only vaguely surprised to learn Zel Shivertail was a competent rider—he never rode horses when fighting, so it was rare that he got a chance to show off his skills.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. I’m changing the plan, though. Hold the secret weapons until the Goblin Lord makes his move. Don’t unleash them unless you think you have a shot at him.”

“Why, pray tell? They could cause extensive damage—”

Magnolia bit her tongue as she realized she was asking questions of a [General]. She was no [General]; she should just let him do his work. Zel answered her curtly as he eyed the distant Goblin Lord’s army.

“I don’t like the looks of the Goblin Lord’s vanguard. I took a look at them with a spyglass—it seems like he has a very strong escort and he’s entrenched himself in his army. It will be hard to get a clear shot at him unless it’s by surprise.”

“I understand. I will wait for the opportunity, then.”

Magnolia smoothed her skirts, glad the magical fabric couldn’t get dirty or wet. She looked at the Drake [General] and couldn’t help but ask a few more questions.

“Do you believe you’re prepared? There are still a few more contingency measures we could take. The magical artifact my grandfather gave me—”

“That thing?”

Zel turned his head and eyed the strange tube-like object that Magnolia had brought with her. It was resting on a small pedestal, guarded by two of her [Maids]. He shook his head.

“Unless the battle turns badly, don’t use it. I’d rather save that for the Great Chieftain you were talking about. And I’d rather not risk collateral damage since we don’t know exactly what it does.”

“Very well. And I see you have equipped the artifacts I gave you. Excellent.”

Zel frowned as he scratched at the pair of rings on his fingers. Magnolia knew he also had a pendant around his neck. They seemed to be annoying the Drake.

“Yes. I’m grateful, really, but I don’t like rings. I fight with my claws you know. These things can catch when I hit something.”

Magnolia pursed her lips, unsympathetic.

“I should imagine their effects outweigh whatever awkwardness you feel, General. They will protect you from unfortunate teleportation, curses, metal attack spells…they should be standard fare to someone of your rank. I can’t understand how you survived this long without them!”

“Probably because everyone thought I had them on and never bothered to test whether I had them or not. And I’ve survived nasty spells before. One time I got teleported off of a cliff…”

Zel grunted. His eyes were going back to the Goblin army. They were coming so slowly. Magnolia tried to keep her voice light and bantering. She and Zel were both icons after all. They had to pretend to be calm for the sake of others.

“I suppose Drakes don’t bother with magical protections, then? You, what, trust the strength of your scales?”

“Hardly. You should see some of them. I know a Lord of the Wall that has rings on every finger. No, I was never supported by the Walled Cities so I had to make do without. And any artifacts I used I returned. Well, I’ll try to get these ones back to you in one piece.”

“Please, consider them a gift. It would hardly do for me to be seen as stingy and I have quite a few ugly rings in my collection.”

“Thank you.”

They traded words like that for a few more minutes, both keeping their eyes on the Goblin Lord’s army. And then Zel nodded towards the black host in the distance.

“It’s time. Remember what I said. Wait for the Goblin Lord to be exposed. And as for the rest…”

He paused. Magnolia waited, her heart beating fast, her face composed. Zel Shivertail just shrugged.

“It’s time.”

“Fortune in battle!”

Magnolia called after Zel’s back as he turned his horse. She heard Sacra and the others around her saying something similar. Magnolia shook her head. Such old sayings. Such trite words. As if that would help one whit.

This was a battle. And as the Goblins came close enough for Magnolia to see their faces in the distance, she heard the drum beats striking louder now, the thumping in rhythm with her chest.

Doom. Doom.

The sound was like the steps of a giant. Only this giant was made of tens of thousands of black-armored Goblins, hordes of shambling undead. Magnolia stared across the ranks of Human swordsmen, mounted riders, archers, nervously staring at their foe. She wondered how they could look at that massive army and not run. There were so many! But the Humans were numerous too. The Goblins approached, spreading out like a breaking wave. Closer, closer—

And then the drumbeats ceased. Magnolia’s heart skipped a beat as the absence of sound affected her more powerfully than the noise. She stared at the Goblins and then saw him.

A Goblin sitting on a massive Shield Spider. A figure dressed in robes. He didn’t shine with an aura or radiate malice, but there was no mistaking him. The Goblin Lord rode his mount to the head of his army and raised his hand.

“Sacra, what is he—”

Magnolia turned to Sacra, about to ask her opinion. Without Ressa she was acting as commentator and analyst of the battle. But she never got a chance to voice her question. Because as the Goblin Lord raised his hand the Goblins around him raised their weapons and shouted one word.

Goblin.

The noise broke the silence and rippled across the plains, causing a physical ripple in the army of Humans. Magnolia’s ears rang and she saw the servants around her wince. Only Sacra, Bethal, and Magnolia didn’t flinch.

The effect on the Human army was just as effective. Magnolia could see ranks of Soldiers waver for a second before standing straight. Just one word had caused their morale to waver.

And it wasn’t over. The Goblin Lord raised his hand again and the Goblins shouted.

Goblin!

The noise was fury and bloodshed, monstrous, the very definitions of what Goblins could be. Magnolia calmed herself with a Skill, looking across her army. They weren’t breaking, but the Human soldiers were clearly unnerved by the sound.

“He’s trying to shatter our morale!”

Sacra shouted at Magnolia, explaining the obvious. Magnolia nodded, noting that Sacra had taken the mace from her belt. Again, the Goblin Lord raised his hand and the sound rolled forth.

Goblin!

Again the massed voices of the Goblins struck the Humans. Magnolia had to admire the simplicity of it. It was like being attacked, but there was no way to fight back. A few of the Human officers tried to raise their own cheers, and Magnolia heard the cries taken up, but only by a small percentage of the army. And the wavering voices made the Goblin’s earth-shattering chant all the more terrifying.

“Idiots. You can’t beat Goblins in a shouting contest.”

Sacra shook her head as she twirled the mace in her hands, eying the Goblin army restlessly. Magnolia raised her voice to be heard.

“How do you do it, then?”

What?

How do you beat them?

“Like that!”

Sacra pointed. Magnolia stared until she saw the lone figure standing at the head of the Human army. Zel Shivertail. He had advanced a few paces ahead of the front rank of swords and pikes so he was visible by most of his army. He stood, his armor shining, arms folded as the Goblins shouted again.

Goblin!

They had spotted him, Humans and Goblins alike. The Goblins were screaming, their noise filling the air and the Humans were shouting too. They wanted Zel to raise his hands, to fight sound with sound. But Zel did nothing.

He just stood. Waiting. And as Magnolia watched the Goblin Lord exalting his army again she realized what Sacra meant.

The Goblins roared at him, screaming, tens of thousands of Goblin voices howling their rage and fury. And still, Zel stood with arms folded. Waiting. And as they screamed, the Goblins stared at him. And their voices began to falter.

They all knew him. Foolishly, the Goblin Lord had studied Zel Shivertail, had read his stories. Tidebreaker, [General of the Line], hero of two Antinium Wars. The greatest [General] of the Drakes. And so rumors had spread. Zel Shivertail had trickled into the Goblin consciousness like poison. And now he was here, and that knowledge was magnified by his presence.

Zel Shivertail was huge. It wasn’t just his physical appearance, which was already imposing. He was like a giant shrunken down and contained within a much smaller body. He dominated the attention of the battlefield.

And he stood there, listening to the Goblins cheering, staring at the Goblin Lord. Just stood. But as Magnolia stared at his back she felt the apprehension from the Goblin’s chanting vanish. The Humans standing behind Zel stood straighter. His armor shone like fire and Zel waited.

Slowly, the Goblin chanting stopped. They stared at Zel, frustrated, angry, and perhaps, afraid. Because of what he was. What he represented.

There stood one who had fought the Goblin King, had fought his Goblin Lords. He was right there. And he was terrifying.

The silence had regained the battlefield. Magnolia saw the Goblin Lord waving his hands, shouting, frustration clear in his motions as the Goblins advanced again. By her side, Sacra nodded approvingly.

“We might not have won the battle of morale, but we certainly didn’t lose.”

“And now it begins.”

Bethal stared at the Goblins as they began to march rapidly on the Human army. Magnolia waited, her heart beating loudly, her eyes scanning the battlefield. She realized that the waiting, the chanting, all of it, had just been the most basic of preludes. The battle began in earnest as the Goblins streamed towards the Humans, shouting, marching in black ranks.

The arrows came first. Magnolia saw a company of [Archers] led by one of the few Gold-rank adventurers raise their bows. The highest-level [Markswomen] and [Snipers] among them had the Skills and enchanted weapons to fire across hundreds of feet and began loosing arrows into the front rank of Goblins. Black bodies tumbled downwards, just a handful, and the Goblins raised their shields higher, snarling and trampling over their fallen.

And they had archers of their own. Magnolia saw arrows flying back towards the Human army—just a few at first, but more and more as the two armies closed in distance. The Gold-rank adventurer in the archer’s group—a Gnoll woman with a longbow—dodged as an arrow shot towards her head. She nocked an arrow and loosed it—Magnolia saw the Goblin who’d aimed at her fall, clawing at an arrow in his chest.

The duel between archers halted abruptly as the Goblins came within a hundred feet. Now Magnolia heard [Captains] calling out orders.

“Hold! Draw! Wait for it—loose!

A rain of deadly projectiles shot across the muddy ground towards the front rank of Goblins. Several fell, but the black armor the Goblins wore shielded them from the worst of it, as did their shields. They were coming faster now. The Goblin Lord pointed and his voice snapped an order. The front rank of Goblins surged towards the Human army.

And now Magnolia could see the Hobs. A line of over a hundred Hobs charged towards Zel Shivertail and his army, giant green warriors coated in black armor, holding massive weapons and roaring as they came. The Human [Archers] were aiming at them, trying to bring them down but for every one they, felled ten more came on.

“Dead gods. They’re going to be overrun!”

Bethal stared at the front rank. The Humans there were low-level. They weren’t [Lineholders] or experienced warriors! Hobs were a Silver-rank threat! Magnolia watched as well. She bit her lip and whispered.

“Come now, General Shivertail. Tell me you know how to deal with this.”

 

—-

 

“Oh, dead gods.”

Lieutenant Gershal of Vaunt felt his heart stop as he saw the Goblins charging. He had been assigned to the front ranks with his unit and had lamented the fact with the other sympathetic officers. But he hadn’t realized what it meant until this moment.

A wave of Goblins was coming at him, as endless as the sea. And at the head of them—

Hobgoblins. The closest one was a head taller than Gershal and three times as wide. Gershal could see the flecks of spit, see the frenzied crimson eyes staring at him, the gigantic maul in the Goblin’s hands—

“Steady.”

A voice snapped Gershal out of his trance. He looked to one side and saw another officer, the [Captain] assigned to the area speaking to him. Gershal realized he’d taken a step back. The soldiers around him were doing the same. Horrified, Gershal realized the entire front was pulling back in face of the Goblin’s charge. He shouted at his men, ashamed and terrified.

Hold your positions! Hold, damn your cheese-rotted heads!

Cheese-rotted heads. It was a petty insult children used in Vaunt. But it worked. The soldiers jumped and half-looked towards Gershal before snapping out of their fear. They reformed the line, men and women holding shields, pikes trained on the Goblins, swords ready for when they broke past the pikes.

Gershal carried a sword and shield as well. He breathed heavily, his eyes on the Drake in shining armor ahead of him. If he stared at Zel Shivertail he could hold his ground. But the Hobs! They were seconds away. What was going to happen when they hit? They’d be swept away, all of them!

Zel Shivertail hadn’t moved in the face of the Goblin’s charge. Now, as they were about to hit the front line he shifted. He raised one claw and spoke. Gershal barely heard his voice over the roar of the Goblins.

“[Stonewall Formation]. [Chargebreaker Guard].”

Something filled Gershal and he gasped as his shield felt warm. His footing on the slippery mud and grass felt firmer. But he couldn’t analyze the feeling. The Goblins hit his line and the entire army in a roar and crash of metal on metal that dwarfed every sound Gershal had heard in his life.

The first wave of Goblins smashed into the soldiers around Gershal. He saw a gigantic Hob charging towards him. The [Lieutenant] raised his shield, heart pounding. The Hob had a massive hammer and swung towards Gershal. It was too late to dodge, but Gershal knew he’d never block the blow. He braced—

And the hammer glanced off his shield. Gershal gaped and the Hob staggered. Gershal stumbled back. The blow had been incredibly strong, but it hadn’t smashed through his iron and wood shield! Both Human and Goblin were so surprised that they stared at each other for a moment.

And then instinct took over. Gershal swung his sword desperately as the Hob raised his hammer. His sword glanced off the Hob’s gauntleted arm and again the hammer came down! And again, it was blocked.

Gershal staggered under the force of the blow. It was tremendous! He could feel the incredible impact, and yet his shield and body held. No—more than that! With one arm he thrust the hammer away and the Hob stumbled backwards. Gershal charged into the Hob, screaming and thrust his sword towards the gap between his chest plate and leg armor.

The Hob howled as Gershal’s blade struck him in the thigh, glancing off bone. He swung his hammer and Gershal darted back. The two traded blows and again, Gershal found his shield could handle each of the Hob’s devastating attacks! But the Hob was quick and powerful. He blocked each of Gershal’s thrusts, snarling, trying to strike around Gershal’s shield with his slower weapon.

So caught up were the two in their duel that neither one realized where they were. Gershal backed up from the Hob’s swing and collided with something from behind. He turned—

And another Hob twisted around, her axe covered with blood. This Hob was taller than both Gershal and the hammer-wielding Hob. She was standing over a Human soldier, or what remained of them. The pike in their hands had been hacked in two from the Hob’s blows. Now both Hobs closed in on Gershal from either side.

He jabbed at them with his sword, trying to back up. But the Hobs were fearless. The female Hob swung her axe and only Gershal’s shield saved his head from being split open. The hammer-wielding Hob charged, roaring, his weapon aimed at Gershal’s back—

And a flash of green charged into him. Gershal spun and saw the Hob falling. Gershal stared.

The Hob was falling to the ground. His black armor, impervious to Gershal’s iron sword, was torn open and his chest was a bloody mass. And standing over him was a Drake in shining armor.

Zel Shivertail.

Gershal stared. He heard the female Hob scream and Zel turned. The Drake caught the blade of the axe as it swung towards his face and his left hand slashed across the female Hob’s chest. His claws were long and cut through the Hob’s armor like it wasn’t there. Gershal stared as the female Hob sagged. Zel dropped her and turned towards Gershal.

“You’re out of line! Get back!”

He roared and Gershal thought he was reprimanding him for a second. Then he realized—he was out of line! His duel with the Hob had carried him out of the line of Human soldiers and into the Goblin army. He backed up as Goblin soldiers streamed forwards around him, jabbing at him with spears, swinging swords he barely blocked with his armor and shield—

Zel Shivertail turned. He kicked a Goblin into eight of his friends, so hard the black metal bent and the Goblin screamed, and then slashed with his claws. Left, right, left! Each time a Goblin fell, their armor rent and torn open by Zel’s claws. He caught their weapons with his bare hands, impervious to the cutting edges and cleared a space around him, cutting down Goblins while Gershal found his unit.

Hold your ground!

The Drake roared as the Humans pushed back the first line of Goblins. He turned and charged towards a Hob—seconds later the Hob was dead and Zel was finding his next target. The Human [Soldiers] and Gershal himself roared in response to their [General]’s heroics. Gershal felt like his arm was ablaze with energy—he blocked a Goblin’s thrust as if it was nothing and cut the Goblin down, shouting. They could win this! They could win!

And then the arrows came and more Goblins. Gershal held the line with his soldiers, fighting, falling, dragging wounded friends to safety while more [Soldiers] rushed forwards to fill the gaps.

That was the first five minutes of the battle.

 

—-

 

“It’s working! They’re doing it!”

Bethal clutched at Magnolia, shaking her shoulder as they watched the battle from afar. Magnolia endured the shaking. She was a [Lady] and she couldn’t display an undignified countenance.

Of course, Bethal was a [Lady] as well, but they were quite, quite different. Magnolia eventually got Bethal to let go by grabbing her hands.

“I see that Bethal. Sacra, it looks like the Goblin charge has failed.”

“For now.”

Sacra eyed the Goblins as they clashed with the front rank of Humans, led by Zel. It was a slaughter on both sides, but one that was definitely favoring the Humans. They were holding, reinforcing gaps in their lines while their soldiers cut down wave after wave of the Goblins. The Goblin Lord’s Hobs, his elite shock troopers that gave him an advantage over the Human soldiers were being stalemated by Zel’s defensive Skills.

But that was only the beginning of the battle. Magnolia saw the mass of Goblins that had crashed against Zel’s front line moving left and right, trying to flank the Humans. Correspondingly, battalions of Human soldiers were racing across the ground.

“We don’t have the numbers to keep spreading out like this, surely?”

Magnolia pointed the extending front line out to Sacra, worried. The Goblins were racing to encircle Zel’s army. Sacra shook her head.

“We don’t have to. Look—we’re holding them off across this line while our archers hit them. Our mages are slowing their advance—”

Fireballs and lightning were blasting ranks of Goblins apart where they clustered most heavily. The Goblins were answering in kind—Magnolia saw flashes of magic blasting into Humans soldiers, shards of ice splintering off shields and acidic splashes causing some to drop their weapons and claw at their faces.

“—And our cavalry’s moving. If the Goblin Lord splits his forces too far trying to encircle us—yes, there they go!”

Magnolia followed Sacra’s gaze and saw a wedge of mounted Humans smash into a section of the Goblin line where they’d extended themselves too far. She saw the mounted riders hacking their way through, cutting off that group of Goblins from their main army. Surrounded, the Goblins quickly succumbed to the encircling Humans as the riders broke away.

 

—-

 

“That’s right! Hit them and away! On me!”

Captain Salvia laughed and shouted as her [Riders] cut into the Goblins. She raised her sword and whirled it, spraying Goblin blood. At once, the mounted warriors under her command wheeled their horses. The Goblins were already surging after them, loosing arrows and trying to catch her soldiers. Salvia grimaced as she saw an arrow pierce a horse’s side and both animal and rider went down. The Goblins on foot charged the fallen soldier, intent on tearing him to shreds.

Not yet. She galloped past the man and caught his outstretched hand. Her own stallion slowed as Salvia pulled the man into her saddle. She patted him and prayed he could hold their weight. Just a little further!

Break away! Back to the lines! Move it, move it!

Her soldiers streamed away too quickly for the Goblins to catch. Salvia let the horseless man drop as soon as they were close to their lines—he sprinted towards the back where more warhorses were ready to go. She turned her mount, listening for the next order from General Shivertail or a [Strategist].

The Goblins were floundering, surprised by their inability to break the Human front line, unprepared for the lightning-fast attacks. Their own spider riders were too slow to catch up with the Humans and that meant they were prey to Salvia’s forces. She grinned, her heart still pumping fast in her chest.

This is the way to fight a battle! Come on lads, let’s hit the Goblins again!”

She spotted an opening—a gap in the Goblin lines at the same time a [Messenger] rode towards her, pointing and shouting. Salvia kicked her horse into a gallop and she rode towards the break, her soldiers screaming war cries behind her. She hoped Gershal and his cheese-eating lot were alright. But then the battle overtook her and Salvia’s only thoughts were to cut and block and turn her mount.

They were winning! At least—for the moment.

 

—-

 

“Too fast!”

Goblins. Osthia Blackwing was chained and muzzled as she stood by the Goblin Lord’s personal guard. He’d dragged her onto the battlefield although she’d fought her captors. She wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or curse; he was using her as a tool to gauge the enemy’s tactics. Now she watched as the Goblin Lord gave rapid orders, trying to overtake Zel Shivertail’s forces and hammer them from all sides.

She’d watched his disastrous first charge with grim satisfaction. The Goblin Lord had known Zel Shivertail was a defensive [General], but hearing that and seeing a Hob being bested by a low-level [Soldier] with a shield and spear was something else entirely. Now the Goblin Lord was raging as the Human cavalry stymied his force’s advance.

Move! Order undead—there!”

He pointed and a ripple went through the Goblins around him. Goblin [Necromancers] and [Shamans] began pointing and chanting and Osthia saw the undead horde move at last.

Tens of thousands of zombies, some halfway towards skeletons themselves, lurched into motion. They’d been circling the Human army, ignoring the arrows and spells that had cut down their number by the hundreds with each passing minute, and now they advanced on the Humans from the left.

Slowly. Only a few of the zombies were ‘fresh’ enough to run, and only the Goblin Lord could make them do that. A few hundred Ghouls raced out of the ranks of undead and surged towards a group of Humans who’d formed a line to meet them.

The Ghouls lunged into the ranks of Humans, tearing, biting with unnatural speed. They were outnumbered and quickly dispatched, but they’d dragged down quite a number of soldiers before they fell. And they were just the first wave. The zombies met the Humans and died as the soldiers sliced the slower undead apart.

But a second wave was already crawling over the first, grabbing at shields and advancing despite being speared through the chest. They threatened to overwhelm the Humans by sheer numbers, and Osthia saw a giant Crypt Lord belching bile over a group of Humans, making them vomit and fall to the ground—

“Good! Now. Break lines.”

The Goblin Lord was pushing on two fronts. The undead were now threatening Zel Shivertail’s left and he had to pull his forces back. [Archers] and [Mages] began hitting the undead, easing up pressure on the Goblins from the front. Osthia saw the Humans begin to struggle a bit as they fought the Goblins without support. Still, Zel’s Skills were holding the ground and creating a wall of steel the Goblins struggled to break. If that was all—

A Hob was on the front lines, fighting a knot of Humans with pikes. He was unable to break their shields with his large club despite his massive strength and as Osthia watched, a pike pierced the crude black iron armor on his chest. He stumbled backwards, mortally wounded.

The Hob stared at the blood gushing from the wound on his chest and looked up. His eyes flickered—he reached behind him and grabbed something. Osthia saw the Hob lift a small figure onto his back and charged the pikes, roaring.

They speared him halfway. The Hob sagged and Osthia saw the Humans cheering. But that small figure on the Hob’s back was moving. It slipped from his body and stumbled towards the Humans. Osthia saw a Human with a sword turn, puzzled by the tiny Goblin. She shouted, her words lost by distance and the leather restraining her mouth.

No! But it was too late. The Human impaled the Goblin with his sword. No, not the Goblin. The Goblin child. The undead Goblin child.

The undead Goblin exploded. Osthia heard the roar of the blast from her position near the Goblin Lord. She had to look away as the explosion engulfed the Humans and nearby Goblins—when she could see again the entire group of Humans was gone and Goblins were flooding into the gaps.

Exploding undead. The Goblin Lord’s secret weapon, courtesy of Az’kerash. Osthia turned her head and stared at the Goblin Lord with pure hatred. She saw the Goblin Lord staring towards the sight of the blast, claws clenched into fists.

His hands were bleeding. Osthia stared as his claws dug into his flesh, red rivulets of blood dripping down his hands. The Goblin Lord turned, and the pain and fury in his gaze found her. He stared at Osthia for a second and then pointed. His voice was cold.

“Destroy the front lines.”

Osthia turned and saw more explosions. The undead Goblin children were slipping through the ranks of struggling Goblin and Humans and detonating themselves or being killed. They destroyed the Human’s lines, turning them into chaotic battles as Goblins capitalized on the broken formations and charged ahead. Osthia stared in silent despair.

The exploding undead! Zel Shivertail had known about this, surely! He had to have heard the reports—but how could you deal with such a tactic? He couldn’t just retreat, and yet, each time the Goblins detonated his army was thrown into disarray! She saw Zel Shivertail turning, shouting orders as the Humans scattered to reform their lines. And then she saw the first pink [Knight] striding forwards.

“What is that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the first Rose Knight. The armored warrior stepped into place where a Goblin child had detonated. The Goblins were charging into the gap, trying to fill the space before the Humans could replenish their ranks. They ran at the pink knight as he raised a halberd. The [Knight] swung—

And a row of Goblins disappeared in a blaze of flames. Osthia’s eyes widened and the Goblin Lord sat up on his mount. The Rose Knight twirled his halberd and stabbed—flames shot from the blade and burned through a group of Goblins, making them scream and roll on the ground to quench the magical flames. The [Knight] calmly held his ground as regular Human [Soldiers] pushed forwards, resetting their lines.

And across the battlefield, more Rose Knights were on the front. They stood on the front, calmly cutting down the Goblins. Holding the line. Osthia saw one Rose Knight strike down a Goblin and then crush an undead Goblin with his foot. He vanished in an explosion, but when the smoke cleared he was getting back on his feet, stunned, but still alive.

“Pink-armored warriors too strong! Cannot kill!”

The Goblin Lord snarled as a Goblin cried out. He narrowed his eyes as a group of Human [Archers] began sniping at the explosive undead Goblins scattered in his ranks. One shot took an undead Goblin through the throat—the blast eradicated a pair of Hobs and a group of Goblins in the back lines of his army.

“No more undead! Move to left!”

He pointed, and Osthia saw the undead children lurching away, joining the mass of undead. Osthia grinned. His tactics were failing. The Goblin Lord stared at the Rose Knight with the halberd. He was cutting down a Hob, unscathed, his armor painted red with Goblin blood. The Goblin Lord made a sound of outrage. Then he stood up and pointed.

“[Deathbolt].”

 

—-

 

Magnolia was listening to the cheering from the Human army when she saw the black bolt of magic fly across the battlefield and strike the Rose Knight in the chest. She saw the armored man stumble as the magic splashed across his armor, almost like a liquid. He raised his halberd and struck down a nearby Goblin, but his movements were palpably slower. And the Goblin Lord wasn’t done. He pointed and another black bolt flew across the battlefield.

This time the Rose Knight tried to dodge. But a group of Goblins surrounded him and seized him, weighing him down. The black magic struck the Rose Knight twice more in the chest, splashing across the pink armor in quick succession. The [Knight] wavered, stumbled, and as the third spell struck his head he collapsed.

“No!”

Bethal stared in horror as one of her elite [Knights] fell, struck dead by the Goblin Lord’s magic. The Goblins swarmed over his body, cheering, seizing his halberd and using it against the Humans around him.

“Sacra, what was that?”

Magnolia snapped at Sacra. The [Maid] shook her head.

“I know what that was.”

A voice spoke up. The three women turned and saw Reynold, dismounting from Magnolia’s pink carriage. He was breathless—he must have just arrived because the tracks in the mud were still oozing back into place.

“Reynold, do you know—”

“One company of Gold-rank adventurers, the Fire Fingers and a Silver-rank team, Embryion’s Delight agreed to your terms Lady Reinhart. I just dropped them off. They’re fighting the undead.”

Reynold pointed and Magnolia saw a group of Dwarves and [Mages] fighting their way into the undead from the left. She nodded in approval. A few adventurers had been enticed by her offers and Magnolia had quadrupled the gold reward in the last hour. Reynold had been assigned to deliver whomever was willing to fight to the battlefield.

“Thank you, Reynold. Now, what happened to Lady Bethal’s knight?”

“Sir Evimore.”

Bethal whispered through pale lips. Reynold clenched his jaw grimly.

“I’ve seen that spell before. It’s death magic. The Necromancer used a similar one. It’s instant death to anyone below Level 20. That might not be the same spell—maybe a weaker one, but it’s powerful enough. Look, he’s going to continue casting.”

The [Butler]’s face was grave as he pointed. The Goblin Lord was drinking from a bottle and as he downed the last dregs of the mana potion one of the [Archers] shot an arrow at him. The arrow swerved as it neared the Goblin Lord and bounced off his Shield Spider’s carapace. The Goblin Lord turned his head and casually pointed a finger. The black magic shot across the battlefield and the archer and four of his fellows fell over, dead in an instant.

“He’s taking out our high-level soldiers!”

Magnolia exclaimed in horror. The Goblin Lord was casting the [Deathbolt] spell rapidly now, and another Rose Knight found himself under attack. The armored woman was forced to dodge the black magic, which left her open to a Hob. He smashed her across the head with a glowing mace and her helmet bowed in slightly. The Rose Knight stumbled, another [Deathbolt] hit her from the side and she fell.

“Why isn’t that armor working! I thought it was supposed to protect those knights from practically anything!”

Magnolia turned to Lady Bethal. The [Lady] shook her head. Her face was white as a second of her prized [Knights] fell, the second in minutes.

“There’s no armor in the world that will protect against every kind of magic. Magnolia, tell that Drake to pull my knights back before they’re slaughtered!”

She grabbed Magnolia, pointing to Zel as the [General] turned, seeing the effects the Goblin Lord’s magic was having on the battlefield. Magnolia shook her head.

“I am in no position to tell Zel Shivertail anything. He must see the issue—yes, look!”

The Rose Knights were retreating from the front. Faced with this separate threat they were regrouping. A wall of forty or so took up positions on the right flank of the battlefield and Magnolia saw the Goblins backing up fast rather than charge their position. The Goblin Lord pointed and another [Deathbolt] flew, but this time it failed to strike down a Rose Knight.

One of the armored pink knights raised his shield and the magic burst against the shield. He failed to catch the second bolt that struck him in the chest, but as he staggered his fellows dragged him back. They shielded the [Knight] with their bodies as he staggered upright and opened his visor to down a potion. The Rose Knights locked formation, anchoring themselves against further death magic.

“That’s good! We won’t lose any more of them.”

Sacra was approving, but Reynold frowned.

“True, but we’ve just lost our advantage on the front.”

Sure enough, the concentration of Rose Knights on one side of the battlefield meant that the Goblins could now push forwards while they stalled the Rose Knights with expendable infantry and undead. A group of Hobs was rampaging towards the front, through the Soldiers who had lost the benefits of Zel’s Skill or were just too low-level to stop them.

The Hobs were cutting a line straight through the humans, trying to separate an entire group of them to be overrun. Magnolia saw eight Hobs, fighting in step. They turned as the Humans surged against them. Eight—no, was it seven? Magnolia blinked. Seven Hobs, wait, there were only six—

Another Hob fell as she watched. Magnolia gaped, seeing the Hob falling without spotting what had caused his death. Then she saw a shape moving around another Hob with a greataxe. The Hob turned, snarling, but Thomast was too quick. The [Duelist] ran his opponent through from behind, his enchanted rapier spearing the Hobgoblin in an instant. Quick as lightning, Thomast turned and his blade cut the air, wounding two Hobs from afar as they tried to encircle him.

Thomast!

Bethal’s voice made Magnolia’s ears ring. The [Lady] Walchaís was beside herself as her husband took down all eight Hobs and began rallying the Soldiers around him.

“We have the higher-level warriors it seems.”

“We do, but far less numbers. And the Goblin Lord is eager to reduce our count of elites.”

Sacra and Reynold were debating the battle amongst themselves. Magnolia turned her gaze across the battlefield, searching for the Goblin Lord once more. He was pushing to the front, but still entrenched well behind his army. Not yet. She spotted him at the same time Bethal did.

“What is he—no! Thomast! He’s aiming towards you!

The Goblin Lord had spotted Thomast’s heroics on the front and his finger was aimed, black magic swirling around his hands and arm as he carefully targeted Thomast’s location.

Thomast!

Bethal would have run forwards, into the battlefield herself to warn her husband. He was too far away to hear Bethal’s screams as Magnolia and Sacra had to hold her back with their combined strength. It was too late anyways. The Goblin Lord fired another [Deathbolt] as Thomast was fighting on the front.

The black streak of magic was streaking through the air, fast as an arrow, towards Thomast’s back. He was dueling a Hob, and he stepped forwards to pierce the Hob through his unarmored neck.

The Goblin Lord’s spell flashed towards Thomast’s back as he stepped forwards. The Chevalier pierced the Hob’s throat, and then spun out of the way, sidestepping the bolt of magic and letting it pierce the Hobgoblin instead. His foe fell, lifeless and bleeding from a hole in his throat. Thomast flicked his rapier, spraying the Goblin’s blood across another foe’s face and turned towards the Goblin Lord.

He bowed slightly and raised a hand and coolly beckoned to the Goblin Lord across the battlefield. Magnolia saw the black-eyed Goblin’s gaze widen slightly in incredulous anger. Lady Bethal stopped fighting Magnolia and Sacra and made a besmitten sound. Magnolia dropped her.

The Goblin Lord declined to answer Thomast’s challenge and instead turned his magic towards other targets. Again he blasted a group of archers, taking out the unprotected Humans in small knots. They were helpless to defend themselves. However, the Goblin Lord’s spells were only a single factor in a battle where thousands of arrows and spells were flying every minute. If that had been all he would have done nothing. But then he pointed and Magnolia saw a group of eighteen bodies rise where they had fallen. The Humans turned in horror as eighteen Ghouls got up and began tearing into their unguarded ranks.

“Dead gods! He’s starting to reanimate the undead behind our lines! Our archers and mages will be slaughtered!”

Reynold was aghast as he saw the undead begin to stir all across the back ranks of the Human army. Zombies and Ghouls were indeed rising as the Goblin Lord and his own [Necromancers] began to raise the dead. Sacra grabbed Reynold’s arm as he started forwards.

“Calm down! General Shivertail planned for this!”

“How—”

Reynold was pointing at the carnage as the Ghouls began fighting the archers at close range. Then his eyes widened. He saw the flicker of black at the same time Magnolia did. She spotted a shape moving out of the shadows behind a Ghoul, stabbing it in the back, and another, slicing a Ghoul across the neck. Reynold gaped.

“Miss Ressa?”

 

—-

 

The first Ghoul was an easy kill. It didn’t notice Ressa as she stabbed it in the back. Her magical dagger, the Vision of Grasses, went into the undead’s body with ease. It froze up as she pulled the dagger out.

The dagger that she had been given by Regis Reinhart wasn’t meant for combat against the undead, but at least one of the myriad poisons it had been coated with still worked on an undead’s nervous system. The Ghoul fell, paralyzed, and Ressa turned. She slashed across the face of another Ghoul as the archers around her shouted, surprised by both the undead and her appearance.

By her side, a man in black sliced across a Ghoul’s throat. It was a good cut, but the undead was still alive. He had to hack at its neck as it fought to slash him. Only when he’d severed most of its head from its body did it fall.

“This is not how [Assassins] are meant to be used!”

Theofore the luckless [Assassin] screamed at Ressa as he turned his blades, slashing at one of the reanimated Ghouls. She grunted as she slid around another Ghoul and beheaded him with a slice with her dagger. Enchanted weapons were very nice to use. Theofore had to struggle as he repeatedly knifed another Ghoul in the chest.

“None of my Skills work on Ghouls! I can’t poison or paralyze something that’s already dead!”

“Shut up and stab.”

The two turned as more undead began to rise. Ressa moved like a shadow, flicking from target to target as Theofore struggled to keep up. Across the battlefield more disguised [Maids] and [Butlers] appeared. Not all of Magnolia Reinhart’s staff were good at domestic help. True, few of them were [Assassins], but they were high-level and enough to turn the tides.

For now. Ressa’s eyes narrowed as she gazed around the battlefield. She was no [Strategist], but she had a sense of how the battle was going. They weren’t losing, but she wasn’t sure they were pulling that far ahead of the Goblins anymore. And then she heard the Goblin drums begin to beat and heard the shout.

Commander charge!

 

—-

 

Commander charge. It was a term common to this world. It meant at least two [Commander] class leaders were leading a charge. And that mattered because such leaders were always high-level. When they charged a line, they could cut holes right through an enemy army.

And this time the Goblin Lord had sent all of his commanders. Former Goblin Chieftains, now his lieutenants, charged into the Human lines with their personal vanguards. And where they charged, Humans died.

Snapjaw, leading a group of Goblins on horses. Her teeth sank into a Human [Captain]’s throat, bearing him down as her Goblins charged through the broken Human unit. Eater of Spears, towering over the Hobs around him, breaking a group of seasoned [Lancers] as their weapons broke on his tough skin.

A Goblin with no face blasted ranks of Humans with fire as a [Beastmaster] Goblin rode a Shield Spider as large as the Goblin Lord’s mount into battle, his spider snatching up Humans and tossing them screaming into the air. Across the battlefield the Goblin commanders were charging, and the Humans lines began to buckle at last. Snapjaw grinned, raising her bloody head, turning her head to survey the landscape of despairing Human faces. Across from her, Noface was blasting Humans with fire magic. On her other side, Illbreath was leading his Hobs forwards. This massive Hob had once swallowed an artifact that produced poison. Rather than die from ingesting it, he’d begun to breathe poisonous vapors. Now he advanced in a toxic cloud, the Humans ahead of him coughing and gagging, unable to put up a fight.

Push! Push Humans!

Snapjaw raised her sword, her teeth gnashing together. In front of her, the Humans were retreating! They were winning! She saw Goblins pushing forwards. Illbreath’s unit was pursuing a group of fleeing Humans, cutting them down one by one—

And then Snapjaw got a bad feeling. A bad feeling. The kind she only had when death was imminent. Warned by her [Dangersense], the Hobgoblin turned and saw a blur heading her way. She screamed a warning to Illbreath.

Tidebreaker!

He turned. Zel Shivertail charged through the ranks of Goblins, trampling them, ignoring the blades that glanced off his armor and body. He collided with Illbreath in a clash of claws on steel. Snapjaw wheeled her mount, shouting, and saw other Goblin Chieftains running to the Hob’s aid.

There was only thirty feet between her and Illbreath, no distance at all! Snapjaw saw the Hob breathing poison in Zel’s face, raising his mace. The Drake [General] turned his head, coughing, was struck by the mace—

And then he grabbed Illbreath’s head and tore it off his body. Snapjaw froze. Zel tossed the head to one side as Illbreath’s corpse collapsed. He wiped at his eyes, sighed, and then blocked Snapjaw’s sword with one hand.

Casually. Just like that. She screamed at him, lashing at the Drake with her sword, but his arms and claws were harder than steel! He punched her mount and the horse screamed and fell. Snapjaw tumbled off the side, losing her grip on her sword. She saw the Drake [General] appear over her. His claw shot towards her face. She sat up and bit.

Her teeth had bitten through steel, through weak enchanted armor—even through a Wyvern’s hide! Snapjaw’s jaw engulfed Zel Shivertail’s hand with a snap, just like how she’d earned her name. She felt her teeth digging into his scales, piercing the General’s tough hide! Then she heard his voice.

“Ow.”

Zel Shivertail lifted his hand. Snapjaw rose, trying to bite into his tough skin. He punched her so hard her head rang, and then threw her. Snapjaw flew screaming through the air and hit a group of Goblins. She landed on their armor, shields, and a sword. The Hob rolled off the groaning Goblins and reached for the healing potion at her belt, gasping. She downed it and her vision cleared and the wound on her back closed. And then she looked towards Zel Shivertail and saw despair.

He was holding Noface’s head. The Drake [General] raised the faceless Goblin’s head, giving Snapjaw a clear view of the scar tissue that had replaced the Goblin’s entire face, the legacy of an encounter with a Human [Pyromancer]. He showed the Goblins their dead officer and then threw the head to the ground. The Goblins howled at him in rage. Zel waited.

And they did not advance. The Goblins held their ground, screaming, some daring to loose arrows at him or cast spells, but all too afraid to get in range of those deadly claws. Zel Shivertail towered over the Goblins, staring at them. Snapjaw froze in place, fear holding her heart. The Humans were one thing. But this?

The Tidebreaker turned away. He charged into another group of Goblins where the Human lines were faltering and Snapjaw heard her people screaming. The Humans regained ground, shouting. Where the Tidebreaker went Goblins retreated.

He could not be stopped! Snapjaw found another horse, shoving a Goblin out of the saddle. She rode back towards the Goblin Lord, retreating. She had to let him know.

They could not kill Zel Shivertail. So they’d have to kill his army. That was the only way. Then they could surround him, beat him to death. But kill him with smaller numbers, with an army at his back?

Impossible. That knowledge was bitter on Snapjaw’s tongue.

 

—-

 

“They’re pulling back! Look! I think General Shivertail’s taken out another one of their commanders!”

The Humans standing and watching the battle cheered as Zel Shivertail downed another Hob. Where he went, the Human lines surged forwards and the Goblins retreated. He was truly inspiring, and Magnolia understood now how one [General] could defeat any number of [Strategists] or lesser officers. If you couldn’t slay the [General], you couldn’t stop him from tearing apart your army.

And yet, that was also a weakness. Sacra was the first to spot it.

“We’re starting to buckle. Our lines are beginning to collapse.”

“Surely not. We’re winning on the front.”

Magnolia pointed to the spot where Zel was fighting. Sacra nodded.

“Yes we are. And where the Rose Knights are fighting. But everywhere else—Sir Thomast is holding his side with General Shivertail’s support, but our left flank is being overrun by the undead!”

She indicated the left and Magnolia saw for the first time how far they’d been pushed by the undead. The overwhelming tide of bodies was thrusting the Humans back. The zombies didn’t care if their fellows were dying like flies—they’d push past their fallen friends and tear out a Human’s eyes while he was occupied with three more undead. And now some of the highest-level undead were advancing.

A Draug Drake was throwing [Soldiers] around, ignoring the arrows a battalion was sending into his body. He’d taken several cuts to his body, but nothing short of a solid axe blow would slow him. He was a juggernaut, and the other Crypt Lords, Draug, and higher undead were similarly hard to kill. Even the few Gold-rank adventurers were hard pressed to fight with them as undead crowded around from every angle.

“There’s just too many! The Goblins can push us on all sides and we can’t crush them in any one spot for fear of being overrun!”

“But we are winning, yes?”

Magnolia sharply looked at Sacra and the [Maid] nodded slowly, twirling her mace.

“If it’s a count of how many we’ve killed compared to how many they’ve killed, we are. But Lady Reinhart, numbers aren’t everything in a battle. A superior position could reverse all our gains in a moment.”

And as if her words were prophetic, Magnolia saw a disaster unfold right before her eyes.

The Human cavalry, some six thousand horse in total, had been a pivotal part of the battle despite their fewer numbers. The Human cavalry was a famous part of their fighting force, and they had employed their superior mobility to great advantage, circling around the Goblins, striking from the rear and then moving away before they could be caught.

Now the Goblin Lord had focused on them. And Magnolia saw his [Deathbolts] begin to strike the cavalry at the same time two groups of Goblins on horseback and Goblins riding Shield Spiders set out to encircle them.

If they had been free from attack, the cavalry might have been able to make their escape. But a wall of seemingly preoccupied Goblin pikes shifted and revealed a battalion of hidden Goblin [Archers] that cut off one escape route with a deadly hail of arrows. Reynold groaned aloud as he saw the riders being cut down by the hundreds.

“Those idiots! Evade! Don’t they know how to dodge?”

 

—-

 

Incoming fire!

Captain Salvia saw the Goblin Lord’s death magic strike the first group of [Riders] and turned her horse, trying to present as narrow a target as possible. She saw arrows and other magical spells blasting into the riders around her and screamed.

“Break formation! [Scatter Gallop]! Weave and dodge—don’t stay in one place!”

Her unit of [Riders] immediately broke out of their wedge formation and began to scatter, moving in unpredictable ways left and right as they fled. However, the rest of the cavalry had never trained in such techniques and fell prey to the arrows and spells hitting from the side.

And then the Goblins charged into their flank. Salvia saw a Goblin with gleaming metal teeth and another Goblin riding an enormous Shield Spider leading the charge. They began tearing up the lines of her fellow riders, encircling them, threatening to tear their entire force apart!

That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Salvia screamed an order and turned her horse.

“This way! Break up those Goblins! Keep moving! Hurry!

She led her unit back towards the Goblins on horseback, trying to cut a path free. But the Goblins had the riders well and truly encircled now, and they were cutting the helpless riders down by the dozens with each passing second.

 

—-

 

“Those fools! We’re going to lose our horse! If they don’t break out of that encirclement now—where are the [Commanders]? They should know how to escape!”

Reynold groaned aloud as he stared at the entrapped cavalry in the distance. Magnolia’s hands were clenched. She glanced at the two covered wagons and then at the destructive tube artifact.

“Sacra, is there anything we can…?”

“Nothing we have will reach that far Lady Reinhart. And General Shivertail most likely doesn’t have the Skills to help them that far away. I’m afraid they’re lost.”

Sacra’s face was pale as she stared at the slaughter. Reynold turned. Magnolia stared at him anxiously.

“Reynold, you were a [Lieutenant] once. Do you know what they could do?”

“They need to pick a weak spot and break out! There’s ways to slow down a pursuing force while escaping—I could do it myself if I—”

The [Butler]’s hands were clenched helplessly as he stared at the cavalry and then he broke off. His face changed and he turned to Magnolia with a curious, desperate light in his eyes.

“I may be able to save them. Lady Reinhart, may I have your permission to escort these good [Soldiers] to a safe spot? I fear I might place your transportation in jeopardy however.”

Magnolia’s eyes widened. She stared at her carriage.

“Escort them? Go, man! Run!”

He ran. And as he threw himself into the chair and flapped the reins, Magnolia saw the pink carriage shoot across the battlefield. Sacra stared at her mistress, worried.

“Lady Reinhart, is this wise? If we lose the carriage—”

“Sacra. Desperate times call for running people over. With an enchanted carriage.”

Magnolia interrupted her [Maid]. She watched Reynold streak across the battlefield as heads turns and the Goblins noticed him.

“Besides, I’m sure that Reynold will be perfectly civil to the Goblins. He does have a way with monsters. I think we’ve scraped off more [Bandits] from the sides of the carriage since he began driving than we ever did with all my other drivers. He does have a knack.”

 

—-

 

Snapjaw was cutting down Humans on horseback, biting the necks of horses, when she heard a Goblin’s voice.

Fast-fast magic pink death thing coming this way!

That was a loose translation and Snapjaw’s head turned, in confusion. She realized at once what the Goblins meant. The pink carriage of nightmares hurtled towards her group of Goblins and Snapjaw screamed an order.

“Run!”

The Goblins turned too late. The pink carriage moved hundreds of miles per hour, faster than anything else on the battlefield. It splattered the first rank of Goblins and curved through their lines, headed straight for Eggsnatcher, the Goblin [Beastmaster] on top of his giant spider.

The collision between pink carriage and Eggsnatcher’s mount was tremendous. Snapjaw saw several Goblins go flying, thrown by the impact, and then saw the Human [Butler] in the front of the carriage hacking at Eggsnatcher with a gleaming sword. The two traded blows as the carriage turned and sped away. Snapjaw breathed a sigh of relief for all of two seconds until she realized the horrible truth.

The carriage was coming back.

 

—-

 

“This way! Move your mounts you flea-bitten slugs!

Salvia’s head jerked around as she heard the roar of an officer’s voice. But it was coming from the well-dressed [Butler] riding the pink carriage! In any other situation she might have had a few questions to ask, but here the voice of authority was a light in the darkness. She turned her mount and rode desperately.

Behind her the cavalry streamed out of the gap Reynold’s attacks had opened. The [Butler] drover his carriage around the horses, effortlessly weaving the massive vehicle through them, shouting.

Break up! Stop galloping in a cluster or I’ll pull your damned helmets off and feed them to you! Move! I’ve seen wheelbarrows that rolled faster than you worthless sacks of shite!”

The profanity was nonsensical, abusive, exactly what the soldiers needed to hear. They moved, ignoring the Goblin death that was hot on their heels. Captain Salvia saw the [Butler] shift his grip on the reins and then spin the carriage. Quick as a flash he rammed into a group of Goblins that had nearly caught up to her unit and scattered horses and Goblins onto the ground. In pieces.

The impacts had to be taking a toll on the carriage, but the [Butler] kept it moving. He circled the Goblins, hitting the giant spider repeatedly but failing to knock it over. His attacks saved the cavalry, but the Goblins, frustrated by his attacks on them, began to circle the carriage instead.

Salvia was about to order her [Riders] to go back for the [Butler] when she heard him scream a word as he raced away from the Goblins towards an oncoming group of Goblin pikes.

“[Flying Wheels]!”

She turned her head and gaped as the pink carriage began to fly. It soared over the Goblin pikes as they gaped in amazement, up high over the battlefield. It was heading back away from the front lines. Salvia cheered as she saw the pink carriage make its escape, and then saw the Goblin Lord raise his hand.

He pointed, and a midnight bolt struck the [Butler] in the chest. He slumped in his chair and the carriage plummeted into the ground, scattering Humans and Goblins alike as it crashed across the front lines.

 

—-

 

Reynold!

Sacra screamed as Magnolia’s heart stopped. She stared at the [Butler], slumped across the front of the pink carriage as Humans and Goblins alike surged around him.

He wasn’t moving. The Human [Soldiers] were valiantly trying to shield the [Butler] as the Goblins tried to climb onto the carriage. Magnolia’s hands dug into her palms. Was Reynold alive? The Goblin Lord’s spell had hit him squarely in the chest. But he was a high-level warrior and [Butler]! Maybe—

She could see Zel turning towards the [Butler], aware of Reynold’s plight. But the Goblin Lord was closer. And as Magnolia Reinhart watched, he began to move.

“The Goblin Lord is charging!”

A cry went up across the battlefield. The Goblin Lord and his vanguard began charging towards Reynold’s position on the field. Over a thousand Hobs and the Goblin Lord’s personal Shield Spider tore through a group of Humans, overrunning three Rose Knights and burying the Human lines in a sea of green. He was coming for Reynold. He wanted that carriage.

“It’s time.”

Magnolia took a breath. She pointed towards the Goblin Lord and her voice snapped across the battlefield.

In the name of the Reinharts, I order you to slay that Goblin!

To the side, the two covered wagons that had been so curiously abandoned in the mud exploded. Magnolia, Sacra, and Bethal ducked and a [Butler] held a parasol up as chunks of wood rained down around them. And standing in the remains of both wagons, two giants of metal unfolded. A glowing white eye turned to Lady Magnolia and a faceless Golem stood. His hands extended and his ‘fingers’ spread. Five razors splayed out and the War Golem, a full twelve feet of towering magical metal, stormed towards the lines of Goblins and Humans.

Screaming.

Magnolia Reinhart hadn’t been prepared for that. The War Golem emitted a terrifying shrieking sound as it ran—on all fours, like some demented dog—emitting a sound like a hundred shrieking children filled with pain and rage. It drew the Goblin’s attention. And as both Golems rammed into the Goblin’s ranks from the side, they began to fight.

War Golems. Behemoths made from another era. These weren’t Archmage Zelkyr’s personal creations, but they had been made during the same era his Golems had dominated the world stage. They had been made to slaughter enemy armies by the thousands. And that’s what they did.

The first Golem swung a hand full of razors as it crashed into a group of Goblins. It beheaded a group of them and then the glowing white light in its ‘mouth’, the only actual feature on its face turned red. It spat a beam of blazing red light across a rank of Goblins, incinerating everything it touched in an instant. By its side, the other Golem’s body glowed and it began to arc bolts of lightning, which struck nearby Goblins and Humans alike and earthed themselves on their armor.

Goblins fell as the two Golems raced through their lines, straight towards the Goblin Lord. He turned, and Magnolia was glad to see his eyes widen in fear or horror for the first time. He raised a hand and a black [Deathbolt] struck one of the Golems squarely in the chest—

And did nothing. The Golems were neither alive nor dead. They raced towards the Goblin Lord, overrunning even Hobs with their sheer size. He was turning his mount, retreating, but too late. The first Golem was about to leap on him when a gigantic Hob tackled it.

Eater of Spears, one of the Goblin Lords’ lieutenants knocked the first War Golem off-balance. The huge Hob snarled. He was actually shorter than the War Golem was by a few feet! But he began trading blows with the metal behemoth, ignoring the crimson beam that set his body afire. He roared as he fought and the second Golem found itself surrounded by Hobs who beat at the metal monster as it fought to get at the Goblin Lord.

“He’s going to get away!”

Magnolia’s hands clenched. The Goblin Lord was retreating, scattering the Humans who were pursuing him with his black magic as his warriors screened him from the two War Golems. Soon he was well behind enemy lines and Magnolia had to call the War Golems back or risk them becoming overwhelmed in the sea of Goblins. The Goblins weren’t idiots—they were trying to pull the Golems down with ropes and crack their metal bodies with mauls and sledgehammers.

“It looks like General Shivertail’s reached Reynold!”

Sacra cried out as Zel Shivertail reached Reynold’s coach. With the War Golems screening him, the Drake shook Reynold. Magnolia and the others cried out in relief as the [Butler] woke up, looking disoriented. He weakly drank the potion that Zel offered him and then sped away from the battlefield. To Magnolia’s surprise, Zel Shivertail rode with him.

“General! Are you alright?”

Magnolia strode towards Zel, concerned, as Sacra and Bethal helped Reynold down. The [Butler] was very pale, but he was alive, and so Magnolia focused all her attention on Zel.

“I’m fine, Magnolia.”

Zel panted as he wiped sweat and blood from his face. He uncorked a second potion and downed half the bottle, grimacing.

“I’m exhausted. Been fighting—if this goes longer we’ll have to rotate groups, feed the soldiers—but it shouldn’t.”

“How is the battle going?”

Magnolia watched the Drake’s face carefully. Zel turned back towards the battlefield and grimaced. He pointed with one claw.

“It’s still too even for my liking! That damned Goblin Lord—he’s forced us to withdraw those pink [Knights] and he keeps aiming for our high-level warriors! We’re getting pushed too far by the undead—there’s too many of them! [Surge of Strength]! [Scything Arms]!”

He pointed to a group of struggling Soldiers and they began to push forwards, their blades suddenly hacking apart zombies with ease. Zel sighed.

“I’m using my Skills, but it’s a draw so far. I can keep cutting down Goblins all day, but the Goblin Lord’s doing the same and they have more Goblins…those two War Golems are tearing up their flanks, though.”

“I’m ashamed to say I might have used them too early. If I had waited—I was concerned for my [Butler], General Shivertail. I do apologize.”

The Drake shook his head, pouring water over his face and chest as a [Maid] handed him a canteen.

“It was the right call. That carriage was too powerful to fall into their hands. I’d question using it, but your butler saved all our remaining horse—good man. Drop the honorifics, Magnolia. Call me Zel when we’re in the field.”

She smiled, surprised by the sudden change in attitude. Zel looked around, dripping, and his eyes narrowed as he found the Goblin Lord’s form, again entrenched behind his soldiers.

“I don’t like this.”

“We are winning, aren’t we?”

The Drake shrugged.

“We’re cutting down more of them then they are of us…but that doesn’t matter since they outnumber us two to one, does it? I don’t want this to become a battle of attrition, but the Goblin Lord’s realized I’m hunting down his lieutenants. If I can’t get to him or the other important Goblins, this could get ugly.”

He sighed, his eyes focusing on the War Golems as they held a section of the line, tearing up the Goblins around them.

“We should have unleashed the Golems earlier. That was my fault. I didn’t think the Goblin Lord would hesitate to charge in for so long. But if they had gotten him—”

“How do you wish to proceed? Is there a way to corner the Goblin Lord? Or must we simply eradicate his army first?”

“I’m thinking. That trick with the carriage—can you make it fly again?”

Zel addressed Reynold, who had come over. The [Butler] saluted, pale-faced.

“I can, General. But I’m wary of flying it once more—that Goblin Lord is an expert shot. I was attempting to dodge but—”

“I understand. Magnolia, if I propose a dangerous strategy would you lend me Reynold? I can’t guarantee either he or I will survive, but it might end the battle now.”

Magnolia hesitated. She looked at Zel and at Reynold.

“Do you think it will work? Is it worth the risk? What am I saying; it must be if you’re asking. Go! We will support you as best we can!”

“Thank you. Reynold, I need you to drop me off by Thomast’s position first.”

“Yes sir!”

The carriage spun back across the battlefield. Magnolia watched them go and turned to Sacra.

“Do you agree with General Zel’s assessment?”

Sacra ducked her head.

“I do milady. This battle’s had its turns, but neither side is crushing the other. If there’s a way to end it faster, I’d agree with General Shivertail that it’s worth attempting. The longer this goes on the more exhausted our forces become, and the Goblin Lord can start rotating fresh troops in or use his undead. We can’t.”

“I see. Then we must trust—”

Magnolia broke off. There was a group of Goblins approaching her small escort, and she could see more Goblin archers turning towards them.

“Oh dear. It looks like the Goblin Lord has finally noticed us.”

Indeed, Reynolds’s contribution to the battle, not to mention the appearance of the War Golems and Zel Shivertail’s impromptu conference had drawn the ire of the Goblin Lord. His archers sent a shower of arrows flying through the air towards Magnolia’s position. She sighed.

“Bethal? It’s time.”

Both [Ladies] straightened, and as the arrows flew downwards, Magnolia lightly gritted her teeth and whispered a Skill.

“[Deft Hand].”

She reached up and pushed the arrows out of the sky with a flick of her wrist as Bethal used her [Tranquil Skies] Skill to the same effect. It was a thousand times harder than nudging someone across the ballroom or accidentally pushing a [Waiter] so he spilled a drink at the right moment, but Magnolia was a high-level [Lady]. She saw the flight of arrows hit the ground a good twenty paces to her right and sighed in relief.

“Now for the cavalry. Oh, I see we have some of our own coming to our rescue.”

Indeed, a group of riders led by Captain Salvia was racing towards them, but the Goblins would arrive first. Magnolia sighed again, and this time as the Goblins were about to trample over them she raised one hand and flicked it.

“[Polite Deflection]. Shoo.”

The Goblins swerved before colliding with the [Lady] and her escort, much like an unfortunate suitor deflected on the dance floor. Magnolia saw their charge slow, and then her [Maids] and [Butlers] charged into their number with Sacra at their head at the same time the Human [Riders] hit them from behind. The Goblins were routed in a matter of moments and Magnolia enjoyed seeing the Goblin Lord’s baleful stare.

She was a bit disappointed he didn’t try casting magic at her—she’d never reflected a spell with [Deft Hands] before, but she was sure she could send it right back at him with a bit of practice.

“Milady, are you unharmed?”

Sacra returned with blood on her mace and Magnolia gently pushed Sacra back with the tip of her finger before the woman could get blood on her dress. It wasn’t for vanity’s sake either.

“I’m fine Sacra. I know you’d rather have me run around in armor and a shield, but my Skills as a [Lady] only work if I am sufficiently ladylike. And while Bethal may run about in the nude and keep her Skills, I am, alas, a bit more genteel than that.”

“You used to run about naked with me, Magnolia. Don’t act so prim and proper.”

Bethal scowled at Magnolia and both ladies watched the servants push away the corpses of the Goblins with some satisfaction. A [Lady] might be a rose, but a rose had thorns. The Goblins had learned that during the last Antinium War as well.

“Well, enough of this. I want to see what Zel Shivertail has in mind.”

Magnolia turned her head across the battlefield, forgetting about the dead Goblins around her. She spotted Zel as he cut a path towards Thomast. Her eyes narrowed as the two conferred and then Zel headed back towards the carriage.

This was it. Magnolia knew that the Drake was planning something that would end up with the Goblin Lord’s head. It could be a simple ploy or a complex one, but her intuition told her that simple might work far better than complex. Either way, the battle hinged on Zel Shivertail’s ploy.

They were winning. She kept telling herself that. For all his strength, the Goblin Lord had declined to meet Zel Shivertail in battle and none of his best warriors had slowed the Drake [General]. So long as Zel Shivertail remained standing there was hope. No, more than hope, they could win!

So why was she so vaguely uneasy. Magnolia Reinhart didn’t know. She stared at the battlefield as it reached its most critical moment and she edged just slightly to the left. Towards the pedestal with the magical artifact her grandfather had given her on it. A magical tube. It made things explode, or so he’d said. Very dangerous. You could kill a Great Chieftain of the Goblins with it. Or—if need be—

A Goblin Lord. Magnolia waited. It wasn’t as though she had to use it. It was just in case things went south. She just hoped her aim was good. Well, even if it wasn’t it would probably be spectacular.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

4.49

Outside of Invrisil, a battle was being fought between an army of Goblins and an army of Humans. The cold, muddy ground was warmed with blood and fresh bodies. Both sides struggled against each other, shouting, and the clash of arms filling the air. The battle had been long. The battle had been short.

To Osthia Blackwing, held captive in the heart of the Goblin army, it felt as though the battle had gone on for a week, and yet, at the same time, it had felt like it had rushed by in the course of minutes. She estimated that the true length was just over two hours. She had been forced to watch it all, as Goblins crashed into the ranks of Humans with their undead allies.

Crashed and broke. Despite their superior numbers, the thousands of elite Hobs and the presence of the undead, the Goblins had failed to overwhelm the Human army time and time again. And indeed, they had been forced back, humbled by one figure who had made the battlefield swirl around him.

Zel Shivertail.

Now Osthia watched him streak back across the battlefield, carried by a pink magical carriage that scythed across the Goblin front-line, running down any Goblin careless enough to get in its way. She was not the only one with her attention on the Drake [General]. The Goblin Lord sat astride his massive Shield Spider mount, staring at Zel Shivertail with narrowed eyes. He spoke, his voice filled with hatred and frustration.

“Why is he so strong?”

Silence greeted his question. The Goblin Lord’s lieutenants stood around him. Eater of Spears, Snapjaw, the Goblin [Beastmaster]…none could say it aloud. Their numbers had been cut down by Zel already. Now the Goblin Lord’s eyes turned to Osthia. She glared at him, her mouth gagged.

“What is he doing?”

Coming for you. She glared, her jaw working against the tight leather strips holding her mouth shut. The Goblin Lord nodded. He stared at Zel, and then turned to his lieutenants.

“Prepare. He is coming.”

The Goblins shuddered. He was coming. The hero of the Antinium Wars, the famous [General of the Line], the Tidebreaker. Those titles had been just words before. Now they were all too real. The Goblin Lord’s army was superior to the Human one, but the Goblin Lord had yet to meet Zel Shivertail on the field of battle. Now that was going to change.

Osthia could feel it. Zel Shivertail was not the kind of [General] who would risk a prolonged battle against the Goblin Lord, whose army was matched against his. He was coming.

She hoped he knew he was walking into a trap.

 

—-

 

Faces. That was what you saw in a battlefield. Faces. Even if you didn’t want to—at close range, that was all you could see. You saw the enemy as you gutted them with your claws or with a sword. Their faces, sometimes covered beneath helmets, sometimes full of hate or despair. It was easy to see only the enemy in them, but it was strange how there was a person behind each [Soldier]’s face. The Goblins looked like people sometimes.

Zel Shivertail gripped the side of Magnolia Reinhart’s carriage, feeling the wind blasting off his scales. He saw the battlefield flash by him. Hundreds, thousands of faces turned his way. Human [Soldiers], cheering as they saw the Drake [General] flash by, Goblins, drawing back in fear and hatred. Zel glanced ahead and saw Reynold driving the coach with minute flicks of the reins. The [Butler]’s face was pallid and his hands shook a bit, but he was still upright, still driving with impeccable accuracy.

“Good man.”

Zel waited until he saw his target in the crowd. Another man who stood out in the sea of armored bodies. The [Chevalier] Thomast fought in a doublet of red and gold cloth, much of which had been stained a deeper crimson still by blood. Not his. The clothing was probably enchanted, but Thomast had yet to take a blow. The [Duelist] and [Chevalier] fought with rapid thrusts and lunges that took down his opponents before they could strike. He turned as Zel leapt, scattering enemies and allies with his landing.

“Get ready to execute the plan! Turn and pick me up!”

Zel roared at Reynold and saw the coach speed off and turn—into the Goblin lines. Again the green-skinned monsters scattered, screaming and crying out in pain and horror as the carriage crushed them mercilessly.

Monsters. People. Zel turned his head and looked at Thomast. The [Duelist] was breathing heavily, but like Zel, he was ready to fight. They were the highest-level warriors on the field, or so Zel sensed. Funny, he didn’t know if he’d ever said more than a few words to the man.

“I’m turning over control of the left flank to you! Hold your ground or we’ll be overrun!”

“Leave it to me.”

Thomast nodded as Zel pointed, shouting over the roar of Humans and Goblins clashing. There were a thousand things that he could have said. The [Duelist] could have pointed out his lack of experience or Skills in battlefield command, the dangers of turning over strategy to someone else, or simply asked what Zel was doing. He did none of those things and instead turned his attention back to the battle. Zel was grateful. He ran forwards, cut down a charging Hob with a slash of his claws, leapt—and caught hold of the carriage as it streaked by the other way.

Three Goblins had grabbed on as well and had been crawling towards Reynold with daggers in hand. They took one look at Zel and let go. Zel saw their bodies disappear into the mass of Goblins as the coach turned. He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself closer to the front. All the pieces were in a row.

“Let’s do this. You ready?”

Reynold nodded. The [Butler] flicked the reins and the two spoke at once. Reynold uttered a command as the carriage sped towards the edge of the battle.

“[Flying Wheels]!”

Zel felt the coach lift up, and felt his stomach drop. He ignored the sensation and raised one claw.

“[Rapid Maneuvering]! [Hold the Line]! [Vanguard of Steel]!”

He felt the Skills take hold on the Human army below him immediately. Zel looked down as Humans changed formations, obeying orders he had given. Below him, the battlefield began to shift.

 

—-

 

“What’s he doing?”

From her vantage point apart from the battle, Magnolia Reinhart saw the established lines of battle break and Human [Soldiers] adopt a strange formation. They pushed past the undead and Goblins, encircling them from the right with cavalry and infantry alike crashing into the Goblin formations. A thin wave of Human [Soldiers] trapped the Goblins from the right, but so few that they were a single line compared to the green mass that began pushing back against them.

“That cannot be sound strategy. Sacra? What is General Shivertail thinking?”

“He used a Skill. [Vanguard of Steel]—can’t you feel it?”

Sacra turned her head, breathing heavily. Magnolia frowned and pinched herself.

“No, I can’t.”

I can. General Shivertail’s Skill is—look!”

Sacra pointed. Magnolia saw the thin wave of Humans that should have been immediately overwhelmed by the Goblin numbers holding their ground, roaring as they traded blows with the Goblins. She saw a young woman in armor take a sword strike to her unguarded neck. But rather than drop, the sword bounced off her skin.

Steel bodies. Magnolia’s eyes widened.

“I say, how long will the effects last?”

“Not too long. But they don’t need to.”

Indeed, the Goblins were in disarray as their opponents suddenly became immortal foes, almost impervious to harm. They drew back, and Magnolia saw another strange event take place. Pink, armored [Knights] began striding across the battle lines, hacking their way through Goblins, spacing themselves out across the center and left flank where the undead were pushing at the Human [Soldiers].

“He’s broken up my Knights of the Petal again. What is he doing? The Goblin Lord will begin attacking them again.”

Bethal stared as her Rose Knights began pushing the Goblin lines back. Magnolia glanced up, towards a flying carriage moving across the battlefield.

“I believe the Goblin Lord is about to have his hands full, Bethal.”

Every head looked up. They saw the pink carriage flying over the Goblin Lord’s army. A black bolt rose to meet it. Magnolia’s hands clenched as she saw Reynold frantically swerve to avoid it. But then they saw the carriage dip, and dive. A second lance of death magic shot forwards—a clawed hand blocked it. Zel Shivertail clung to the side of the carriage. He was right over the Goblin Lord’s head now. Magnolia saw his arm tense—then he let go and dropped.

 

—-

 

A hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty. The ground—

Zel landed with an impact that knocked the wind out of him. The thud was more like an explosion. He could feel dirt fountaining up around him, feel the crushing pain of impact. For a second the Drake lay there, stunned. Then he moved.

Up Zel rose. A claw shot out and slashed a Hob who’d tried to swing at him, thinking Zel would be too slow to react. Zel felt his claws shear through the Hob’s armor and flesh like parchment. He withdrew his hand and the Hob fell.

Goblins. Zel stood and looked around. There were thousands of them, all staring at him. Many had open-mouths. Some were still staring at Reynold as the [Butler] carried his carriage out of danger. They were stunned, unable to believe Zel had survived the fall.

Strength. Zel’s body hurt a tiny bit from the fall. But he had fallen further and survived. He’d fallen off a cliff once. And the danger of dropping into the middle of an army of Goblins? Zel had fought against Drakes, Humans, Antinium—all without more than basic steel armor and his claws. What was this compared to fighting a Drake Lord of the Wall?

And yet, they stared as if he were the monster. Zel wanted to laugh at them. They were afraid of him for surviving a fall from the sky? This was normal. This was what high-level battles were like. The first breath of air in Zel’s lungs was sweet. He inhaled, and then roared.

Goblin Lord!

His voice caused a hush across the battlefield. Zel turned, staring around for the Goblin Lord’s figure, or that of his spider. He saw neither. The Goblins were moving to surround him. Where was the Goblin Lord? Zel twisted around again as he heard a voice.

“General Shivertail!”

Someone was shouting his name. And the voice—Zel saw a bound shape. A Drake with bright yellow scales was fighting on the ground, her arms and legs bound.

A Drake? Zel stared, shocked. She was an Oldblood Drake. A captive? She’d managed to loosen a leather muzzle on her mouth. Now she screamed at him.

“It’s a trap! Get away, sir! The Goblin Lord—”

She turned and sprayed acid from her mouth at a Hob. He screamed in agony and another clubbed her down from behind with a mace. Zel looked around. All he saw were Hobs. And they had enchanted weapons, wands, bows—

The first arrow Zel blocked on an arm. The other eight glanced off his scales. The bolt of lightning made his side tingle and ache, but his armor caught most of the magic. The Drake turned and caught a sledgehammer blow to the side. He grabbed the Hob who’d hit him and pressed his claws into the Hob’s eyes. Digging deep. She screamed and died.

Turn. A sword slashed across Zel’s face. He felt the tip cutting through his outer scales, drawing a line of blood. An enchanted blade. Zel twisted before it could keep cutting and lashed out. Another killing blow. The Goblins stared as two Hobs fell. Zel wiped the blood from his scales and looked around.

Goblins all around. They closed in, their faces afraid, staring. Zel laughed and spread his arms wide.

For Izril! Sserys and the Drakes!

They were afraid to come to him, so he went to them. Zel charged alone, into the ranks of the Goblins. He cut them down, trying to find a single figure in the midst of the army.

Where was the Goblin Lord?

 

—-

 

“Incredible.”

Sacra breathed the word, her eyes wide. Magnolia saw the blaze of golden-red armor, the sole Drake in the center of the Goblin’s army. Zel Shivertail was a whirlwind, cutting Hobs down as they rushed him from every angle.

It was a sight to motivate the Human army, which was pushing back the Goblins, riding on the momentum of their [Vanguard of Steel] effect. And yet, Magnolia felt nothing but anxiety as she stared into the heart of the battle.

“Where is the Goblin Lord? General Shivertail is alone.”

No one answered. Bethal, Sacra, and the other servants were transfixed, staring at Zel. Magnolia looked around and then kicked Bethal in the rear. The other woman stumbled.

“Magnolia—!”

“Stop gaping and look, Bethal! If the Goblin Lord escapes then General Shivertail will be well and truly cut off. I don’t think Reynold can get back to him!”

It was true. The pink carriage was under attack as Goblins loosed arrows and spells at it. Magnolia knew that the carriage wasn’t that invulnerable—the enchantments might well be breaking. Reynold was already trying to steer it away from the battlefield. She kicked Sacra and gave the same order.

Find the Goblin Lord! We are the only ones who can look!”

The other servants and Bethal turned their gaze to the battlefield. Magnolia stared through the sea of Goblins, trying to connect the Goblin Lord’s visage to the milling crowd of Goblins. It was damnably hard—and not least because the Goblins did look alike at this distance! And yet, he had to be out there. If only she could find out where before he escaped completely. Zel Shivertail had been nearly on top of him and the Goblin Lord couldn’t have moved that far—

A swirl in the army caught her attention. Magnolia saw the Goblins moving slightly, eddying around something. The [Lady]’s eyes narrowed. She was no battlefield expert, but she’d seen more than one ballroom where one person was at the center of attention. She was the attention most of the time.

“There!”

Bethal had seen the same thing. She pointed a finger and Magnolia saw the Goblin Lord. He was dismounted, leading his Shield Spider away through a screen of Hobs. He hadn’t gone more than fifty feet in the chaos and he was moving slowly, confident that Zel couldn’t spot him through the waves of Goblins surrounding him.

What arrogance. For a second Magnolia could almost admire his casual retreat. Then she smiled and a glint appeared in her eyes.

“A shame you and I will never meet in the realm of politics. You might have done better there than on the battlefield.”

Sacra glanced at Magnolia, only having heard the last of what her mistress had said. She stared at the Goblin Lord, her hands clenched on her mace.

“There he is. But how can we get General Shivertail’s attention?”

“Oh, that’s quite simple.”

Magnolia’s fingers raised and she carefully flicked her hand at Zel Shivertail as he cut down another Hob with his claws. She pitched her voice so and tilted her hand as if she was cupping his chin in her hand. She turned her hand and whispered.

Look over there.

Across the battlefield Zel Shivertail’s head turned. Magnolia saw his body jerk and his eyes widened. He stared for a second and then charged into a Hob who was running at him. The Drake lifted one hand as he used the Hob as a shield. One hand, raised in thanks. Then he was charging. And she heard his voice.

Turn and face me, coward!

And the Goblin Lord turned. There was only a hundred feet separating the two as Zel Shivertail and the Goblin Lord locked eyes. The Goblin motioned and a wall of Goblins surged forwards. Zel Shivertail roared and charged.

“Golems!”

Magnolia’s voice was distant but the two War Golems heard. They raised their heads and abandoned their posts, charging into the Goblin army and heading for the Goblin Lord. She heard Bethal shouting at her Rose Knights and saw them slicing into the army. Suddenly, the Goblins were trying to hold back pink [Knights] and a pair of armored giants and Zel Shivertail himself. All headed straight for the Goblin Lord.

To his credit, he held his ground. The Goblin Lord refused to run. He mounted his Shield Spider and began firing black bolts of magic at Zel Shivertail. The Drake absorbed the magic, letting it splash over his enchanted armor, dodging others. Charging.

Unstoppable! The Goblins tried to block him with spears, grabbing at the General, throwing their bodies in front of him. But nothing worked. Zel came on, roaring, and Magnolia saw a pair of Goblins moving forwards to stop him.

 

—-

 

He was coming. Snapjaw’s mouth was dry with fear as she heard Zel Shivertail roaring. He was cutting a path through her people like they were made of grass! And he was heading to the Goblin Lord, her hope, the hope of her people.

He had to be stopped. She ran forwards with Eater of Spears. The two Hobs were ready to die to stop the Drake. Snapjaw raised her enchanted sword.

“Go left!”

She screamed at Eater of Spears. He roared and charged towards the Drake’s left. Snapjaw ran right. She could stab him from behind. She’d poisoned this blade. All she needed was one good strike and—

Snapjaw’s legs carried her past Zel Shivertail as he spun to face both her and Eater of Spars. Snapjaw blinked, tried to turn, and failed. She ran past the Drake [General], unable to turn. It was as if someone was holding her in place! And then she heard a voice.

A Human woman’s voice. It whispered in her ears.

This way, my dear.

Snapjaw fought against the voice, tried to slow her legs. But the voice was powerful and it held her. For three seconds. That was all. But in the time it was too late. Snapjaw turned, weeping, and saw the end.

 

—-

 

There he was. The Goblin Lord was sitting across his giant Shield Spider, only a few paces in front of Zel. The Drake [General] clenched his fists.

A huge Hob blocked his way. Zel looked up as Eater of Spears blocked his path. The Hob was a giant. His face was set, his eyes locked on Zel’s face. The two paused for a second as Goblins drew back, seeing one of their heroes facing the Drake [General].

Zel spoke.

“You can’t stop me.”

Eater of Spears paused. He stared at Zel, his face solid, grim, unflinching. He spoke, a bass rumble.

“Can try.”

He charged forwards, fist swinging fast. Zel leapt forwards as well and the two met in a clash of fist and claw. The Drake [General] slipped around the Hobgoblin’s fist and slashed left-right across Eater of Spears’ chest. He tore the Hob’s front open but the Goblin refused to fall. Bleeding, his body staining crimson, he lashed out and hit Zel in the chest with a mighty punch.

The Drake grunted and spun with the impact. He slashed again—this time Eater of Spears made a sound like a groan and Zel’s claws bounced off bone. His ribs. Flesh sundered, the Hob was too slow. Zel sprinted past him and Eater of Spears fell backwards, grasping weakly for the last healing potion at his belt. Only, Zel had crushed it sometime during the exchange of blows.

Unstoppable.

There was one last wall of Hobs between him and the Goblin Lord. Zel counted. Six—four—three—two—

The last two Hobs fell back, fighting furiously, until they heard a voice. They moved backwards, and Zel saw the Goblin Lord staring down at him. The Goblin was tall as a normal Human man, and proportioned in much the same way. He was no giant, no inhumanly large monster. But then, Velan hadn’t been either.

This Goblin was no Goblin King. But he still faced Zel, unafraid. His hands grasped a black blade of magic. He pointed it at Zel and the [General] opened his crimson claws. They stared at each other for a second.

And then Zel charged. He roared as he came, and in the distance the Human army screamed and shouted. The Goblin Lord charged, and the Goblins around him howled defiance.

The Shield Spider lashed out at Zel, trying to trap him with its legs, biting. The Goblin Lord swung—Zel ducked under both black and legs and found the Shield Spider’s belly. He cut into its center and tore pieces of carapace from its body.

The Shield Spider screamed. It bled as Zel dodged back, a pale blue ichor. The Goblin Lord raised his finger and shot a blast of death magic at Zel. The [Deathbolt] pierced Zel at point-blank range. He stumbled. But did not fall.

“Not enough. [Titan’s Cut]!”

Zel raised his claws and slashed. The arc of his claws traced through the air, and the air itself bent as he cut. An imprint of four claw marks opened up across the Shield Spider’s entire body and it screamed. The massive strike severed one of its legs, crushed another at the base and opened up its bulbous abdomen. The giant spider collapsed in a bloody pool and the Goblin Lord tumbled from its back. Zel walked forwards, claws ready.

The Goblin Lord had fallen behind his spider’s abdomen, out of view. Zel walked around the side, trying to get a good look. He saw a foot—then the Goblin Lord. The Goblin rose, pointing at Zel’s chest—

“[Bone F—]”

[Antimagic Slash]!

Zel’s claws went through a barrier of magic and into the Goblin Lord’s side. He tore—the Goblin Lord screamed as Zel ripped his stomach open.

Blood, red and wet, splashed to the ground. The Goblin Lord stared down at his open stomach and then up at Zel.

“Oh.”

That was all he said. It was such a normal word. Zel nodded. He stepped forwards, his claws open.

Goblins screamed as they saw their leader fall. They swarmed Zel. He turned and cut them down. Regular soldiers, fighting a [General]. He was five steps away from the Goblin Lord.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One—

 

—-

 

Do it!

Gershal of Vaunt screamed the words as he carried Salvia away from her downed mount. His voice joined thousands of others. The Humans roared, cheering.

“Finish him.”

Magnolia clenched her hands as she saw Zel cutting down Goblins left and right. They were all over him, leaping on the General’s back, trying to hold him back—trying to save their Lord. But Zel stepped forwards. He was close. So close. She saw his claws raise—

And then a pillar of white blocked her view. Magnolia blinked. She saw something—a yellowish-white thing—erupt from the ground. A pillar? No, more like a spike of ivory. A wall of bone. Magnolia stared.

And then she saw another. A spire of bone shot out of the ground, implaling a Hob and two smaller Goblins. More bone pillars began rising out of the ground in a circle around Zel and the Goblin Lord. They grew like obscene flowers, stained red with the Goblins they impaled, raising higher, higher—

“Magnolia. What’s happening?”

Bethal stared at the bone walls as they knitted together, forming a dome in the middle of the battlefield. A circular wall of ivory engulfed Zel and the Goblin Lord, blocking them from view from every direction. Magnolia stared. Bethal looked from her to Sacra, her face pale.

“Is it a spell or—”

“I don’t know.”

Magnolia whispered. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. She stared at the dome of bone. It couldn’t be the work of the Goblin Lord. If he could cast that spell he would have done so before Zel reached him. But if not him, then there could be only one other person who cast the spell.

Az’kerash.

And now Magnolia truly felt afraid. She stared at the ivory wall as Goblins began to bang on the impenetrable bone with their weapons. She turned to Sacra.

Get me all the [Mages] you can find! Open that dome now!

 

—-

 

Zel twisted as he saw the bone spires rising from the ground. He saw the Goblin Lord’s eyes widen, and felt that sense of unease at the back of his mind spike into bells of alarm. He turned, ignoring the Goblin Lord, and saw the walls of bone close, obscuring the sky overhead. Suddenly, everything was dark.

Only his enchanted breastplate shed any kind of light in the enclosed space. Zel eyed the smooth ivory walls, wondering if he could break them. Then he felt…something.

Magic. It was a palpable presence at times, when great spells were cast. Zel could feel it being concentrated here, a tingling on his scales. He looked around and saw the air shimmer.

It wasn’t a tear in space, or a portal. It was more like a bridge or an—opening—that someone stepped through. The air twisted, and a shape stepped out of the shadows. Zel saw a bone-white woman, no a woman made of bone, a giant wearing bone armor and holding a sword and shield step out. She stared at him with green eyes that blazed with undead light.

And she spoke. One word.

“Venitra.”

The air moved. Zel turned and saw more shadows flickering, becoming people. Four more figures stepped into place. A skeleton of black bone, dressed in a [Mage]’s robes. The flames in her eyes glowed gold as she twirled the staff in her hand.

“Ijvani.”

A woman, a rotting corpse walked out to Zel’s left. By her side, a strange figure dressed in a trench coat, a humanoid creature with no face, features concealed by a hat.  The rotting undead spoke for both of them.

“Bea. And Oom.”

And the last, a Gnoll dressed in armor. His eyes glowed blue. His body was dead, but for the light in his eyes he might have been alive. He was powerful, taller than Zel, and he had a sword that glowed with magic in one hand. He spoke last, his voice deep, booming in the enclosed space.

“Kerash.”

The five undead stood in the dome. Zel’s heart was pounding in his chest. He stared from face to face. They had entered this place with a spell. Not [Invisibility]. He would have sensed it. No, the spell, the way they seemed to appear—[Teleport]? [Greater Teleport]? They had to have used an artifact.

There was no time to ask what was happening. No reason to either, really. Zel looked from face to face, and focused on Kerash. The undead Gnoll raised his sword and pointed at Zel’s chest.

“Surround the Drake.”

The five undead moved around the dome, trying to flank him. Zel backed up until his back was at one of the bone walls. Bea and Oom took his left side, while Venitra and Ijvani his right. Kerash stood in front of him. The five undead readied themselves, waiting. Zel eyed them as he shifted, his stance low, his claws open.

Five. Each undead was clearly unique. They all radiated danger, but—he appraised them quickly.

Venitra, the undead bone woman was clearly some kind of [Knight]. She looked like a kind of golem. Dangerous, but not unbeatable. The skeleton by her side—the way she held her staff reminded Zel of something. Had he met her before? She was a spellcaster, but that too was manageable.

The real threat was coming from Zel’s left. He had no idea what the rotten ‘Bea’ could do, but all his instincts screamed at him not to let her touch him. As for Oom—Zel risked a glance and saw a featureless, smooth face. Oom’s body was black, almost translucent, and the way he stood—the trench coat and hat were concealing something. He had no face. Was he even humanoid?

Kerash was the last. Zel thought he was a Draugr of some kind. They were powerful, hard to kill and strong, but it was only the enchanted sword that could hurt him. Get rid of that and—

Too many. Zel knew he was tired, but even if he had been rested, five high-level enemies at once would be—his eyes narrowed. He glanced towards the Goblin Lord, but the Goblin was trying to hold his guts in. Good. Even a healing potion wouldn’t heal that quickly. He had been shocked to see the bone walls go up. So he hadn’t planned this.

“So you’ve sent your minions to do what you’re too afraid to do in person, Az’kerash?”

The undead shifted when Zel spoke their master’s name. As if they were surprised. But who else could it be? Zel looked from face to face. Yes, who else?

“It seems you’ve planned this well. Did you plan on stabbing me in the back or were you always hoping that I might walk into a trap like this? Come out and face me yourself, coward. I know you’re watching.”

His words made the fires in the eyes of the undead glow brighter. Zel watched the bone woman—Venitra’s—eyes blaze bright green. So they could feel emotion. That was important to know.

A cold, precise voice filled the air in the dome, echoing. Zel had only heard Az’kerash speak a few times, but he could never forget that voice.

“I had intended to slay you at Liscor, but circumstances forced me to abandon that plan. Nevertheless, a strategy may be utilized again. My apprentice was the crux of this trap, though he did not know it. I am afraid I have little time to risk myself in battle, General Shivertail. It is my children you fight today. And it is they who will claim your life.”

That voice. Zel snarled, twisting around. But the Necromancer wasn’t here. He was speaking through his minions.

“Too afraid I’ll kill you a second time?”

Again the undead servants rustled. Az’kerash had called them his children? What had he done in the years since the Second Antinium War?

“Hardly. My battle was never with one individual. I wage war with Drakes, with species as a whole. The living are my enemy, Shivertail. You do not merit my presence. My creations are enough for you. Each one is a masterpiece, unique among their kind. Look upon them and despair, for they are your betters.”

“So you say. But you sent five.”

Again, Zel studied the undead. They had names; they had some kind of personality—were they Revenants? Spirits bound to flesh? Yes, they had to be. But two of them bothered Zel. Ijvani—he could have sworn he’d seen that staff before. Zel’s eyes widened as he recognized it.

“Ikriss.”

The flames in the skeleton’s eyes flashed at Zel’s voice, and Venitra shifted. The Necromancer’s voice was amused.

“Yes. You encountered Venitra and Ijvani before. A shame neither one managed to accomplish their tasks. Tell me, how did you realize I was still alive? It seems you were…informed of my survival before now.”

His voice was…probing. Zel lied as he tried to think. The bone walls were meant to hold him. Cutting his way out while the undead attack from behind was suicide.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. Your illusion spells aren’t as potent as you thought. And you have enemies.”

“Only naturally. But was it Magnolia Reinhart who told you I was alive, or someone else? I had suspected she was aware of my deception. Did she warn you about me, or had you known before that?”

There was a pressure in the air that made Zel want to talk about Ryoka. Truth spells. He bit his tongue and focused on the other undead. Ijvani was one thing. But Kerash? The undead Gnoll was clearly the leader, but there was something else about him.

Draugr weren’t too dangerous to Zel. They were strong, but there was a limit to their strength. They couldn’t exceed the capability of their bodies in life. So unless this Gnoll had been particularly powerful, he wasn’t as dangerous as, say, Venitra. But that name—

“Are you really Kerash, the Gnoll Warrior-Chieftain who died over a hundred years ago?”

Zel addressed Kerash. The Gnoll shifted his grip on his sword, his eyes never leaving Zel’s face.

“I am my master’s loyal servant. That is all you need to know before you die, Drake.”

“Well spoken, first of my Chosen.”

Az’kerash’s voice was approving. Zel’s eyes narrowed. So. Kerash. That might be…his eyes flicked again to the five undead. What were they? Assassins? Vanguards? But why have them at all?

“Children, you said? You created these horrors, Necromancer? That’s strangely sentimental for someone who uses the undead as disposable tools.”

“Hardly. These are my champions, my chosen few. They are created to be superior to all other undead, to lead and instill despair among my foes. You gave me the idea for them, in fact. After my defeat and ‘death’ in the last war I reflected on my weaknesses. These five, my Chosen, are my answer to that flaw.”

An answer to a flaw? But the Necromancer’s greatest weakness was—Zel’s eyes widened. He murmured out loud as the pieces fell into place.

“So that’s why you made them. I see. They truly are your masterpieces. Your…hope. And if I crush them, your plans are set back, aren’t they?”

There was a pause. Az’kerash’s voice did not reply. Zel smiled as the undead shifted. When the Necromancer did speak, there was a twinge, the slightest sense of uncertainty in his voice.

“Enough of this! Kerash, finish Zel Shivertail off.”

“Yes, master. Everyone, on my mark. Attack as one.”

Kerash’s voice rumbled as he gripped his sword with both hands. Venitra raised her shield and both Oom and Bea took a step forwards. Oom’s hands were in the pockets of his coat; Bea’s rotting palms were turned towards Zel. Ijvani raised her staff.

Silence. The five undead and one Drake waited. For one eternal, immortal moment, there was nothing but the pumping of Zel’s heart, the burning eyes of the undead. Then he saw Kerash’s mouth open. Zel moved before the undead could speak. He sprinted right, into Venitra and Ijvani and slashed.

“[Lightning Slash]!”

Ijvani cried out as Zel raked a claw across her arms and ribs, slicing across her black bones. Zel grunted as he hit her bones—they were metal, or coated with it! He recalled the same sensation as when he’d fought her the first time. But his slash had cut deep across her ribs and sent her stumbling back. Zel turned and saw Venitra rushing at him, ready to stab.

“[Bonebreaker Headbutt]!”

Another Skill. Zel stepped forwards and smashed his head into Venitra’s. He heard a crack, and saw her stumble back. Zel whirled, and sidestepped as Kerash charged him with his sword. Zel kicked and the Gnoll stumbled. He would have leapt on Kerash and torn the sword from his hands, but Oom and Bea were on his left, and Zel moved away rather than let either get close to him. They were just approaching. Were their attacks touch-based?

He turned, looking for Venitra, and saw a black, skeletal hand. Ijvani pointed with her staff and uttered a spell.

“[Blackfire Fireball].”

And then there was flame. Zel roared as the flames engulfed his body, burning every exposed part of him not covered by armor. He struck at Ijvani but she was already fleeing. And then Venitra crashed into his left, stabbing. Zel stumbled, regained his footing and pushed back as she tried to bowl him over.

The two titans struggled as Oom and Bea circled. And then Kerash was closing in with his sword. He stabbed Zel in the arm as the Drake fought. The [General] turned and roared again. But he was alone. And outnumbered.

 

—-

 

Bring down that dome!

Sacra screamed the order and over a hundred [Mages] blasted the dome with spells from afar. Humans, a few half-Elves, and Goblins. Both armies were trying to crack the shields of bone, although the Goblins had switched to a defensive strategy to keep the Humans from nearing their Lord’s last line of defense.

Or so they assumed. Magnolia knew this had to be the work of the Necromancer. She stared as the rain of spells and enchanted arrows ceased.

“Nothing. Not a scratch.”

The bombardment hadn’t left a mark on the ivory surface, just cleaned it of the Goblin blood staining the outside.

“It’s impenetrable! Focus your attacks elsewhere! I want covering fire on our [Knights]! Take down that Crypt Lord!”

Sacra ordered the [Mages] to begin targeting Goblins. Magnolia knew it was the correct decision, but she would have rather kept trying to bring down the dome. Zel Shivertail could be in peril—

No, he was in peril! She knew it. Magnolia cursed, and saw a shape flick into the shadows behind her.

“Ressa, give me the weapon.”

Magnolia raised her hands and Ressa put the strange tube that her grandfather had given her into her hands without argument. The [Maid] stood behind Magnolia, her maid’s uniform covered in blood.

“Are you sure?”

“Zel Shivertail cannot be lost! Hold on, I’m aiming!”

Magnolia snapped as she raised the tube. She was no [Markswoman], but the dome was a big target and she felt like accuracy was not a requirement. She hesitated as she felt the magic contained in the artifact.

“How did grandfather Regis say to activate it? What was the command spell? Thaurmodesium?

Thaurmodenasium!

“Yes, that! Thaurmodenasium! By my command, fire or—”

Magnolia felt the tube warm slightly, felt it kick in her hands, and heard nothing.

Precisely nothing. A cone of silence had burst from the tube. Magnolia felt it leave her hands and stepped back as the tube floated in place. It was a simple metal tube, inscribed with glowing runes on the inside and outside. Now these same runes glowed brighter and brighter, so brightly that they became a beacon.

Heads turned. Goblins and Humans alike stared as the tube glowed, and then emitted a series of—sparks. A few paltry sparks jettisoned out of the front of the tube. Magnolia stared as they flickered forwards and turned to Ressa.

“Is that it? Because if it is, I’m going to the family estate and burning it down—”

Ressa gripped Magnolia’s arm and pointed. Magnolia turned her head back just in time to see the sparks of lightning continue forwards. They were just flickering bits of energy, but for some reason, they neither earthed themselves nor dissipated. Instead, they hung in the air, and changed.

They became…diverse. Or perhaps they created more copies of themselves, because the air was suddenly dancing with bolts of lightning. They played over the Goblins and Humans in front of the tube, making the soldiers yelp and drop their metallic weapons. And then, from the tube, there came more lightning.

It was like lightning had come to life. Magnolia stared as a dragon made out of lightning took wing, emerging from the tube and flying forwards. She saw ships made of lightning, proud warriors and [Knights]—it was a light show! The lightning danced over the heads of both the Human and Goblin armies, making soldiers look up in awe. And as the Dragon soared overhead, doing absolutely no damage to the Goblin army, it left a trail of words in the sky.

The script was elegant, cursive, and hard to read. It was a different writing script than Magnolia had ever seen, but ancient as it was, it was still perfectly legible.

 

From the armories of the Emperor of Storms: a gift. To his enemies, see light and sound, ever fleeting, the wrath of the skies. Behold the advent of lightning.

 

And then there was light from the front of the tube. Magnolia blinked at it. The opening of the tube glowed and that was the last thing she saw for a while. She felt the impact as the air shattered, though. It threw her backwards and only Ressa catching her saved Magnolia from breaking her neck.

A bolt, a beam, a cascade of lightning burst forth from the mouth of the tube, cutting through the bemused ranks of Goblin soldiers and some of the Humans too close to the radius of the blast. The lightning did not fry those it touched—rather, it vaporized them. It left a trail of melted ground and smoke around fifteen feet wide as it shot across the battlefield. It hit the bone of dome—

And cracked it open. The bone splintered, the Necromancer’s magic broke. For a second, Ressa could see six shapes struggling in the darkness—then the magic of the lightning flashed around the opening. It obscured the rest, as the tube earthed its charge on the dome of bone.

It had been broken open, but as the shock of the spell reverberated across the battlefield she could see the walls of bone shudder and begin closing. The spell was reassembling itself.

“No! Get in there! War Golems, go to General Shivertail’s aide!

Magnolia struggled to get up. She thrust away Ressa’s hands and stumbled upright. Her ears were bleeding, her vision still blinded. Still she pointed. And the War Golems, cutting through the Goblins, turned.

They charged, shrieking, racing across the ground. Goblins raced to stop them, screaming. The first War Golem blasted them with a beam of fire. The second blasted the rest with lightning, far less powerful than that of Magnolia’s artifact, but still strong enough to shock and kill.

Go, go!

Magnolia screamed the words, Ressa holding her back. Across the battlefield, the Goblins were screaming the opposite.

 

—-

 

“Stop them!”

Snapjaw raced at the second Golem, seeing Goblins with chains and rope trying to slow it. But the massive beast was unstoppable. She grabbed a chain and felt herself being dragged along. Lightning blasted her, travelling down the chain. Snapjaw felt her body shaking, saw flashes—she hung on.

Goblins seized her from behind. Two more Hobs grabbed a chain. Snapjaw saw them jerk as they held on. One Hob spasmed—she could see him dying as he held the chain. His heart—hers was fluttering, stopping. Still, they dug their heels in the mug.

Stop!

The Goblins had formed a chain twenty bodies deep on each rope, but the War Golem had only slowed. It was still moving forwards. Still moving—

A shape blocked its way. Eater of Spears roared as he charged into the War Golem. He swung a fist and the massive metal monster punched back. It’s dagger-fingers sank into the giant Hobgoblin’s stomach, tore. Eater of Spears roared in pain and Snapjaw tried to drag the War Golem back.

The rift in the walls of bone was closing! They just had to hold the Golem—hold it—

Snapjaw wasn’t sure when the next bolt of lightning stopped her heart. She saw everything flash—found herself lying on her back. She sat upright, saw the Golem pounding Eater of Spears down. Saw him hold on to its legs.

The first Golem was at the opening. It pushed inside as the bone began to flow around it. The second threw aside Eater of Spears and raced for the opening. It crashed into the gap, made it halfway inside—and lodged in place. The bone covered it, entrapping the struggling Golem. It fought, and then, slowly, began to die. The magical dome was crushing its insides, bending the enchanted metal of its body. The Golem stopped moving and Snapjaw saw the bright light in its mouth dim and go out.

It was dead. But one of the Golems had entered. Snapjaw hoped it would be enough. But she had no idea what was going on inside. She only knew her Goblin Lord was alive.

The rest was a mystery.

 

—-

 

Zel Shivertail was alone. He had been alone before. But never like this.

The undead surrounded him. Venitra cut at his left—Kerash his right. Zel blocked with his arm and leg. Both blades bit into his flesh. He roared and slashed at Kerash—a wall of oozing gelatin blocked him.

“Eat him, Oom!”

Bea cried out, circling Zel, afraid to get cut by his claws. Oom extended his ‘arm’, letting Zel’s claws sink further into his body. The Drake roared as he felt his scales burning and yanked his arm out.

“My second eldest creation, Oom. He was made to destroy you, Shivertail.”

Az’kerash’s voice was calm as the undead continued their attack. Ijvani blasted Zel with a spray of something black that tried to obscure his vision—he blocked it with his hand, and kicked at Venitra as she charged. But the bone woman was so heavy—her body was solid bone and the momentum of her change carried her in to him. She knocked Zel over and he grunted as her sword stabbed towards his head.

“Not—”

He threw her off her with all the strength he could manage. A sword stabbed at his breastplate and failed to penetrate his armor. Kerash slashed at Zel’s head and again the Drake blocked with an arm as he rose. More blood—another cut—the blade was terribly, terribly cold, but Zel could handle the pain.

What was worse was Oom. The undead creature had tangled around his legs, engulfing them. Zel tried to break free, and failed. Ijvani scorched him with another fireball made of black flames.

“Slimes! It’s not undead, it’s a damned—”

Zel roared as Oom tried to engulf him. He swung a fist and part of Oom’s body sprayed outwards, but the rest kept sticking to his body. The Necromancer’s voice was amused.

“Indeed. An Acid Slime, given sentience and far more power of course. It is rare for such a creature to form naturally, but a simple matter for me. Oom is your natural enemy, Shivertail.”

The acid was burning Zel, and if Oom covered his mouth, he’d be in Zel’s insides, suffocating him. Zel heaved and part of Oom splattered across the bone walls.

“Not yet.”

He moved his feet, but they were still stuck. Now Venitra and Kerash were on either side. Venitra swung and this time her blade cut deep into Zel’s arm. He staggered and Kerash sliced into his leg. Both blades hit bone.

Falling. Zel felt it. He twisted, reaching for a potion at his belt, but Oom was pulling him down again, trying to hold his arms. He had to—Zel felt more fire burning him, opened his mouth and felt it scorching his body. And Bea was reaching for him with a rotted hand.

And then the wall exploded. Zel felt the impact, felt something lift his body, Oom, and all the undead and throw them into the far wall. He slid to the ground, stunned, and then got up.

“What—”

There was daylight! Something had blown open the wall of the dome! Zel saw shocked Goblin faces turning towards him and heard the Necromancer’s voice.

“How—what artifact was—Kerash! Do not let Shivertail escape!

His voice was urgent. Kerash and Venitra threw themselves in the way of the gap. Zel charged and his fist collided with Venitra’s shield. For the first time in that battle, Zel ran up against something he couldn’t push back. Venitra struck at him with her sword and he dodged left. The gap was closing! Zel ran at Kerash, not caring if he took a blade to get out—

And then Oom abandoned his trench coat. He surged out of his clothing and into the gap, creating a wall out of his body. The slime formed a wall and the undead created a wall in front of him. Zel halted. He stared at the undead and thought for a second.

Then he backed up. Kerash stared and Venitra lifted her sword uncertainly. She took a step forwards, but too late. Zel had a potion at his belt and was downing it.

“Stop him!”

Ijvani tried to cast a spell, but Zel sidestepped the bolts of lightning. The undead wavered, but if they moved they would have to abandon the closing gap to the outside. Grimly, Zel downed two more potions, feeling his wounds close and his body surge with energy.

And the gap closed. He couldn’t escape. Oom and the four other undead flowed away from the gap as it narrowed. Then Kerash’s head turned.

“What is that sound? Oom?”

Zel heard a shriek. The slime turned—and was splattered as one of Magnolia’s two War Golems surged into the gap. It turned, its glowing mouth appraising, and immediately slashed at Kerash. The undead scattered.

The gap in the ivory walls closed. Zel saw another Golem racing at the opening, saw it get caught—he was already leaping at Ijvani.

“Golem, cover me!”

He roared at the War Golem as it slashed at Venitra and Kerash. The two warrior-undead scattered to either side, blocking the Golem’s sharp dagger-fingers and cutting at its legs. Both their blades cut into the Golem’s enchanted body more easily than Zel’s flesh.

Help me!

Ijvani screamed at the other undead as Zel savaged her with his claws. He was trying to destroy her head, but her bones were tough and she was blocking with her staff. He ripped one arm off and then felt a cold stickiness engulf his left arm. His scales began to burn at the same time.

“Oom! Hold him so I can touch him!”

Bea dashed forwards. Zel kicked at her and she stumbled back. She was least agile of the undead. But she managed to distract him long enough—Oom finally managed to engulf Zel’s torso.

“Finish him, Oom!”

Kerash roared as he cut at the Golem’s legs. The Golem was on its knees—it couldn’t handle the onslaught of both undead at once. Zel saw its mouth glowing red and shouted.

“Golem—fire on me!

The War Golem looked up. It focused on Zel and he saw a fiery inferno grow in its mouth. The fiery laser erupted from its mouth and blasted Zel and Oom as they stood locked in place.

Oom!

Bea screamed. The undead woman lurched forwards. Too late. The slime screamed, a soundless wail as the fire blasted its body apart. Zel felt Oom’s body vaporize around him. He stumbled, felt his scales flaking off. But his hands were reaching. Where—

There. He found a core in the slime’s body. A mana stone, his heart. It was large, as large as Zel’s fist. Oom’s gelatinous body wriggled around it, burning Zel, trying to infiltrate his body, burn it. Zel gripped the stone tightly.

All four undead were staring at him. Bea raised one hand. Her eyes were wide. Why had Az’kerash made her so much like a normal Human woman? Her voice shook.

“Don’t—”

Zel’s grip tightened. Oom screamed as the mana stone broke. And then there was silence.

The slime dripped from Zel’s body as he stood. The Drake swung his arm and the acid that had been Oom’s body splattered across the ground. He tossed the shattered mana stone to the ground and looked around.

The War Golem collapsed as Kerash drove his enchanted blade into the back of it’s head. Venitra rose, her shield smoking after having blocked a second fiery beam. The four undead stared at Zel Shivertail.

He was burned. His arms screamed—he could feel his bones cracked in places, feel the acid eating at him. But still Zel stood. He looked around at them, the confident undead, now, suddenly aware of their mortality.

“That’s one. Who’s next?”

“Oom.”

Az’kerash’s voice was a hiss. Kerash raised his sword as he and Venitra flanked Zel again.

“You will pay for that.”

Venitra’s voice was deep. Zel laughed at her.

“Venitra, don’t rush in!”

Kerash stopped Venitra before the bone woman could charge at him. The Gnoll pointed.

“Ijvani, lock down the Drake’s movements. Venitra, cover me.”

He advanced, sword at the ready. Zel gritted his teeth as Ijvani tossed a spell at him. It was some kind of ooze—like Oom it stuck to whatever it touched. He got some on his leg as he pivoted to dodge—Kerash slashed at Zel’s eyes and was blocked. Venitra charged with her shield and Zel scored her twice across the chest with his claws. He could cut her body! But the strikes weren’t deep and the impact jarred his hands. Zel snarled, raised his claws.

“[Rending—]”

And Bea touched his body.

It was quick, just a touch on his arm. But the instant her pallid flesh made contact with his, Zel felt a hot flash run down his arm. And then—a terrible uneasiness.

He whirled, seeing Bea’s hand stretched towards him. The undead woman had lunged at him, ignoring the danger. Zel’s claw took off her arm as she tried to retreat. But the second touch felt just as bad as the first. And as Bea stepped back there was a sense of…satisfaction in her eyes.

“What was—that?”

Zel sensed the other undead moving back. He grabbed at his belt and shattered a potion bottle as he smashed it over his arm. The liquid splashed across the spots Bea had touched him at. But instead of healing the spots she’d touched, the burning sensation ran down Zel’s arm. And—pain.

“Excellent job, Bea.”

Az’kerash’s voice sounded satisfied again. Bea picked up her arm and retreated. The undead watched Zel as he clutched at his arm. His arm and his claws hurt. Whatever the burning was, it was spreading like wildfire. Why? Because of the touch?

No, because of the potion. Zel realized his mistake too late. Healing potions healed most things, but they weren’t cure-alls. They couldn’t regenerate lost limbs, and they could only heal what a normal person could be expected to get through. That was because they amplified a body’s healing process, made it faster. And while that worked on damaged flesh and bone, it didn’t work on—

“Plague.”

Bea spoke the words mockingly. Zel coughed, and stared at the blood on his claws. His lungs burned as the magical disease coursed through his body. He looked around. The undead grinned at him. Four mocking eyes. Zel closed his and straightened.

Then he smiled. The undead hesitated. Zel opened his claws as he tossed his belt and the healing potions to the ground. He nodded to them, and clenched one fist.

“Well then. Let’s end this, shall we?”

He charged Venitra first, ignoring the blade she stabbed into his side. His claws were sharp. And there was nothing holding him back anymore.

 

—-

 

The battle had been long. The battle had been short. To the Goblin Lord, it felt as though the battle between Zel Shivertail and the undead had gone on forever. He knew it couldn’t have been more than…no, how long had it been?

Five minutes? Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It continued. Zel Shivertail whirled, striking left and right, refusing to let the undead regroup. They had burned him, cut him, smashed his bones, poisoned him, infected him—and yet he stood.

The Goblin Lord had seen it all. He had lain where Zel had fallen, clinging to life with his own magics as the undead and the Drake battled. Now, he desperately uncorked a healing potion, one of the ones Zel had dropped and poured it over his stomach.

His organs began to heal. The Goblin Lord pushed them into his stomach, trying not to scream as Zel cut at Venitra. The Drake [General] was gasping, his green scales mottled with the disease as it spread unnaturally fast. Part of his body was simply black with ash and soot—his scales were flaking off. Yet still he attacked. Venitra raised her shield as the claws slashed across them. Zel hit her with a punch that cracked her pristine face.

“You dare—”

She cried out in outrage as fracture lines ran from one cheek. Venitra swung her sword and Zel grabbed it.

Weak!

He roared as he yanked the blade away. Venitra abandoned her shield and raised a massive fist. She swung and Zel punched. The Drake’s fist shattered her nose. His next blow cracked her bone chest plate.

The Drake lifted Venitra, her entire massive body and threw her at Bea, who’d been sneaking up on him from behind. The blow sent both female undead tumbling to the ground and Bea’s body broke as Venitra landed on her. Zel turned and Kerash’s sword lanced into his shoulder. Zel’s slash opened the Gnoll’s chest, exposing his ribs.

“[Blackfire Fireball]!”

Ijvani fired the same spell again, engulfing Zel in flames, giving Kerash a second to retreat. Zel turned, his body blazing, and kicked Ijvani. The skeleton broke into pieces and crashed to the ground. Venitra struggled to her feet and Az’kerash’ voice spoke in the silence as Zel paused a moment to gasp for air.

“Still?”

The Goblin Lord could hear Zel’s lungs wheezing for air. The Drake took a step towards Kerash and stumbled. The Gnoll backed up. His chest hung open, the dead flesh severed. Venitra raised her sword unsteadily.

“Hold.”

The undead paused. Az’kerash’s voice was sharp as Zel coughed more blood up.

“[Flesh Regrowth]. [Mend Bones]. Venitra, support Kerash! Your role is to take his blows not charge in alone! Ijvani, advance! Use more powerful spells to decimate the area—the other three will survive your magic! Bea, attempt to find the Drake’s back!”

“He’s still standing, master! He shouldn’t be—he should be dead by now!”

Bea cried out as she circled Zel. The Drake turned to face her, his eyes burning. He was slowing though. The Goblin Lord could see it. And yet, it was Zel who made the first move. He slashed at Bea, cutting into her stomach as she leapt back. Again, the contact with her body made whatever infection that was coursing through Zel intensify, but he ignored the spreading stain on his claws. He stood and beckoned at the other undead as they circled him warily.

“Come on. Come on! I thought you were supposed to be monsters!”

His eyes blazed beneath the blood and burnt scales on his face. Again, the four hesitated. But they attacked as one, moving in perfect unison.

Venitra low, Kerash high. Bea from the left, Ijvani from the back. Zel cut Kerash and seized Venitra’s head. He twisted and the bones forming her neck began to crack.

Weak!

Again Zel roared the word. Venitra managed to loosen his grip on her and stumbled back. The undead retreated as Zel swung at Ijvani, staring. Zel stumbled.

“You cannot win this battle, Shivertail. I am impressed you are still standing. But—”

“Four left.”

Zel regained his balance and grabbed Kerash’s blade as it swung at his head. His claws bled as the enchanted metal dug into his claws. He hit Kerash in the face, bashing the Gnoll’s face in. Kerash stumbled back. Bea leapt at Zel and he kicked her. The tip of his foot pierced her abdomen and he stomped her to the ground. She gasped.

“Your minions can’t kill me.”

Zel rasped as he ground Bea’s body underneath his foot. She was grabbing at his leg and he was ignoring it. Venitra and Kerash attacked with Ijvani, but Zel refused to budge.

“You think you understand strength! I am the shield of the Drakes! I am a [General]! And a general does not fall!

He bent and cut Bea in two. She gasped and stared at her lower half, separate from her torso. Zel turned.

“Three!”

He charged into Venitra, trading blows with the bone knight. It was she who fell back, cracked and broken. Zel ignored Kerash as the Gnoll cut at his back. And the Goblin Lord moved.

Slowly, ever so slowly he rose. His body was weak, and he had no more magic for a spell. But Venitra had dropped her sword as Zel continued his assault. The bone blade was heavy, but strong. The Goblin Lord grabbed it stealthily.

Drake!

Kerash was dueling Zel as Venitra fell to one knee. He was falling back—Ijvani was cowering, her body nearly torn to bits. The Goblin Lord crept up on Zel from behind, sword raised. He aimed for Zel’s neck as the Drake beat Kerash down with blows that cracked the undead Gnoll’s shoulders and arms. Wait…Zel’s claws were on Kerash’s head. He began to twist—

Now. The Goblin Lord leapt forwards. Zel turned, fast as a snake. He kicked the Goblin Lord and the Goblin felt his ribs crumple from the blow. He fell, gasping, as Zel flung Kerash backwards.

“Idiot.”

He coughed more blood out as he kicked the Goblin Lord before he could go for the sword again. Kerash stumbled up—Zel’s fist cracked his skull.

“Now.”

The Drake [General] was slowing, but he still charged Venitra as she came at him. The two grappled, desperate, Venitra’s body breaking. The Goblin Lord tried to get up. He grabbed the sword and slashed at Zel’s legs. The Drake grunted as the blade pierced his thigh. He turned, grabbed the Goblin Lord and raised a claw as he shoved Venitra back. The undead woman stumbled, and the Goblin Lord looked into Zel’s eyes.

“I—”

Someone moved behind the Goblin Lord. He saw Zel’s eyes widen, felt the Drake release him. Too slow.

“[Diamondshard Spray].”

A hand rose and pointed. The Goblin Lord felt something flash past his face—tear through one of his ears. Zel stumbled. Glittering shards of diamond shot through the air, some as long as daggers, tearing into his face, his body. The Drake turned towards Az’kerash as the Necromancer raised his hands. He moved.

“[Accelerate Spell]. [Stone Lance].”

Zel’s head twisted. The Goblin Lord saw a flash, felt the impact on the far wall as the lance of stone broke. And as Zel Shivertail turned his head back, the Goblin Lord saw part of his head was missing.

“[Deathblast].”

Again, the Necromancer pointed. This time the black magic that washed over Zel was a wave, far stronger than anything the Goblin Lord could create. It sapped the last of the Drake’s energy, rendered his body stiff. Az’kerash pointed, at the Drake’s chest and uttered the spell again.

“[Deathblast].”

The dark magic struck Zel. He stumbled, his leg moved—stopped. He stood in place, eyes vacant.

“[Deathblast].”

There was no light in his eyes. The Goblin Lord wanted to cry out. Treachery! He had attacked from behind! But that was how Goblins fought. And yet the Necromancer…Az’kerash’s black eyes were locked on Zel’s own. The Drake’s gaze was unmoving.

[Deathblast].

The fourth spell was the last. Zel didn’t move as the spell struck him. Az’kerash lowered his finger then, and looked around.

“Ah, my apprentice. Your timing was quite useful. For that distraction I thank you.”

The Goblin Lord stared up at his master, at Az’kerash. The Necromancer was here. Here. He must have used one of his Scrolls of Greater Teleport to come here. The Goblin Lord knew he had only eleven left. No—four now. He had spent those valuable artifacts for this.

For Zel Shivertail. The Necromancer turned his gaze back to the Drake. Zel Shivertail stood in place, part of his head simply…gone. He had dodged the worst of the Necromancer’s spells, but a shard of diamond had taken his left eye. And his body was burnt black in places, cut from a thousand blades, and discolored from where Bea’s plague touch had spread.

And still, he had fought through it all. And if the Necromancer had not come at the last—the Goblin Lord looked away.

“Master!”

A voice interrupted the silence. Bea crawled towards her creator, her body badly damaged. The Goblin Lord moved away from her as she dragged her torso towards Az’kerash. She was holding a broken stone in her hands.

“Ah, Bea.”

Az’kerash greeted her with obvious satisfaction in his voice. The undead woman did not share his joy. She held the pieces of Oom’s mana stone in trembling hands.

“Oom! He’s dead, master. Can you—is he—”

“Gone.”

The Necromancer’s voice was cold and dispassionate. Bea stared up at him, her legs separated from her body, cradling what remained of Oom.

“But he fought! Master—”

“I warned him to safeguard his mana core at all costs. He was foolish, allowing that War Golem to damage him so. No, perhaps it was Shivertail I underestimated. Or was it the capabilities of my Chosen? Venitra, Kerash, rise. I am disappointed in you both. And perhaps you most of all, Ijvani, how is it you failed to damage Zel Shivertail in any meaningful way throughout the battle?”

The other undead, the Necromancer’s Chosen, began to rise, shamefaced. Venitra had to have Kerash’s help to stumble upright.

“Master. We are grateful.”

Kerash’s voice rasped. Az’kerash eyed him.

“You are badly damaged, Kerash. I must restructure your body when we return to the castle. All of you. Prepare yourselves for transit. I will destroy the enchantment protecting this place momentarily. Ijvani, you will make your way back with an invisibility spell; there are no more scrolls of teleportation.”

Yes, master.

The Goblin Lord stared at the black skeleton as she stumbled away from the others. Bea still pleaded with her master.

“Master, what if I took the fragments back? If I put it in Oom’s special place, maybe—”

“He is gone, Bea.”

Az’kerash’s eyes flashed with annoyance and the undead woman shrank back. He turned, his face displeased, and then relented as he looked towards Zel again.

“Ah, General Shivertail. What a formidable opponent you were. Perhaps if you had been a touch faster in battle, or escaped Bea’s touch a moment sooner, I might have reconsidered arriving myself. But for all your strength in life, you will be the finest of my servants in death. For that I thank you.”

He walked over to Zel, his hands reaching out to touch the Drake’s chest. The Goblin Lord saw Zel’s eyes flicker, saw the Drake’s claws move.

[Antimagic Slash]!”

The cut was fast. It scythed through the almost-invisible aura of protection around the Necromancer’s body, cut into his neck—but only just. Zel was too far away. His claws only opened the Necromancer’s throat. And as the Necromancer staggered back, his black eyes wide with shock, Zel collapsed.

“What—”

The Necromancer’s throat did not bleed. He covered his pale flesh and stared at Zel. The Drake looked up at him, fallen, unable to move. Just looked.

“Return! Apprentice, finish the Drake! Secure his corpse!”

Az’kerash’s voice snapped. He grabbed for a scroll at his side and vanished. The undead around him stared at their master—Ijvani disappeared in a pop as she cast [Lesser Teleport] and the others fled, pulling out scrolls of their own. The Goblin Lord looked around, stunned by the sudden absence of the other undead.

“Hah. Hahaha. Coward.”

Zel Shivertail lay on the ground, laughing. He was still alive. Somehow. The Goblin Lord could see into his head, but the Drake still clung to life. His eyes turned to the Goblin Lord.

“I’m sorry.”

The Goblin Lord said it as he knelt by Zel’s side. He stared down at the Drake, seeing how the enchanted armor had failed in places. The magical metal had been melted in one place, pierced in two. Zel Shivertail stared up at the ivory ceiling overhead. The enchantment was breaking up—the dome was collapsing in places, letting sunlight in.

The Goblin Lord could hear Humans and Goblins shouting outside the dome in confusion. There was still a battle going on. But in this moment he only had eyes for Zel. He felt he should say something.

“I’m sorry. It was not a worthy death. Cowardly. It was—”

He got no further. A hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. The Goblin Lord choked, tried to move back. He couldn’t. Zel Shivertail sat up, his grip crushing the Goblin Lord’s throat.

“I’m not dead yet.”

He stared at the Goblin Lord with his one good eye. It blazed with a strange light. How could he still move? How could he—the Goblin Lord was choking.

“I could kill you. It would be so easy.”

Zel Shivertail said the words casually. He stared at the Goblin Lord, and then, suddenly, released him. The Goblin Lord stumbled backwards, gasping for air.

“I don’t feel like it. Not anymore.”

Zel stared ahead. His head was—blood dripped from the missing part of his head. His voice was distant.

“I feel so tired. So this is how it ends? Funny, I always thought it would be—quicker.”

He turned his head. The Goblin Lord stared at him. But Zel was no longer looking at him. The Drake [General] looked ahead, and his voice was very distant.

“Sserys, old friend. I couldn’t lead them. I couldn’t inspire them like you did. But I tried. I wonder, would you say this was a job well done? I couldn’t kill the Necromancer, in the end. I only got one of his minions. And…”

His voice trailed off. Zel’s head drooped. His voice was lower. The Goblin Lord moved forwards to hear. Zel’s voice was a whisper as he looked ahead, looked at the past.

“My mentor, my friend, wings of my heart, did I do a good job? Defending our people? It was so very difficult without you. Will I see you, I wonder? Will you say I did a good job or a bad one when we meet?”

“You did.”

The Goblin Lord spoke, his voice trembling. He reached out, hesitated. He spoke, as gently as he could.

“You did. You protected them. Your people. You did it. It was a good job.”

Zel stirred. His eyes focused on the Goblin Lord’s face and he frowned.

“I’ll let Sserys tell me in person, Goblin.”

He stared at the Goblin, and then smiled. It was such a strange thing that the Goblin Lord nearly smiled back. The Goblin brushed at his eyes and was surprised to find water on his claws. Zel looked at him.

“Do you have a name?”

“No. No name. Just Goblin Lord. Apprentice. Goblin.”

The Goblin Lord sat next to Zel as the dome broke. The Drake looked up at the sky. He sighed.

“How strange. Everyone should have a name. It doesn’t seem right. You—should have one.”

The Goblin Lord was silent. Zel stared up, blood dripped slowly from his wounds. And then stopped.

“How about Reiss? It’s a proper Drake name. If I had a son—Sserys always talked about wanting to raise a boy and name him that.”

Reiss. The Goblin Lord stared at Zel for a second. The Drake laughed.

“Take it if you want it. I don’t think Sserys will mind. And—no, never mind.”

“I will. And I will avenge. Avenge you and my people. I swear it. The Necromancer will die by my hand.”

The Goblin Lord looked at Zel. The Drake eyed him, and then shrugged.

“Good. I hope you do it. But I won’t be around to see it. And truthfully…I would have liked to…”

His voice trailed off. Reiss looked into Zel’s eyes and saw the Drake’s vision had gone distant again. Zel whispered as the Goblin Lord wiped at his eyes again.

“A good job. Did I do it?”

He laughed once.

“I suppose I’ll never know. But I did try. I did—”

Reiss waited a long time, but Zel never finished his sentence. He sat there, the last traces of laughter still on his face. The Tidebreaker stared up at the sky as the walls of ivory finally broke and both armies could see into the dome at last.

There was just silence at first. Reiss sat with Zel, head bowed, until he realized that it looked like both he and Zel were dead. He stood slowly, and heard the Goblins roaring. But from the Human side there was no noise.

There was only silence. Then the Goblin Lord heard a groan from the Humans. It sounded like something living had been torn from them. He saw the armored ranks of men and woman falter, saw some fall to their knees and others begin to weep. The news dawned on the army slowly as they saw the Goblin Lord standing over the distant form of their [General].

Zel Shivertail was dead. The Tidebreaker had fallen.

And the Goblin Lord had slain him.

It was not the truth. Reiss wanted to scream it out loud. But he couldn’t. And the Goblins roared as they saw the fallen Drake and their victorious leader. They streamed towards him, screaming, staring in awe at the fallen Zel Shivertail.

“Dead! Dead, dead, dead!

Snapjaw shouted the words in triumph. She and the other Goblins were fighting to get to the Goblin Lord, offering potions. One Goblin reached to push Zel Shivertail aside. Reiss whirled and shouted.

Stop!

The Goblins froze. The Goblin Lord looked around and pointed to Zel Shivertail’s body.

“Leave body. Anyone who touches, dies.”

They stared at him, and then at the fallen Drake. Reiss wiped at his eyes. He said one word.

“Withdraw.”

He turned and walked away. Uncomprehending, the Goblins stared at him and then followed. Reiss the Goblin Lord led his army away as the Humans stared at the slumped figure in shining armor. They wept, and the cry went up. It echoed across the battlefield, across the city of Invrisil, and out onto the rest of the continent. The words shook the world.

 

—-

 

Magnolia Reinhart wept as she retreated from the battlefield. Ressa, beside her, was dry-eyed, but her hands were tight on her mistress’ arm as she guided Magnolia away. The Lady Reinhart spoke only once as they retreated behind the procession bearing the Tidebreaker’s body away from the battle.

“I am offering a hundred thousand gold coins. No, I will offer a million gold coins or whatever artifacts I own. Spread the word among the Assassin’s Guilds, in every part of the world. I will have the Necromancer dead, Ressa.”

“Yes, milady.”

 

—-

 

A’kerash strode through his castle, his damaged servants, his Chosen trailing after him. They were four now, and they dared not speak to him. The Necromancer had triumphed today, but that victory was hollow as well.

“Oom’s death was unfortunate.”

That was all Az’kerash said as he halted in front of his rooms. The four undead looked at him. Bea’s face was a mask of grief. The Necromancer looked at each of them and then away.

“I see I have overestimated your capabilities. Or perhaps underestimated that of my foes. The next generation of your brothers and sisters will lack your weaknesses.”

They bowed their heads. Az’kerash turned.

“I will repair you all shortly. Rest, and regain your strength. I have need of you yet. I have eliminated one of my greatest foes today.”

He turned and smiled bitterly. And from his castle, the same words were repeated. They broke upon the Walled Cities, and shattered the hearts of the Drakes. The end of a legend. The death of an era.

Fear for the future.

 

—-

 

The news struck Liscor like a wave. Grief-stricken Drakes stood in the streets, weeping, and the Gnolls were little better. Zel Shivertail was dead. The hero of the Second Antinium Wars, the shield that had protected Izril for so long, had fallen.

In The Wandering Inn, Klbkch saw Erin weeping at the counter and Lyonette slumped at a table. Mrsha was howling from the top of the inn. He turned, and left the building.

Klbkch did not weep. The Antinium did not cry. He slowly walked through the streets of Liscor, hearing the horns blowing, seeing grief in every corner. He walked into the Antinium Hive and heard a hush. The Workers and Soldiers did not understand the grief and fear, yes, fear that gripped the hearts of those above.

Well, that was their nature. Klbkch descended through the tunnels, walking by memory, and came to a large room. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked down at him.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“My Queen. Has the artifact been installed to your satisfaction?”

“So it seems. The Courier delivered it to the door of the Hive this morning. I have placed it here.”

The Queen indicated a mirror made out of black glass, a tall frame that was far too small to reflect her entire body. Klbkch stared at it. It did not fit in this room, but it was a powerful artifact and there were few good alternatives.

“Have you activated it yet?”

“No.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium stared at Klbkch as he slowly walked over to the mirror. He placed a hand on it and the surface rippled. It changed. Instead of reflecting the Queen and Klbkch, the surface swam until it was reflecting another room.

It was quite similar to the one Klbkch stood in. The only difference was that this room was carved of stone, and there were quite a number of tunnels leading to and from this cavernous room. And the Queen in the center was far, larger than the Queen of the Free Antinium. She was massive, bloated, and rested on a huge dais in the center of the room. She stared towards the mirror.

“Klbkchhezeim? The connection is strong it seems. How fares the Free Antinium?”

“Zel Shivertail is dead.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. The Grand Queen of the Antinium went still. In the frame, Klbkch saw one of the Antinium gathered around her turn. Xrn stared at him. The Grand Queen was silent as she stared at Klbkch. Then her mandibles parted and rose.

“Good. We have much to do, Klbkchhezeim, my Queen of the Free Antinium.”

She waved a languid feeler. The Antinium turned to face Klbkch, and the Grand Queen spoke.

“The Goblins are moving once more. The Humans stir for war. The Drakes have lost their shield. And the Antinium will rise.”

Klbkch nodded. He stared at the Grand Queen of the Antinium, and his hands tightened on the hilts of his sword. He said only one word.

“Perhaps.”

 

End of Volume 4.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

 

So, we come to this at last. At last, the volume ends. And I had planned to write this last chapter directly before the break. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t. Perhaps it would have been better had I not had the break.

We’ll never know. But it is done, and the world is changed now. Zel Shivertail is dead. And what follows will be…different.

This is the darkest end to a volume, and speaks of what is to come. And yet, and yet, our story is about Erin, about hope, and about more than just war. But it does feel like war and conflict threaten us despite our best hopes. As in this world, so in ours.

Thank you for reading. I had a good break, and I think it was appropriate—I hope to take a week long break after every end of volume, if only to recharge a bit. I have a lot of ideas for the next volume and a lot of story yet to come. Some of it will be tragic, some horrific (hopefully not due to bad writing), other parts hopeful, or sad or silly or…

Thank you all for supporting the story, whether it be from pledging or talking about it, or simply reading. I have a lot I want to do, from releasing the e-book to fixing typos and plot points and adding a glossary. I have a lot to do, but what I start and end with is this: writing. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I have a lot more to tell.

See you soon. I’m back to writing and Volume 5 begins in two days. I’ll put the monthly side stories poll up soon too, and maybe another short (non-canonical) piece side story I wrote during my vacation. Thanks for reading as always,

–pirateaba

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

The Depthless Doctor

Author’s Note: I wrote this chapter as a non-canonical side story for my grandfather. He is a fan of the story, and while I don’t ever intend to write in real people as characters, or write fan-characters into the series, this was a birthday present.

Bear in mind this is a story written for fun, a myth if you will. The main character will never appear in the story, but legends about him might be mentioned. However, the other details about the story, the lore of the world is true.

Our hero, the mysterious Captain Ad, is not my grandfather. But there is a bit of him in Captain Ad. Truth and myth are intertwined with each other, and perhaps only the [Bards] can tell where fact ends and legends begin. Hope you like the story!

 

On land, it is often said that each continent has a claim to the title of the greatest. Citizens of all five continents argue over such things as if it matters. For instance, in Izril, the Drakes will proudly boast of their Walled Cities, pointing to these relics of an era when Dragons flew through the skies as a marker of greatness. The Humans on Izril speak more quietly of a land won by steel and magic, a place where they bow to no [King] or monarch—a place to be free.

Of course, were you to go north to Terandria you would hear much the opposite. The people of the myriad kingdoms on that continent think of their enduring generations of rulers as a treasure, and point to their ancient castles and ruins as a symbol of their status. Too, Terandria is the only home to Dwarves, those master-craftsmen of metal and stone. A place where legends remain. Surely that alone speaks to Terandria’s greatness?

Perhaps though, that is not the measure by which a land can be judged. The enduring folk of Chandrar must survive arid lands and the might of the largest desert in the world bar none—yet that hardiness leads Chandrarians to declare themselves the true survivors in a soft world. They scoff at the soft lives led by those in Terandria and Izril, and are in turn sneered at by the people of Baleros. For what is a harsh land to that of one where war is both a way of life and economy?

And Rhir…the less said about the struggle of those desperate people, the better. But woe to any who might suggest Rhir somehow falls behind the other four continents. The citizens of Rhir claim with some accuracy to be the most courageous, most resilient and stubbornly hopeful of all five continents.

And so the debate continues. From every land, every species will shout their greatness. Much to the amusement of those who have no home on land of course. Greatest continent? It is a laughable joke to compare such tiny specks of earth to the infinite depths of the sea. There is but one land under the waters of the world, and it is more terrible and more awe-inspiring than anything above it.

The sea. The only land where cities have yet to be built in great number. A vast abyss from which monsters emerge that Gold-rank adventurers and Named Adventurers can only dream of in nightmares. This place is the home to the Drowned People, the damned souls who have given their bodies to fuse with other creatures and breathe water as freely as air. Drowned People, the rumored Merfolk, [Pirates] and [Sailors] who merely float on the surface of the ocean, all call the sea home.

But they would never claim to rule it. No. Go down far enough and the sea will engulf you. The abyssal depths stretch deeper than any mountain, so deep that there are places magic itself begins to fail. The deep ocean is a place where an Archmage would find her magic lacking, where the greatest of [Warriors] would find his strength worthless. It is so dark down there, and one can sail for days, weeks, months, without seeing anything in the darkness.

But it is not always quiet. There are songs in the darkness, if one but has the courage to listen.

Most do not. To listen to the siren call of the blackness is to invite madness or worse—sanity. So the crew of the Kraken’s Horn made it a policy to cover their ears as they worked. This crew of Drowned Men and Women had sailed for many years in such places and knew what measures must be kept.

Maintain the bubble. Deafen the ears. Shine no lights above decks. Speak no word of ill against another crew. Such were the litanies of the crew. Each rule was sacred, inviolate.

Maintain the bubble. That was first and foremost. While each of the Drowned Men and Women—former Humans fused with the aspects of crabs, fish, or other sea creatures—could breathe underwater, the crushing pressures they sailed at would smash their bodies into pulp, as well as their ship, in seconds. Were it not for the magical wards that formed a protective sphere around the ship, the Kraken’s Horn would be gone in a moment.

So each sailor checked the runes on the ship and watched the mana stones to make sure the enchantment was not failing. That was their first rule. The second was for safety and sanity. Listen not to the whispers and songs of the ocean. Many a crew had vanished or slaughtered each other when the ocean had talked to them in the depths of their paranoia and fear.

As for the prohibition against lights—more safety. Light attracted attention, and attention underwater was the last thing any sailor wanted. Horrible things craved the light and sought it out.

As for the last rule, it was just common sense. A crew was a crew, and while a crew could brawl and fight over the smallest of issues, the instant it began turning on itself it was finished. It might seem incredible to the land folk that a crew could go for months without quarrel, but that was the law of the sea and the sailors of the Kraken’s Horn usually obeyed this last law without fail.

But today, the arguments between the [Captain] and [First Mate] of the ship came perilously close to breaking that rule. The two sometimes [Sailors] and sometimes [Pirates] strode along the broad deck of the ship, talking in hushed voices.

For them, that was shouting. It was an unspoken corollary to the rule of no light—keep your voice down. Noise travelled far in the waters, after all. But some things had to be said above decks, rather than down in the hold where they might be heard.

“—Ridiculous! I won’t hear of it.”

“She’ll die if we don’t go up, Captain. Or the babe will.”

“We’re tens of thousands of leagues from any port, and that’s without the risk of surfacing so quickly. And for what? A squalling babe? I won’t have it! We’d starve ourselves for your mission of mercy, Rendala. No more arguments!”

The [Captain] was a big, swarthy Drowned Man, as befit a man of his rank. He had once been a huge Human with a beard like a fireball—now his left arm and part of his chest were translucent and elastic. He had merged with a Blackwater Jellyfish, and his body was part monster.

Some might have seen the [Captain]’s tendril-like arms as a weakness, but the poison contained in the [Captain]’s body made up for any defects in appearance. He could paralyze a whale with a touch and his body could heal from wounds that would cripple normal flesh. Now he was staring with no little ire at his [First Mate].

She had been a Gnoll. Only, like all Drowned People, she had merged with a monster. In her case it had been a swordfish and she had lost her arm but gained an unparalleled cutting weapon on her right side instead. It was a tradeoff many would consider not worth the cost, but such was the nature of Drowned People. They did not choose their destiny. The ocean claimed them.

Rendala didn’t speak like most Gnolls did, with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ endings to her sentences. She had left her tribe as a child and like all of the crew of the ship, she spoke like a sailor.

“Captain, she’s fit to bursting. And the babe’s difficult—you know it’s already half fish! She needs a [Healer] or she’s like to bleed to death in the hold. And what would we do then? Jettison her body? That’s no way to do a sea burial and the blood would have predators in the water in minutes.”

“So we do what? Try and surface? Even if we survived moving up that fast there’s little to no chance we’d find a [Healer] out on the open ocean.”

“It’s standard for all ships to have a medical officer. And we wouldn’t be in this place if we had a [Doctor] on board, Tugrim!”

“Bah. Old Sawlegs never did more than hand out healing potions. We have enough on board—why not use them?”

Captain Tugrim had sailed his vessel for over a decade and served with Rendala as his First Mate for over half that time. Still, he couldn’t ever recall her giving him a look with as much scorn as she did now.

“Childbirth ain’t that easy, Captain. There’s ways to lose a babe or the mother that no healing potion’ll fix. Or if it does fix the problem—it’ll fix it wrong, as if the child weren’t ever there. There’s a reason why [Midwives]’re employed when we have magic and potions about.”

The Drowned Captain growled under his breath as he stalked the deck. His footsteps echoed eerily in the silence of the ocean depths around him. He kept his voice to a low hiss as he replied.

“This is all that damned idiot’s fault! Who goes to sea when they’re pregnant?”

His words wavered treacherously close to violating the law of the sea. But Rendala kept her mouth shut. She understood Tugrin’s feelings, she really did.

“I’m not saying it’s right! But you’ve a duty to your crew now.”

“Aye, but it’s the crew I’m thinking of. The crew or the crew, Rendala. What’s worth more, a life we might not save or an empty hold?”

The Drowned Gnoll fell silent. Tugrim was right. Their ship, the Kraken’s Horn, wasn’t an easy vessel to keep repaired and afloat underwater or above it. The mana stones they used to power the ship’s bubble cost hundreds of gold coins and the crew needed pay. Added to that, there were the costs for oil, food, the supplies of healing potions and other enchanted items…

To pay the costs, the crew were [Pirates] of opportunity, [Scavengers] and [Treasure Seekers] whenever they passed by a sunken wreck, and occasionally honest [Sailors] carrying cargo as well. Right now they were on a trawl for sunken wrecks on their way to a Drake port city on the south-eastern coast of Izril. Surfacing would mean going back the way they’d come, costing them precious days in time and resources.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this. We should have turned back the instant we found out.”

Rendala shook her head. Her fur became scales halfway down the side of her neck on the left side. She gestured with her sword-hand.

“It was too late by then. She’d pretended for too long. Sea’s salt, how could we not see it? The vomiting in secret, the eating—”

“I thought she was just getting fat. The depths does that to the best of [Sailors].”

“Well, there’s little more it can do at the moment. Right now it’s us. Up or onwards, Captain?”

Rendala looked at Tugrim, waiting. The [Captain] paced along his decks, navigating in the near-pitch black darkness more by memory than sight. He walked heavily towards the bow of the ship, back along the main deck, and then spun and went towards the bow again. When he walked back, shoulders heavy, Rendala knew what his answer would be.

“We surface, First Mate. And may the seas have mercy on us if a larger fish senses us. We’re too far from a safe zone, but we must ride the Rower’s Currents if we’ve any chance of getting her to safety in time.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll give the orders.”

The Gnoll woman saluted in relief. It would cause trouble along the ship and no doubt a few unkind words spoken in the privacy of the crew’s heads, but she would gladly take that squall than face a death of both a mother and child on board without anything being done. Besides…the thought of what the blood of childbirth might attract in these depths made Rendala shudder.

She and Tugrim were about to head below decks when they sensed a change in the sea around them. The waters were so black this deep that only the faint light from the runes on the ship itself provided any sort of illumination. So finely trained were the eyes of the two Drowned Sailors that they could see in this blackness. And now the blackness was growing brighter.

“Captain—”

“I see it. Quick, towards the wheel.”

Tugrim and Rendala crept towards the stern of the ship. Neither Drowned Sailor reached for a weapon—their weapons were their bodies. Rendala’s sword-hand cut the air in small circles as she crouched low, keeping an eye out for something—anything—in the blackness.

What could it be? Angler Ghouls? Phantomlight Sharks? A light-based leviathan? All she knew was that if trouble came calling, they had to be close to the wheel.

There was a [Sailor] at the wheel. There always was—it was known as the Ghostwatcher’s Time. The ship needed no real direction most of the time—the [Sailor] on duty simply had to watch out for oncoming obstacles. But the mind would play tricks, so you’d see phantoms coming up on you in the distance. The trick was separating the illusions from a real threat approaching in the murk.

“Sailor. What do you see?”

Tugrim approached the half-squid Drowned Man at the wheel. The man turned, his beard a mass of wriggling tendrils and replied, eyes wide.

“Nothing, Captain! Just a light. Growing brighter?”

“Headed this way? Avoid it!”

“I have! Twice I’ve turned and twice it follows.”

“Then we’re hunted. Rendala, prepare to shout the alarm.”

Tugrim seized the wheel and turned the ship. Not away—there was little use running from something locked onto them. They had to see the threat before they judged whether it was worth the noise of fighting—or fleeing. Rendala nodded as she prepared to yell. A loud voice would wake the entire ship in this silence.

“It’s getting brighter!”

Now the glow was an almighty shine. Rendala had to squint to see, but she could tell the light was coming from something ahead of her. Not too big…which was a relief if it was a monster. But what was that light?

“Ahoy! What have we here?”

There was an exclamation, a sharp intake of breath as Tugrim saw something in the depths that Rendala could not. He spun the wheel and she heard a splash as something breached the bubble of the ship.

“Hold! Who are you? Answer or we attack!”

Tugrim roared into the silence as he faced the source of the light. Rendala raised her sword-arm, staring into the blinding glare. And then—suddenly—the light winked out. In the darkness the spots in the Gnoll’s vision took a few moments to clear. Then she saw him.

Standing at the edge of the bubble surrounding the Kraken’s Horn was a man. He was standing on top of a metal…tube. It was some kind of vehicle—a metal contraption of steel that had opened to let him climb out. The vehicle was beyond strange, but it was the man who drew Rendala’s gaze.

He was dressed in some kind of uniform, a pristine white cloth. He had a white cap with some kind of gold insignia on the front—hardly a proper [Captain]’s hat like the swaggering broad-cut monster of a hat like Tugrim wore. And yet, he was clearly part of some army, albeit one neither Tugrim nor Rendala had were familiar with. Two black epaulets with gold tassels sat on his shoulders along with four black stripes. He stood erect, his back straight as a rod, and his eyes—ah, his eyes.

They were the eyes of the deep itself. Piercing, unwavering—they bore a hole into the three stunned [Sailors] as the Human man descended off his strange vehicle onto the deck of the ship. The maniac glare the man gave Rendala and Tugrim was at odds with his calm voice

“Hello.”

They stared. The man with the steely eyes waited for a response. When none was forthcoming he spoke again.

“My name is Captain Ad. This is my submarine.”

He gestured towards the metal vehicle he’d emerged from. Rendala stared at it.

The black metal contraption was as foreign to First Mate Rendala as any eldritch horror she’d seen dragging itself across the sea bed. It defied her understanding of how a ship should be. And yet, the long, oblong shape, the way it sat in the water rather than swam—it had its own symmetry, its own grace.

And clearly, it could move about the depths without an enchantment of its own. That alone gave her pause, and clearly made Tugrim think twice about a rash move. She could see her Captain shifting and knew he was ready to lash out with his poisoned hand should this strange ‘Captain Ad’ prove dangerous.

“The Peace of the Drowned upon you. I am [Captain] Tugrim of the Kraken’s Horn. What business have you in these waters? No—what foolishness led you to shine a light this far down?”

The question seemed to puzzle the other Captain. Ad stared around, his burning gaze making the other Drowned Sailor flinch.

“It was dark. Darkness needs a light. Or how else would I navigate?”

“You’d sooner end up in the belly of a monster like that!”

The lack of common sense clearly shook Tugrim. He gestured to the submarine, his eyes on Captain Ad’s face. He didn’t dare meet the Human man’s eyes—the piercing stare was too much even for Tugrim’s seasoned years.

“Either you’ve a deathwish or your strange ship can destroy titans, stranger. Which is it? And why did you seek me out?”

“I had a feeling I was needed.”

Once again, Captain Ad gave an incomprehensible reply. Tugrim exchanged glances with his First Mate—it was Rendala who responded.

“What do you mean, a feeling? What is it you do?”

Rather than answer, Captain Ad’s gaze once again swept the ship. He spoke in a distant voice.

“Is there, by any chance, a pregnant woman on board your ship? I have a Skill that senses them.”

Rendala’s eyes widened. Tugrim swore a sailor’s oath.

“Storm waters take me! How did you—”

“I’m an [Obstetrician].”

Captain Ad replied coolly. Tugrim paused.

“A what now?”

“An obstetrician. I deliver babies. If you have a pregnant woman on board, I can help her give birth.”

“Truly?”

Rendala’s skepticism was warring with a sudden hope. Tugrim took a step back, his eyes narrowed.

“Now hold on. How can we be so sure we can trust—”

Captain Ad turned his paralyzing stare on Tugrim and the [Captain]’s words died in his mouth. Slowly, Ad reached into a pocket. Rendala tensed, but the man just took out a strange, long, cylindrical object out and put it into his mouth. She stared.

It was a pretzel. Ad mistook her look and pulled out another.

“Want one?”

“No. No, I—”

“Take me to the patient. Time is running out.”

Rendala hesitated and Tugrim gave her a look. But they had no choice. She beckoned, and Ad strode after the Drowned Sailors, still chewing on the pretzel.

“I have toffee if anyone wants it.”

 

—-

 

Below decks, the crew of Kraken’s Horn were in a small panic. They were clustered outside one of the cabins where the pregnant female [Sailor] had been housed. Until this moment only ghastly groaning noises had echoed from that place and it had been avoided by all but Rendala and the [Cook] who brought the poor woman food. Now Rendala, Tugrim, and the rest of the crew peeked around the doorframe as Captain Ad tended to his patient.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

Tugrim glared at Captain Ad, breathing heavily. He was protective of his crew, but pale-faced, ill-at-ease in this situation that called for neither steady hands nor a heart of steel. Well, actually, it called for both things, but Tugrim would have happily fought a Kraken naked in a lifeboat than be called on to assist a birth.

Captain Ad nodded. He’d eaten his pretzel and now donned a pair of white rubbery gloves.

“I told you, I’m a medical officer. And this is my patient. Let’s see how she’s doing. Miss, breathe slowly for me. In, out, in, out…”

It had to be his soothing voice that calmed the pregnant [Sailor]; it definitely wasn’t the piercing glare he trained on her. And yet, despite the sudden appearance of this intense, strange man, Rendala saw the young pregnant woman calm down a bit, and after a cursory inspection Captain Ad straightened and nodded.

“She’s due any minute now.”

Nothing could have thrown the crew of the ship into a worst panic. Nothing, except hearing the pregnant [Sailor] cry out and realizing the pregnancy had shifted from being imminent to in progress. Screaming occurred, and only some of it came from the mother-to-be.

And yet, there was an icy void of calm amidst the chaos. Captain Ad calmly delivered the baby with the help of the ship’s crew, ordering Drowned Men and Women to bring hot water, tools from his submarine, scissors of all things—

Rendala watched with a mixture of horror and awe as the baby was born. Tugrim fainted as the head poked out. But in short order it was done, and Captain Ad held up the squalling infant and regarded it.

“It’s a…hmm. It’s a…well, it’s got scales. And tentacles. And a beak.”

“Is he—is the curse—”

The weak mother struggled up. She was afraid. All Drowned People were, to give birth. The ocean’s taint on their bodies could pass on to their children in odd ways. But when she saw her son she cried out and took him from Captain Ad with trembling hands.

“He’s beautiful.”

“That he is. We can’t thank you enough, sir. What can we—”

Rendala was about to ask how they could repay their mysterious savior when she heard a shout from above. Her blood ran cold.

“Leviathan to port! All hands! Leviathan!”

A monster of the depths had found them. The jubilation below decks ended in a moment. The Drowned Child wailed as the [Sailors] scrambled above decks. What they saw terrified Rendala to her core.

A fish thrice the size of her ship was circling them, its wide, gaping mouth showing rows of teeth as it eyed their vessel through a set of multi-colored eyes along its length. It looked like a salmon if you mutated it, gave it wings like razors, three more eyes on each side, a serpentine tail, teeth—actually it looked nothing like a salmon at all.

It looked like death, though. The sea monster had noticed the Kraken’s Horn, that, or it had heard the noise or seen the light in the waters that Captain Ad’s arrival had prompted. Either way, it was here and there was only death now.

Captain Ad had strode onto the decks after Rendala. He was the first to break the horrified silence. He calmly put the pretzel in his mouth, staring up at the giant fish monster as it opened its jaws wide, wide, trying to engulf both ships.

“Well, darn. That’s big.”

The moment was broken. The [Sailors] scrambled across the decks, shouting, firing the magical cannons towards the fish. Rendala scrambled across the deck, towards the steering wheel. The First Mate screamed at Captain Ad as she furiously turned the wheel of her ship.

“Run! We’ll all be eaten by that damned thing if we hang about!”

There was a gas petal by the steering wheel that allowed the ship to rise and sink as need be—she was pressing with all her might to get it to rise as the sea monster swam closer, maw closing in on her ship.

She had to get her ship away, even if it meant abandoning Captain Ad’s ship to the depths. But the man was already swinging himself into the hatch of his vehicle. He gave her a reproachful look as he paused with the hatch’s lid in one hand.

“There’s a time and place for foul language, Miss. And that’s never. I have a plan.”

She stared at him. Captain Ad was turning his submarine. She could hear his voice, echoing out of the sub as he turned it to face the giant fish.

“Now look here, you. I’d reconsider anything you were planning to do. Turn around, swim away, and we’ll all go home happy. Understand?”

The gigantic fish stared at Captain Ad. Perhaps it was his devilish stare, which pierced the fish through the layers of his submarine, or maybe it was his calm, implacable voice, but the monstrous fish hesitated for just a moment.

“Give up?”

The fish hesitated for just one moment and Renalda held her breath, incredulous. Then it made up its mind and swam forwards, not towards the Kraken’s Horn, but towards Captain Ad’s sub. She heard the man’s voice speaking faintly in surprise.

“Oh my.”

The gigantic sea monster’s jaws closed around the submarine. Rendala, pushing her ship upwards as Captain Tugrim marshalled his crew for a desperate defense, saw the ship disappearing into the fish’s mouth. And then there was a flash, an underwater explosion, a wave of heat—

 

—-

 

It was a strange farewell the crew gave to Captain Ad on the surface of the ocean. Strange, awkward, and made all the more surreal by the giant floating fish’s corpse drifting just off the bow of their ship.

“You killed it. Just like that.”

Tugrim was staring at the fish, large enough to feed a city for weeks. It had been blown apart from the inside. Captain Ad hadn’t wanted it, so it was the property of the Kraken’s Horn. Rendala had no idea how they’d transport it—the sharks were already beginning to circle and nibble at the corpse.

“I’m not a [Hunter]. I’m a man of peace. With a submarine.”

Captain Ad answered calmly, sucking on a piece of toffee he’d produced from somewhere. He hadn’t wanted any part of the feast—although the teeth alone were probably worth a fortune in ivory. He had accepted a small payment for delivering the baby, nothing else.

“How’d you do it? Where did you learn all those Skills? Are you some kind of high-level [Captain]?”

The man shrugged in response to Rendala’s questions.

“I am a [Captain] as well as a [Doctor]. But high-level? I like to think it’s just skill.”

“Skill?”

Captain Ad nodded.

“Underwater naval combat…dodging fish, delivering babies…it’s all like tennis. I play it all the time. Underwater tennis, aerial tennis…I’m a [Tennis Player]. I’d like to think I’m good at the game.”

The [Sailors] of Kraken’s Horn stared at him. Captain Ad chewed thoughtfully at the lump of toffee.

“Or ping pong.”

He nodded, and then, with a casual turn of the shoulder, walked over to his sub. He opened the hatch and began to descend.

“It was a pleasure meeting you all. If you should ever have a medical problem, I’ll be sure to drop by.”

He saluted, and then was gone. The submarine sank out of sight. Rendala and the crew of the Kraken’s Horn stared at the spot where a few bubbles rose upwards for several minutes. Then Rendala turned to stare at Tugrim.

“Who was that?”

Legends. Each continent has them. They have heroes, Named Adventurers, famous [Generals] and so on. But what people forget is that the sea has its own myths as well. How could it not? But you seldom see those legends in person. You only hear of them, perhaps on the lips of a sailor who knew a man (or woman!) who knew someone else who’d seen the legend in person. And one of those legends that was told by the now-rich crew of the Kraken’s Tooth was the tale of the mysterious man with the piercing gaze, the fearless Captain Ad.

They say he sails to this very day, the man with the piercing glare, cutting through the depths of the ocean with his metal submarine. Occasionally chewing on a pretzel or toffee. More than one baby owes him their life, or so it’s said.

But who would speak such stories? Who would carry his tales above? Not sailors. Some stories, the real stories are too good to jabber on about like some land-locked fool. Some stories are true.

Or close enough.

 


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